This Week in Anime

Fumi Yoshinaga‘s multi-award-winning manga, Ōoku: The Inner Chambers, officially makes its anime debut this summer. Join Steve and Nicky this week as they explore Ōoku‘s alternate take on history where a female-led Shogun rules over Feudal Japan, accompanied by a harem of men that makes up the Ōoku.

This series is streaming on Netflix.

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed by the participants in this chatlog are not the views of Anime News Network.
Spoiler Warning for discussion of the series ahead.

Steve

Nicky, it might be a bit past the Fourth of July, but here at This Week In Anime, we believe that it’s always a good time for things to smack of gender. And seldom has gender smacked harder than within the cloistered halls of Ōoku.

Nicky

You’re telling me! I want to smack the roof of these Inner Chambers like a used car salesman because you can fit so much gender in this Netflix series. And more! While anime is enjoyed worldwide, it’s nonetheless a product of Japan, so Ōoku grants us another great opportunity to talk about Japan’s unique history with its twists.

And the big particular twist is a freak pandemic that, unabated, wipes out most of the country’s male population during the early Edo period. This ends up being kind of a big deal for the foundations of society and whatnot.

And while both series’ conceits may sound similar, I can report that Ōoku handles this “what-if” scenario a tad more thoughtfully than World’s End Harem does.

To think this manga was written in 2004 and ended in 2020? Oof! Previously, I heard nothing but praise for Fumi Yoshinaga‘s Ōoku: The Inner Chambers*, but otherwise, I was completely unaware of what it was actually about, other than being a historical drama. A gritty alternative history where a plague causes the Tokugawa-era Imperial Japan to transition from an overall patriarchal structure to a matriarchy under a female Shogunate was NOT what I was expecting. Its premise is such a stark contrast from, say, What Did You Eat Yesterday?, one of Yoshinaga’s other manga focused on the average life of a gay married couple.

I’ve also had the manga recommended numerous times and had a copy of the first volume sitting on my shelf for ages. I’m sorry it took me this long to get around to it! That said, when the adaptation was announced earlier this year, I didn’t let myself get too excited about it. The last time I got pumped for a Netflix-produced josei anime was for 7 Seeds, and that ended up being an ugly and over-condensed disaster.

My apprehension was set the minute I saw that Studio DEEN animated this. On top of Netflix‘s poor track record, I immediately knew that whatever Deen could produce would not live up to Ōoku‘s prestige. An original story that already has several awards, live-action series and movies, and gorgeous art really cannot be done justice when given to what I consider a C-tier studio operating on a binge model. Since the manga is fully available in English, we can already see the sense of grace that’s difficult to replicate using the low resources granted to most Netflix anime productions.

Especially knowing how Deen has butchered other series they’ve adapted, like their barely animated rendition of Way of the Househusband, which sucks away all the source material’s near-endless charm and comedic timing.

Under the right circumstances, though, Deen can do a fine job. Rakugo Shinju got a lovely adaptation under Hatakeyama’s direction, for example. By contrast, Ōoku is much flatter and more workmanlike, but it’s serviceable. Functional. Unremarkably adequate. The modest production suits the dialogue-heavy political drama better than an action or comedy series. It never wowed me, but it also never ruined the material.

Which is a low bar, I know, but that’s where we are in 2023.

We’ve also covered many shows that have had not-so-good productions but still maintain some integrity of the source. While this stems from modern circumstances, the value placed on storytelling over visual limitations has always been a great thing to keep in mind, especially when watching anime from the digipaint era or older. The visuals in Ōoku are bland but not a deal breaker for me. It reminds me a lot of Requiem for the Rose King, which is still an engaging series despite being an even messier adaptation. The effort to remain faithful to Yoshinaga’s elegant designs and the story’s overall tone overshadow some of the roughness.

Yeah, it’s a case where the strength of the story and its characters are the real selling points, and they’re strong enough to earn a recommendation based on their own merits. However, I will also note that the voice cast is quite good. Mamoru Miyano is never a bad choice for a lead role.

I feel rewarded for withholding my initial judgment from being too high or low since I’m pretty positive now. It could be better; aside from some drawing quality issues, the awkward zooms could be attributed to poor editing and unfocused direction. However, based on the story, the episodes are well-paced and successfully immerse me in the characters’ thoughts and feelings, much like the palace walls keep everyone in their place of power.

The story is also just that rich. The first episode is 80 minutes of setup for the framing device. Still, it’s heavy with detail and mood, resembling a traditional work of art worthy of the period and its aesthetic influences.

It’s a bold choice for an opening statement: a feature-length episode that covers the entire first volume of the manga. It makes sense, given the narrative’s structure, as the rest of the season takes us back to the early days of the male-filled Ōoku and allows us to witness firsthand how the society and government adapted to their new norms. However, it’s also a pretty big ask on the audience, and I respect the inherent confidence in approaching the premiere like that and earning its length. However, some of that is tempered by the binge model.

