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Why the Original “Berserk” Anime Is Philosophically Perfect

Berserk is amazing, there's just no way around it. I read the manga twice and will most certainly read it at least once more when it is finally completed in 2097... Though like everyone else, I initially thought the original anime was insufficient. The show spent hours with these characters, building a world in which reality as we know it still applies, only for it to be insanely flipped in the end, leaving no possible escape for our protagonist, Guts. It was only when I read the manga that I began to see the whole story differently, both in philosophical terms, that is to say, the underlying meaning of its world, as well as in psychological terms, that is to say, the personality and mental state of its complex characters. Comparatively to the manga, the story depicted in the original anime is of course reduced to the Golden Age Arc almost in its entirety, as well as two short snippets of the Black Swordsman Arc, one of those snippets being the very first episode, and the second snippet being the epilogue of the very last one. Guts is then thrown into a world in which he will forever be forced to relive those same torments of his childhood, as well as the torments of his time with the Band of the Hawk. It rather reminds me of something I heard once by a fella named Rustin Spencer Cohle when he says,

Why should I live in history, uh? Look, I don't wanna know anything anymore. This is a world where nothing is solved. Someone once told me time is a flat circle. Everything we've ever done or will do we're gonna do over and over and over again. And that little boy and that little girl, they're gonna be in that room... again. And again. And again. Forever.


That's the moment right there, the moment that forever changed the world of Berserk, the moment its medieval world as we knew it to ceased to exist. But maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, or maybe it really makes no difference. In this version of Berserk the beginning and the end are a mere continuation of each other, kinda like a Finnegans Wake sort of thing. The first episode introduces us to the Black Swordsman as he gears up and sets out to hunt monsters in a strange medieval world that has been thrown into disarray during the reign of one such king Griffith, a world in which soldiers loyal to minor lords are free to abuse peasants, elders and young barmaids. Guts saves the day, though he does so with such violence that even the tormented are left in awe. And surprisingly, he has no concern for them, for all he wants is their lord, a strange-looking man, and indeed a complete misanthrope – the Snake Baron. With his revelation, the world is fully fleshed out, a medieval world inhabited by monsters... and our protagonist hunts them.



Of course the manga goes way further in depth, and the old adage that the 1997 anime is incomplete without the manga rings very true. My point isn't at all that the manga is unnecessary, after all, Berserk is a long story full of complex characters and rich world-building that, by virtue of not being included in the 1997 version, makes that version incomplete. My argument is that while this version does lack in story, it doesn't lack in philosophical meaning. The story here is very raw, it's completely stripped for parts to leave only the bare minimum. And if we get a philosophical characterization of the monsters that inhabit the world through the Snake Baron, then we also get a characterization of our protagonist.

Guts is dark, ruthless and vile, in fact, it is quite strange to call him a hero. But he takes on the Snake Baron by himself, he suffers whatever pain he needs to suffer in order to get the upper hand, and when that moment does come, he tortures the Baron, punishing him for not having shown any mercy to any of the villagers. So is Guts a monster as well or did he become one somewhere along the line? And if he still retains some sense of justice and compassion, does that mean he isn't too far gone? Or if he is a monster, could he then be a necessary one? These are questions that the world of the 1997 version asks but doesn't necessarily answer, actually, it leaves no time to answer. The ending seems like a whole new beginning and the circularity of the story almost mocks us by giving us the aftermath of the ending with the very first episode. Because the world of Berserk is truly fallen... And though we were slightly naive in the beginning, it is upon a second viewing that we learn why the world fell – the eclipse.




We are faced with this complete tonal shift at the very end of the Golden Age Arc, and yet, it's an entirely imminent and indeed already revealed twist. We know in the beginning that Guts is hunting demons by himself and we know king Griffith rules the realm. We thus know that the story continues beyond the eclipse. But, at least before the manga as a whole is concluded, is any continuation strictly necessary, at least as far as the story's philosophy goes? And don't get me wrong, I love the manga. I love the madness of the Conviction Arc and the duality of the two narratives of the Millennium Falcon Arc, namely Griffith's epic wars contrasted with Guts' hardships as he travels the world, the black sheep prophet in opposition to the white hawk of light. And I'd add that it could well be that, excluding the two driving forces of the story, I'd pick Farnese as my personal favorite character because of how deep her entire character arc is... But I can't help but notice that after the eclipse, Berserk becomes a more traditional story. Guts acquires a new group, a new Band of the Hawk as it were, and travels from place to place, fighting new enemies, learning new powers, forging new bonds and going on dangerous adventures. But I have to ask – just how dangerous are those adventures? Because it seems to me that unless you go through those pages with the assumption that Guts could die at any point, it is almost forceful to assume that Guts is in no real danger... Berserk just has to have a final confrontation between Guts and Griffith. Doesn't it then seem like anything that happens until then is filler-like? Yes, there's important world-building and solid character development until then, but what is the essence of Berserk if not Guts versus Griffith? And I don't ask this strictly in a spoilers sense or about the simple surprises of discovering the story for the first time. As I've said before, we know that the world fell on the very first episode. It just seems like the narrative thread is somewhat lost until that final confrontation, that is unless that thread of causality is merely hidden and Kentarō Miura has a plan far more genius than I realize, something which I want to believe to be the case, although such a revelation can't come soon enough.


