Although Shogun contains brutal depictions of feudal combat, the show’s true strength comes from contrasting the action with quiet drama.
FX’s Shogun is a masterclass in contrasts. Although the show was marketed on the basis of intense, brutal feudal combat, its real strength comes from the juxtaposition of violence with quiet, contemplative scenes of character development. As a result, Shogun is much more than a pulpy counterpart to gratuitous period action series like Game of Thrones. Instead, the show combines compelling characters, intimate stories, and intricate world-building – punctuated by moments of surprising and effective savagery.
Set in the early 17th century, Shogun explores the clash of cultures resulting from Englishman John Blackthorne’s surprise arrival in Japan. Blackthorne’s appearance coincides with a period of intense political turmoil, with the show exploring the high-stakes rivalries dominating the country and Blackthorne’s efforts to integrate with an unfamiliar culture. The conflict between feuding factions means that war is an unavoidable part of Shogun‘s story. However, while fighting is an essential way of bringing the characters and culture to life, Shogun‘s world is made even richer by the additional emphasis on more personal moments.
Shogun’s Brutal Conflict Was Initially The Show’s Selling Point
Understandably, Shogun‘s trailers and marketing material emphasized the series’ battle scenes. The show’s iconic poster, for instance, shows a single horseman riding into combat, while the tone of the trailers made it clear that civil war was the main catalyst propelling the narrative. Early footage emphasized the different kinds of combat seen throughout the show, with brief clips of isolated dueling warriors playing as significant a role in promoting the show as larger shots of grand armies doing battle. This all made it plain that, although politics was important, Shogun would emphasize spectacle.
Beyond teasing the importance of action, however, the show initially seemed to revel in the brutality of Shogun‘s world. The final Shogun trailer, for example, used a scene with John Blackthorne labeling the Japanese people as “God-less savages“, while also using footage from episode 1’s incredibly dark cauldron death. While bloody violence was minimal, the inference was clear that Shogun would not pull any punches with its content, using gruesome action as a way to emphasize the visceral hardships of feudal life. However, while the show has indeed delivered on this promise, it has not been Shogun‘s defining attribute.
Shogun Has Excelled Without Relying On Action
Shogun has certainly not underdelivered on the action front. Sequences such as Toronaga’s dramatic escape in episode 3 and Nagakado attacking Jozen’s troops in episode 4 prove that the show is more than capable of using expertly staged battle scenes to enhance the narrative. However, while these moments are important, it is in the quieter interactions where Shogun really shines.
Shogun lays out the political intricacies that Toronaga must negotiate to survive, injecting drama into what could be stale snapshots of political scheming
For example, Mariko and John’s budding relationship – which forms the emotional heart of the story – is not forged on the battlefield, but in the pair’s intimate conversations. As Blackthorne is a complete stranger to the customs and traditions of Japan, he becomes reliant on Mariko’s friendship and advice – which in turn helps guide and introduce the audience to the show’s world. Concurrently, Shogun lays out the political intricacies that Toronaga must negotiate to survive, injecting drama into what could be stale snapshots of political scheming. None of these scenes rely on violence, yet are just as important in revealing Shogun‘s story.
A further strength of the show is how some of its darkest and most brutal moments happen off-screen. The heartbreaking scene where Fuji’s husband commits seppuku in episode 1, for instance, happens very deliberately behind closed doors – becoming all the more powerful because the brutality is not explicit. Although the trailers suggested Shogun would rely on displaying its most affecting scenes, it has become clear that understatement and deliberate obscurity are just as effective.
Shogun Episode 5’s Sake Dinner Scene Proves Why The Show Works So Well
There has been no better example of the show’s juxtaposition of dark violence and quiet drama than the dinner scene in Shogun episode 5. Throughout the show, conversations over food are used to explore unspoken tension and establish character development. John Blackthorne’s decision to eat natto in episode 4, for instance, highlights his openness to new experience, while also earning the respect of Mariko and Fuji. Other scenes establish the ritual importance of food and its utility as a conduit for resolving and creating drama.
The sake scene is a perfect example of how Shogun uses domestic scenes to unpack repressed feelings between characters and reveal their differences. In an unbearably tense exchange, Mariko, John, Buntaro, and Fuji sit down to sample Blackthorne’s cooking, before Buntaro and John embark on a bravura display of one-upmanship, attempting to out-drink each other. The tension derives from their unspoken rivalry over Mariko, which is expertly ramped up by the language barrier and the awkwardness of social convention.
What makes the scene particularly memorable is its sudden shift to darkness and violence. After being goaded by John, a drunk Buntaro shoots two arrows past Mariko’s face, threatening her life. It is a clear demonstration of how, in the world of Shogun, violence and danger are never far away – a reality that constantly keeps the characters and the audience on edge. If the show was simply battle scene after battle scene, this jeopardy would be removed. The knowledge that violence can spring from anywhere without warning makes the whole series more suspenseful.
Why Shogun’s Duality Is So Impressive
Many historical dramas have succeeded on the back of unflinching violence. Shows like The Last Kingdom and Vikings, for instance, revel in their protagonist’s propensity for brutality, while the story almost always revolves around a climactic battle or set piece. Shogun, by contrast, takes a different approach. Instead of luridly reveling in the gratuitous violence of its setting, the show presents it as a fact of life – not something to be leered over, but just a reality for its characters.
This approach makes Shogun‘s story not only more satisfying but also complex. The grand sweep of its narrative necessitates depictions of conflict as the chief means of resolution in 17th-century Japan. But the emphasis on quieter, conversational scenes also gives the characters a humanity that is not always achieved by other similar series. Unrelenting violence can make a story and its participants feel more cartoonish and detached from real human experience. Shogun, by contrast, feels grounded and believable – a feat only achieved by the duality of its action and inaction.