I recommend taking a break between the first episode and the others! It’s a lot to take in, especially considering the historical context it expects its audience to know. Some viewers may feel alienated by many of the cultural aspects since their subversion requires some familiarity. However, the points made are bold enough that anyone with a healthy curiosity should be able to grasp the general idea. At its core, The inner chambers is not only about history, politics, or societal discrepancies between men and women. Ōoku is a story about power.

However, I’m happy to highlight some of the history here for everyone! Researching and understanding the nitty-gritty details like that is an integral part of our service.

While the depleted male population affects all strata of society, the main focus in Ōoku is succession, from which all sorts of problems and complications trickle down. So, it does involve a lot of dense court noble political drama, and having some familiarity with the Tokugawa shogunate will help you understand. But speedbumps related to succession should be familiar to anyone who has studied any government or even those who have just finished watching Succession.

There’s also a strong emphasis on the contrast between the lives of the nobility and the poor commoners. The Tokugawa Shogunate is a popular era to fictionalize, as the policy following the warring states period was always about wielding a big stick (or a katana, if you will). The show doesn’t hold back in portraying the destitution of the time. With the citizens already ravaged by constant wars, crime and poverty were rampant, and the new Tokugawa government struggled to maintain any authority, resorting to using force and allowing samurai to act with impunity. In Ōoku, the additional plague exacerbates everything as women are forced to take on the labor responsibilities over men, but much of it still reflects the period. Content warnings are all over this show!

Even in the secluded world of nobles, gossip, and rich cloth patterns cannot conceal the overall bleakness. The stark contrast between the two worlds gives the story its dark but striking tint.

I appreciate the many ways Ōoku enumerates how even the most practical measures can spiral out of control due to how complicated people are. The Ōoku, for instance, transforms into a safe haven for masterless samurai as a quarantine measure in response to the pandemic. But the mere act of throwing that many influential people into so strange a situation creates all manner of new hierarchies and relationships. Within a generation or two, a kind gesture becomes tradition, and that tradition turns into thoughtless extravagance. You can tell Yoshinaga really studied her history and human nature.

“Unintended consequences” could be another very appropriate subtitle for this story.

Ōoku‘s flip on patriarchy is also more nuanced than what can be gleaned from the surface. While there is much attention to the victimization of these beautiful men, it’s not like it happened on its own; it mirrors the suffering of women. However, the tragedy is ultimately a consequence of pre-existing rules. These men are reduced to their bodies, treated as property, and have little to no agency over their lives or survival. Their options for economic freedom are limited to marriage or selling themselves. Yet, it’s unfair because it attempts to maintain the status quo. This is also not as true beyond the prologue, as it is emphasized that it takes more than just changing who sits in the seat of power to dismantle years of structured oppression.

And in fact, the idea of a female Japanese Emperor isn’t exclusive to fiction. Before the Tokugawa Shogunate, at least eight documented women ascended to the throne. However, men were, and still are, given priority. Even in modern times, where the royal pool has shrunk, the idea of women taking on the title of emperor remains controversial among conservative powers. In contrast, others in today’s populace do not see any issue.

There’s a reason why a lot of this still feels contemporary! If there’s one thing I’d want to emphasize to anyone curious about Ōoku, it’s that the story is emphatically NOT about the genders “switching places.” It’s a lot more complex than that, by necessity, because Ōoku takes its concept very seriously. Ingrained power structures don’t dissolve overnight, even in revolutionary circumstances. It’s more accurate to say that Ōoku explores the consequences of women assuming control of a traditionally patriarchal system and, more specifically, what that “control” looks like when the actual structure at play is bigger than both genders combined.

To that end, Lady Kasuga is arguably the most interesting character in this arc, serving as the figure who most vocally bridges the anxious interval between the old and new shogunates.

Her character was also based on a real person, officially titled “Kasuga no Tsubone,” Tokugawa Iemitsu’s wet nurse, who also acted as his most trusted advisor. She would have traditionally been the head of the real Ōoku, which comprised hundreds of women in service to the emperor. I talked a bit about harem systems in Raven of the Inner Palace, which tackles similar themes, but the characterization of Kasuga emphasizes that power can be enforced from multiple angles, such as seniority, position, or even working with those in power to keep others below you.

Her introduction is downright villainous, as she collects (i.e., kidnaps) the subjects she needs to sustain the Ōoku and the Tokugawa lineage, and her relationship to the old power structures defines most of her actions. However, the narrative still paints her in shades of gray. While her desire to maintain the shogunate is self-serving, it is also arguably the only thing keeping the country together during an especially tumultuous time period.