At any rate, this is why I'm fascinated by the stance the 1997 version took. They identified the main themes that go through the whole story and stripped it of all else. Of course it is known that budgetary restraints were a main factor, but as it is often said, art comes from adversity. And the art that was born here is a complete existential nightmare. It is with great envy that I think about the people who watched the 1997 version on its first run, having to patiently wait for each episode only to reach the end and find no resolution. All logic and meaning were wholly dispensed with, this world you inhabited just ceased making any sense and it didn't particularly care about your wants as a viewer. In fact, did it not rub your face in it? Did we not get the ending revealed to us on the very first episode? We were shown a world in which monsters exist, a world in which Griffith is king, a world apparently ruled by five spiritual entities that haunt our protagonist, and one of them, the only one he knows by name, is coincidentally called Griffith as well... Indeed, Berserk taunts us by revealing the ending because it knows that, much like Guts, we'll return to it... again... and again... and again.

Or maybe you never forgot Griffith's name, maybe you weren't swayed by his demeanor throughout the Golden Age Arc, and maybe, just maybe, that made you think the eclipse wouldn't happen. You'd tell yourself that something has to change, it can't possibly end like this... But it does. More than the sheer violence, it is the abrupt ending that smirks at us, just like the man himself...



Now, you may accuse me of being a minimalist, and if so, I'd have to take it on the chin. I keep going on about this incomplete version being perfect, and it's not that the 1997 version, by being incomplete, is all you need in order to truly experience Berserk. You obviously need more, you are left dissatisfied, it just doesn't make sense for the story to end the way it does. But isn't that a much more intriguing feeling than you would have with a normal resolution? Doesn't it lessen the appearance of the godhand entities to know that, at one point, all of them were once human beings like Griffith? Weren't they more impressive and feverish when they were just strange apparitions in Guts' nightmares and then godly apparitions during the eclipse? Isn't it fascinating how as the eclipse drew near, those monsters just appeared seemingly out of nowhere? Yet it wasn't out of nowhere. They were always there, lurking, counting the days until the inevitable feast. And if they were always there in a seemingly normal world, what does that tell you about its people?...

And what about their natures? I for one remember being weirdly horrified by the fairy's appearance unto Rickert and the subsequent devouring of the sickly Band of the Hawk members. The clearing in the forest made dark except for fallen torches was a great touch but I remember finding it eerie that an artist managed to conceive of something as innocent as a fairy in such a strange way. She almost exudes scorn, hunger and poison... Reading on, you come across the Lost Children Arc and discover that the strange fairy was once a person as well, she has a whole backstory which is an amazing read in its own right, but I for one sort of miss the days when we didn't know that those nameless monsters were actually called apostles and that their strange actions had a purpose that was then unknown to us. And just when we needed answers the most, the show ended.



But when it ends it also restarts. The epilogue, which I'm sure a lot of first-time viewers eagerly awaited in hope for some answers, only confirmed that it was indeed the final episode. We see Guts being given his famous sword, the Dragonslayer, as he sets out to hunt apostles, following Godot's advice to not get himself killed. So now we have no choice but to turn to the completed story for answers, and for the most part we find them. And when the story as a whole is completed I'm sure we'll have some more of them. But don't we have all the answers we need in this brief run of the story? After the final episode we have nothing to do except return to the first and rewatch the show all over again with a renewed understanding, with the conviction that the eclipse will happen because it already happened. Guts will suffer through it all over again and that does seem like the kind of hell Rust Cohle spoke about. But what was it that Guts said to the Snake Baron?

We humans are fragile and mortal. But even if we are wounded or tortured we must continue to live. You should feel the same pain we feel and see what I mean.

In this sense and many others, Miura did something metaphorically vile when he breathed life unto Guts only to place him inside a world full of suffering that he cannot possibly hope to escape. But then again, Guts' hope isn't to escape. The brilliance of Berserk is that even in the most hopeless of situations, even when nothing makes sense, the protagonist simply cannot stop himself from wielding his sword. Whenever we watch this run of the series we find ourselves within the same flat circle, the same cycle of pain and suffering, but interestingly enough, we find that the protagonist was already there before we arrived. And maybe that's why he's the hero...

Because sometimes a river fish just don't like the ocean. And if that's where he'll end up, he'd rather jump and splash on the water, even if that won't change its inevitable course.

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