The new ‘Uzumaki’ adaptation is an ode to Junji Ito’s gruesome imagination

Strange happenings are plaguing the sleepy seaside town of Kurouzu-cho. One by one, in different ways, residents succumb to a fixation on spirals. A man hoards a collection of random household items with spirals on them. A potter discovers that no matter what he does, jars and pots made with clay from the nearby pond will distort into strange spiraling patterns when they’re baked. A schoolgirl realizes an old crescent-shaped scar on her forehead has twisted into a spiral, and it’s made her utterly irresistible to every boy around her. A woman becomes terrified of spirals, to the point of shaving her head to rid herself of her curls and mutilating her hands because of the whorls in her fingerprints. Each episode combines several chapters of the original manga, with each story a variation on the central concept.

These are studies in obsession, and the series explores the many ways people can destroy themselves and their relationships by losing themselves in something—creative mania, self-importance, jealous romance, petty grudges, one-sided voyeurism, overbearing parenthood. The show twists familiar experiences into cathartic extremes, manifesting through Ito’s legendary penchant for body horror. The spiral collector climbs into a wide barrel and horribly contorts his body into a spiral shape, breaking every bone in his body in the process. The woman who’s afraid of spirals meets an equally awful fate when she realizes there are spiral-shaped organs in the human ear, and then seizes a pair of scissors. The girl with the spiral scar is so enamored of her ability to attract boys that she doesn’t notice the scar continuing to grow and churn, until it’s a vortex devouring her body from the top down.

The series is set in the seaside town of Kurouzu-cho, where residents become obsessed with spirals.

Courtesy of Production IG

Ito’s work has been adapted before, most notably via several different anime anthologies, as well as a live-action film version of Uzumaki back in 2000. But none of them have been able to capture the sheer detail of his lovingly gross artwork. There’s a certain smoothness to modern animation that can obviate the smaller artistic touches crucial to disturbing imagery—a lack of deep shadows and contrasts, or the erasure of sweat and wrinkles on faces. This new anime has none of these issues. It’s one of the most lovingly (or unlovingly) detailed animated works to come around in some time. The show is rendered in a stark black and white that lets it emphasize shadow, to incredible effect. Every sunken expression, sinister shape lurking in the distance, or horrible wound makes for a striking shot.

Vitally, the animation itself has a similar level of detail. It’s little wonder that production took so long, despite having only four episodes. This is one of the most intricately animated television productions I’ve ever seen, with even the smallest gesture drawn out in full. There’s an early scene in which a girl tries to imagine someone’s eyes spinning in different directions and grows cross-eyed as she alternatingly winks her own eyes—her face is mesmerizing, nearly lifelike, in the fluidity of her expression. Combined with the black and white, this richness of motion makes Uzumaki feel almost operatic at times, imbuing even the smallest moments with dread.

The "Uzumaki" adaptation honors Junji Ito's original manga through its black-and-white animation.

Courtesy of Production IG

The series was directed by veteran animator Hiroshi Nagahama, best-known for his work on the various iterations of Mushi-shi, another moody supernatural anthology. Nagahama is a particularly talented director of character animation, tending to emphasize interpersonal interaction over broad action scenes (although assuming the anime continues to hew so closely to the manga, there will be some outré action to come). That’s vital for Uzumaki, which is most remembered for the terrifying big moments Ito imagines, but which crucially must build to each of those moments through scenes of mounting unease. A lot of the show consists of characters worrying for one another. Living alongside the outlandish curse is a much more mundane anxiety of knowing someone you care about is in over their head, but being unable to help them. Even Colin Stetson’s score, heavy on droning and wailing, conveys the idea of being pulled into a vortex whose roar is ever greater. Uzumaki is not just a story about scary spirals; it’s about the terror of the inexorable.

Note: This article was written based on the first episode of the series, which was made available to press ahead of the premiere.