‘Shōgun’ Review

James Clavell’s popular 1975 novel Shōgun is one of the most cited depictions of Japanese culture in Western society. Adapted previously into an ambitious miniseries starring Richard Chamberlain and Toshiro Mifune, the novel and the 1980s miniseries serve as touchstones for those wanting an entry point into Japanese history and largely works because of its Western perspective, easing those unaware of Japanese culture into the ways it differs from their own. It’s immersive but still digestible. Rachel Kondo and Justin Marks’ newest take is brought to life with the same painstaking detail as its 1980s counterpart and a lavish budget to immerse audiences in 1600s Japan. The results are a gorgeous period piece powered by complex characters and equally transfixing performances - but one that struggles to be more interesting than its setting amid political squabbles and protagonist’s culture shock.

There’s a lot to admire within FX’s valiant effort to bring Shōgun to a massive scale. Despite its highly detailed set design and costuming, what is most apparent throughout the show’s ten episodes is that it’s far more character-focused than the scale of its plot suggests. While plenty of attention is provided to the English Pilot John Blackthorne’s (Cosmo Jarvis) sudden discovery of Japan and subsequent imprisonment, the main schism is a power struggle between five daimyō (feudal lords) as they vie for the title of Shōgun. However, the show does not center around large-scale conflicts, nor does it span the entire country of Japan. Instead, it follows the political machinations put in place by Lord Yoshii Toranaga (Hiroyuki Sanada) as he attempts to become ruler of the country. His ambitions are obvious, but his plans are far more complex than they initially seem. It all leads to a series dedicated to watching people slowly destroy one another through their own set of laws and expectations.

That’s what separates Shōgun from the myriad of Game of Thrones clones that have spawned since its wild success: it highlights the constricting resilience of tradition in the face of unrelenting ambition. It cannot lean into the kind of massive battles that punctuate a season of Game of Thrones because that just isn’t culturally how things were solved in Japan. A sparring of pleasantries and backhanded comments situate themselves on the surface of every conflict in Shōgun, but in the shadows lies a hidden blade or someone willing to dishonor themselves for their lord. It’s a fascinating way of making politics feel less trivial than they do in other shows because here, they are not just politics - they are a way of life. Frequently, John Blackthrone - referred to as “Anjin”, the Japanese word for “pilot”- tries to bring more brutish methods into the fold and is halted. His methods serve no purpose in Japan, and being confrontational and brazen only serves to anger those around him more than benefit them.

It’s also how the show confronts language, translation, and the specific power held by words that make it stand out. The novel had a great way of introducing Japanese terms and conveying the difficulty of moving forward in a country without understanding the language. Here is no different as Anjin struggles to resolve anything in his quest to free his fellow Englishmen from Japanese imprisonment simply because he cannot speak the language or understand their customs. Given a dedicated translator in Lady Mariko (Anna Sawai), Anjin’s troubles slowly dissipate as he recalibrates himself to his new situation. A relationship forms between Mariko and Anjin, but that’s an element of the show that feels haphazardly implemented at best - especially given the unassailable moral righteousness written into Anjin’s character that makes him seem like the greatest man on Earth compared to everyone else in Japan.

Mariko is not defined by that relationship, though, and it’s Shōgun’s ability to nuance even the slightest of characters that remains impressive. Mariko is no small character either, and Shōgun fleshes her out in great detail. Regardless of her station in life, Mariko, much like other noteworthy characters throughout the show, is relevant to Toranaga’s ambitions and yet has her own ambitions in life that she seeks to realize. The Anjin is almost irrelevant to every character other than as a bargaining chip, moved from town to town as people try to figure out what to do with this “barbarian.”

That feeling of being unnecessary to everything is a recurring problem in Shōgun. It tries to weave together several narrative threads within Toranaga’s own arc, but the result is a lot of new plotlines that feel more like padding for the runtime than are relevant to what the show seems to be navigating. One of the recurring elements is the underlying mission by Anjin to destroy the Portuguese-Catholic stranglehold that they have over Japan - a country that is currently seeing the spread of Catholicism at an alarming rate - and have England becoming a shipping partner with Japan. This is far more prominent in the novel but is stripped down in the show to the point where religion just serves as a way of connecting threads. It’s more like if the weather was used as connective tissue. While the show tries to place prevalence on the role religion has within Japan, thanks to the Portuguese missionaries, it always feels unimportant to the grand scheme of things. So when it pops up as a driving element of character, it never quite clicks.

What Shōgun does excel in is its attention to detail. The decision to place less emphasis on its Western protagonist gives the whole series an air of authenticity that goes a long way in providing the entire project with a sense of place. It is unwavering in its dedication to immersion, to the point where it almost seems comical how much it’s willing to leave Anjin in the dust and focus completely on the real stakes of the show. In fact, every detour to Anjin seems unnecessary just because he’s not a particularly important character other than as an audience surrogate. He’s an entryway into this period in Japan’s history because we know his country’s history well enough at this point that we don’t need it fleshed out. We just need him as a means of exploring something foreign without the show feeling more like The Wire, where it throws its audience into the deep end, and you either latch on or lose yourself in the world it realizes. I’m convinced this show could have been better if it took that approach since Anjin feels more like an inconvenience to the story being told here. It’s not one about England or religion. It’s about a nation in turmoil as it tries to reckon with the new world and keep itself together.

It’s also somewhat disappointing how much Anjin shows up because the performances by every single cast member are excellent - except for Cosmo Jarvis. He’s sturdy and reliable, for sure, but it takes a while before his performance feels lived in and more than just an impersonation of a Tom Hardy performance in something like Steven Knight’s Taboo or Peaky Blinders. Perhaps that was the direction here, but it’s actually distracting and may be a minor personal issue more than it will be for other audiences. There’s also just a lot more interiority to Sanada and Sawai’s performances. Contrasted against Tadanobu Asano’s dizzying, humorous, and brutish performance as Yabushige, Jarvis just seems like the weak link in an extremely strong cast. It somewhat works, thanks to the fact that Blackthrone is supposed to be out of his element, but it doesn’t work well as a lead performance.

Technically proficient in almost every way, Shōgun is remarkable in almost every technical element. When it does lean into its violence, it's also effective because it tends to be used as punctuation to a tense scene or a means of grabbing the viewer. It’s frequently brutal when it is depicted, and it’s hard not to admire a show that restrains itself so efficiently, knowing the visceral feeling it can evoke by doing so. Visually the show is a bit uneven, sometimes too dark and sometimes too flat, but it’s also not trying to be too flashy or stand out. The set and production design are what stand out, and it’s impossible to overstate how much heavy lifting they do to capture the time period and make a lot of the show look good just by default.

Shōgun is a solid adaptation, bolstered by its lavish design and dedication to immersion, but it is also less compelling than its setting. However, due to its setting, the approach is unique, which doesn’t necessarily result in a more exciting show, but it does leave a fresh perspective. At the heart of it is a character-driven drama that sacrifices violent spectacle to pursue cultural understanding. That sentiment echoes throughout the show as it places emphasis on curiosity instead of devolving into empty spectacle and gratuitous violence. While it may not be the groundbreaking show its budget would suggest, the attention to detail and care in handling Shōgun’s more nuanced elements elevates an otherwise sturdy epic.