Introduction

Shinsuke Sato has, in recent years, become a household name for action and effects driven narratives. Not only did he impress audiences with Gantz (2011), but also with I Am a Hero (2016), Inuyashiki (2018) and Kingdom (2019). The success of Kingdom cemented not one by two sequels. Today, we cast our analytic eye on Kingdom 2: Far and Away.

Review

One night, in the palace of the Qin Dynasty, Yin Zheng (Ryo Yoshizawa), who dreams of reunifying the Central Plains, is corned by two assassins. Not long thereafter, the palace-guards pour into the inner chamber to defend their king. Yet, many fall by the hands of these highly skilled assassins.

Luckily for him, one of his servants has hired Shin (Kento Yamazaki) and Diao (Kanna Hashimoto) to protect the king. After incapacitating both, one of them tells them, with his dying breath, that if the Chiyu, a legendary assassin clan with, supposedly, superhuman strength, would have come all would have been dead. Not much later, a soldier comes running down the stairs informing them that the army of the State of Wei, led by Gokei (Yukiyoshi Ozawa), has crosses the border and is advancing on the royal capital of Xianyang. The Qin dinasy hastly dispatches an army led by Hyoko (Etsushi Toyokawa) to repel the attack.

Kingdom 2 is, in short, an action-epic littered with touching moments. Sato’s narrative does not merely explore the importance of social bonds – i.e. forming friendships, but functions as a affirmation of the significance of having a desire to give direction to one’s subjective path.

The latter is introduced into the narrative by Shin. Shin is still driven by his dream of becoming a Great General of the World. He is not only very vocal about it – he keeps on repeating it throughout the narrative – but he cannot, in any way, be distracted or disturbed by the jesting signifiers from the Other. This dream, which forms, as it were, the source of his eros, resists the medieval Other and its strict hierarchal structures.

That this dream fuels his drive, his eros, is perfectly illustrated by his charge on the army of the Wei. Without this dream, this phantasmatic carrot that hangs just out of his reach, he would never been able to create such distance between himself and his fellow soldiers – the mysterious white-clad Kyokai (Nana Seino), Takukei (Takayuki Hamatsu), Bihei (Amane Okayama), and Mido (Takahiro Miura) in particular. This distance is nothing other than the ‘measure’ created by desire.

This simple subjective dynamic – a dynamic richly exploited in Shonen manga, makes Shin easy to identify with. One can easily imagine oneself in his desiring position. In this sense, the narrative does not truly aim to shape the desire of the spectator – a visual screen that tells the subject that he needs to aspire to attain a phallic position within life, but a phantasmatic product that allows the subject to fleetingly experience himself as a desiring being as such.    

Shin’s subjective position is contrasted with the position of Kyokai- they form each other’s opposites. Rather than having a dream to animate her acts and signifiers, she is driven forward by an assumed need to exact revenge. As we learn around the middle point of the narrative, this thirst for revenge is the only thing that keeps her alive and animates her body. Once her revenge has been completed, her existence would lose all meaning – her life would have no sense or, to put it differently, would reveal itself as nonsensical. In this sense, the demand that gives her direction, this demand as born from her loss and sorrow, is ultimately nothing other than a pure manifestation of the death-drive (Narra-note 1). Yet, can her encounter with Shin divert her path to self-destruction? Can she transform her desire so that it will integrate herself in the symbolic fabric rather than radically expulse her from it?

Sato delivers a dynamic composition that fully supports the dramatic ebb and flow of the narrative (Cine-note 1). By fluidly changing the pace of his visual dynamism, Sato is not only able to infuse tension and mystery in the atmosphere of certain sequences but also frame the myriad of action-sequences and epic battle-sequences in an exciting and satisfying way.

The quality the atmosphere of certain sequences attains is, of course, not only supported by the dynamic flow but also by the musical accompaniment. To put it more correctly, the creation of an atmosphere that pulls the spectator into the narrative is function of the interaction between the musical pieces and compositional flow. The music, by echoing the intended quality of the atmosphere, makes the impact of the pace of movement and the stillness of certain static shots that more impactful and engaging.

The reason why the many moments of action in Kingdom 2 are so visually satisfying is not merely due the way they are dynamically framed, but also because of the amazing choreographies. In fact, the only thing Sato does with his composition is frame the action is such a way that the beauty as well as the dramatic flow of the choreographies can come to their full right (Music-note 1).   

While Kento Yamazaki gives a good performance as the shonen-character Shin, some spectator might have some problems with the script he is given. There is a bit too much unnecessary expository speech and some moments, despite reflecting the very themes explored within the manga, feel somewhat unnatural and forced. Shin’s immature boyish directness, which works well in a Shonen manga, simply does not translate that well into an action-narrative of such epic proportions.

Kingdom 2 is an epic and quite emotional experience that sadly fails to reach it full potential by holding on too tight to its shonen-roots. For every epic battle-sequence, there is a moment mangled by Shin’s overly-expository and repetitive speech. If Tsutomu Kuroiwa, the screenwriter, can diminish such speech in his next narrative, the next chapter’s epic nature will shine more brightly.