Whatever you think of her, you can’t say she isn’t girl-bossing.

Yeah, ultimately, she goes from being antagonistic to being a valuable source of wisdom, and they even make jokes about how motherly her methods are, comparing the Ōoku system to trying to appease a spoiled and picky child. However, I use her as an example because many other characters are similar. Many Ōoku members view each other as competitors, treating others maliciously and committing misdeeds. Yet, the way they gossip and engage in conflicts with each other appears pitiful. It’s not justified, but through understanding, you realize that many of these actions stem from coping with frustration and isolation.

The real culprits here, if we want to name any, are societal mores that, over centuries, have hijacked biology and turned childbearing into a life-or-death political gambit. Having children in this time period is already important and dangerous enough. Still, the cultural expectation of producing heirs who will continue the family is what drives all these behind-the-scenes machinations. In the Ōoku world, neither men nor women have the luxury of defying this self-imposed fate.

The reasoning is pretty interesting as a foreign audience member. Despite being a non-native to Japan, I can relate to many of the themes in Ōoku, as many countries share the same norms regarding maintaining a clear power structure. Only, in the West, a lot of what people consider acceptable is sourced from religion. Japanese culture is Buddhist and has been isolated from the West, yet non-conformity is still frowned upon because it goes against the larger needs of society. Even the late emperor’s homosexuality is discussed with an air of scandal, but obviously, you can get away with some things when you’re at the top. Although, I don’t think the story ever mentions how the real Tokugawa Iemitsu once murdered his boyfriend while sharing a bathtub.

It’d be impossible to pin down every little thematic thing Ōoku is going for in one column. It’s dense. Its main focus, though, is definitely on the injustices and resilience bore by the women of this era, whether these are refracted through the plight of the men in the Ōoku, or reflected directly by figures like the female Iemitsu.

Good point, it’s a very dramatic series with a lot to say and many dark and terrible things to word it, but that only sounds cold because there’s no way for me to replicate the humanism of the characters. The romance between Chie, the illegitimate who serves as a replacement for her father Iemitsu, and the former monk Arikoto, is very sweet and full of kindness. The soundtrack stands out in their scenes together, emphasizing the serenity and gentleness people can have towards each other when you remove them from all those external demands.

One of my favorite romantic tropes is two messed-up people licking each other’s wounds and clinging to each other like the mast of a sinking ship, so there was no hope for me regarding these two.

And naturally, their happiness is impeded by their inability to have children together because it all comes down to that.

Arikoto is also initially disrespectfully nicknamed O-man, making him comparable to the real-life Oman no Kata, one of Tokugawa Ieyasu’s favored concubines and handmaiden to his wife. While our couple struggles to reproduce, the real O-man gave birth to an illegitimate son, which forced her to retire. The discrepancy between history and their perceived “failure” makes their situation even more bittersweet.

I also like the little moment Iemitsu and Gyokuei share before they sleep together, expressing their mutual affection for Arikoto. It’s a nice example of the unsurprisingly complex web of relationships within the Ōoku, where feelings like love, loyalty, lust, and duty become entangled, intertwined, and ultimately torn to pieces.

Oh yeah, I didn’t mention it, but you can tell that Yoshinaga is primarily a BL artist by all the homoeroticism beyond the few instances of assault.

Even if you ignore all the political stuff, you still have a pretty steamy and turbulent set of romances carrying the season. But you shouldn’t ignore the political stuff because it makes everything that much more interesting.

I compare it to The Heike Story, which focuses more on family than any romance but has the same ethos of tying these big historical events with an intimate perspective of the people experiencing them. Like, yeah, most of us aren’t important nobles expected to carry the whole country, but even today’s commonfolk have to deal with their grandmas pestering them to fork over those grandbabies or other pressures like finding a job that will bring wealth and power, or even just trying to survive. It highlights that most of us don’t have as much control over our place in the world. It’s enough to raise the question of how much has changed when we can have a computer that fits in our pocket but still relate to the struggles of feudalistic peasants, including those of poverty, violence, and disease.

Oh yeah, the manga still has plenty of material left to cover until we catch up to that flash-forward with Yoshimune. Still, it’s also ambitious to cover a whole period of history like Ōoku: The Inner Chambers does. It made me interested to find some copies and read the rest. Assuming I don’t spoil myself searching up the actual history. It’s not a perfect adaption, but the anime version of Ōoku feels like an unpolished gem. Some won’t find it attractive, but beneath it all, it’s dazzling. People with a keen eye for history and juicy drama should certainly scope it out.

Decent josei manga adaptations are also few and far between, so I think Ōoku could make for a refreshing appetizer before we all plunge into the summer anime season. It’s a different kind of good. And you might learn something—even if that something is colorful Japanese vocabulary from 400 years ago.