Monster: One Of The Greatest Stories Ever Written

Our traumas and experiences can leave a lasting mark, a mark so deep that it is no longer merely an aspect, but something all-consuming in it’s temptation, especially when we’ve lost so much, so ruthlessly. The connective tissue of life is often unseen and hard to remember past a certain point. As we hustle through our own space, the mechanisms of our lives and beyond continue to spin with only a percentage of our input being within our control, shaping our identities and futures. If we are determined and fortunate enough given a chance to not only have a future that we can fight for, but cling to an identity that we can develop. And as many chase for that illusive sense of self, tracing themselves back to the beginning, trudging through the mud of agony, some have a tendency to detach so intentionally it’s as if the only thing that could have brought them into this world was not of it.

Monster, written by Naomi Urasawa, and adapted by Madhouse Animation, simply put, is one of the greatest stories ever told. A story so universally outstanding and comprehensively brilliant, it’s adaptation, I’m told, is one of the most faithful and an almost one-to-one conversion from it’s manga source material.

Doctor Kenzo Tenma is an acclaimed and brilliant Japanese neurosurgeon working at Eisler Memorial Hospital in Dusseldorf, West Germany in the 1980s. Engaged to be married to his fiancé and daughter of the hospital director, Eva Heinemann, he finds himself to be disillusioned with the practices of the hospital, often prioritizing wealthy and politically influential patients over the regular people in dire need. Confronted by a despondent wife of a Turkish patient he was not able to operate on, personally blaming him for his death. Something changed that day. The kind and beaming Tenma, was finding it harder to find satisfaction in his work, amongst all of the posturing and schmoozing, even encouraged by his fiancé Eva.

It all came to a head on that fateful night. Doctor Tenma is called in to operate on Johan Liebert, a young boy who was shot in the head after escaping from East Germany along with his twin sister Anna Liebert. Suddenly he is pulled aside as the mayor of Dusseldorf is also admitted and in critical condition. Tenma disregards the orders of his superiors and operates on the boy who was shot. “Hang in there, kid.”

The boy survives and the mayor dies in surgery. Tenma is faced with severe repercussions, his career is in jeopardy, his fiancé leaves him, and he is looked down upon by his colleagues. Soon after the Director of the hospital and several of the doctors who supported Tenma are murdered. Johan and Anna Liebert disappear, and although Tenma is suspected there is nothing that can link him to the crimes and he is left to grapple with his choices. About a decade later, Doctor Tenma has regained his position as Chief Of Surgery at Eisler Memorial Hospital. But his life is changed forever when confronted with the consequences of his past. 

When visiting a patient with a gift who is nowhere to be found, Tenma is able to track him down, only to find him mercilessly executed by Johan Liebert, the young boy whom Tenma saved all those years ago. Resurrected by Tenma’s own hands. He has unleashed a monster. Soon after a particularly cerebral and calculating member of the BKA (Federal German Police) begins to suspect that Tenma was responsible for the Eisler Memorial Hospital Director and doctors deaths all those years ago. Forcing Tenma to become a fugitive from the law, with the goal of slaying the monster he saved.

It is in how Urasawa writes that is filled with an authentic dynamism not just in how the characters interact with each other, but in how their personal histories and the strands of time intertwine across years, countries, even continents. The web of direct and indirect relations spans is just that far reaching. All converging to support the greater narrative whole, in these smaller and seemingly irrelevant pieces of people’s lives that are integral and will become even more so as each respective story arc continues. And it is in that reactivity that brings its story even further to life. 

Its characters, those of which span far and wide, even within the vignette style storytelling the narrative will sometimes employ, have depth and dimension you will not find for main characters in lesser works of fiction. The vast amount of characters have so much nuance, they not only could each be a main character themselves in a standalone work, but add an intensity of texture to the world. A living, breathing world will always live and breath more when characters act according to their believable complexities.

Urasawa knows exactly how to pace his story. Sprinkling small details of the core origin of the events that kicked Monster’s main narrative off in the first place to entice imagination on the overarching plot. Never revealing too much, only what you need to know. He makes his methods seem almost scientific with how intentional he is with the mixture of vagueness and occasional pieces of information that is given the proper gravity it deserves.

The echoes and legacy of the fascist authoritarianism of Czechoslovakia and Nazi Germany as well as the communist authoritarianism of East Germany still negatively affects society as a whole. It is felt, measured, and alluded to without being overbearing. The color of Western Europe a muted, washed out, and world weary tint. One grappling with the very recent crumbling of the Berlin Wall and dissolution of the Soviet Union post-Cold War. 

Kuniaki Haishima’s score does an excellent job of reinforcing the tone of the show, building tension when necessary, adding texture and emotional dimension to each scene, and occasionally, summoning the sounds from the depths of hell. Unintelligible gods and demons whistling their approval from their decrepit pits, both living and dead. The only ones who understand Johan’s motives and want to see him and all of his charisma succeed. They speak to him, and he speaks back with each gruesome killing.

The character design itself is, to me, visually striking. Imbued with an authenticity to match their souls. Distinct enough that you would be able to tell them each apart but not ostentatious or overly stylized to the point where they would distract from the grounded tone of the narrative as a whole. You would not market them to the masses in a vain attempt to garner superficial excitement, rather you would love them and all of their tangible imperfections, both physically and as people.

Doctor Tenma himself is often the emotional and moral anchor point of the series and for the other characters that know and support him not necessarily in his quest but certainly in his innocence. A man we spend much time with as a fugitive learning to kill as opposed to the healer who is sworn by oath to save. Seeing that who, what he chose to save is an objective danger to society. Did he make the right choice? Was there even a choice to be made? Layered, nuanced, maybe even a little broken but wholly good and loving, altruistic capable of both light and darkness. And it is in how he integrates his darkness that allows his light to shine through even his horrible situation.

Alternatively the main antagonist and titular Monster himself Johan Liebert feels less like a physical person and more of a malevolent and creeping presence, a force of nature undeterred by notions of morality and convention. An abstract menace that, in both appearance and mere mention, sends ripples of paranoia in every instance. Undeniably human, yet incomprehensible how his psyche functions, if it even functions at all. An all encompassing and sweeping evil that arrives to sow chaos and destruction for seemingly no discernible reason.

It all has to mean something. And of course it does. It means more than any one of us could possibly quantify. But in the best art of human history it is that quantification those inclined will look to derive value from, that brings us closer to something tangible. We have to let it mean something.

Peoples childhoods are integral to the adult that they will ultimately become, but only insofar as we are willing to sculpt ourselves beyond our beginnings. Even at a disadvantage to our peers who grew up in more stable and nurturing environments we can still overcome, endure, and thrive. We all have the capacity to be good and evil. Both simultaneously and independent from each other. And it is our inclination to act upon the good pieces of ourself, even against all logic that will procure more good in not just our world, but others as well. Ultimately giving into the desires of nihilism and the allure of a rationalized meaninglessness can lead us down a path of hyper-vigilant damnation and destruction. As we take our hits in life we must hold steadfast belief in our experiences that mattered and will continue to matter in both the self-created moments, memories that lead to joy, and randomization of life that won’t always lead to pain.