Don't read anything about Human Vapor before watching it. This is one of those shows that's best enjoyed if you go in blind. This is why I'm starting the review with a spoiler warning. Don't proceed further if you've not watched the series.
Still here? Human Vapor is based on Ishirō Honda's 1960 film, The Human Vapor, which I haven't seen. But after reading its plot summary, I realized that it bears little resemblance to this Netflix adaptation, except for a character's name, the central premise of a man who can transform into a gaseous being, and probably a mid-air explosion. What's more, based on my limited understanding, I'd say that the show significantly expands the source material both emotionally and politically. The titular "human vapor" played by Uta Uchida at first looks like a superpowered vigilante, though he eventually emerges as a victim of abuse, corruption, and exploitative machinery. How Human Vapor reaches that point is itself exhilarating. From the first episode, it grips you with its unpredictable, well-timed twists and then sustains that feeling throughout its runtime.
In Episode 1, a professor explodes into tiny pieces while giving an interview live on TV, which immediately places Human Vapor in the realm of supernatural fantasy. A few minutes later, Uchida's character claims responsibility for the crime. Then, in an interview with reporter Kyoko Kono (Yū Aoi), on whose show the professor met his gruesome end, the gaseous being talks about his motive for killing the people responsible for the White Center misdeeds, making you wonder if Human Vapor will be about a superheroic vigilante who fights criminals to uphold justice. Just when you begin to think you've figured out the show's genre, Human Vapor introduces siblings Kaho (Suzu Hirose) and Fujita Fujikawa (Kento Hayashi), who are YouTube streamers and bring a spooky mood to the series. When they launch their own investigation into the mysteries surrounding the Human Vapor, they arrive at an abandoned warehouse where the series acquires the tone of a horror movie. The episode also features a trashy music video, and its behind-the-scenes storyline, too, veers into horror territory.
So is Human Vapor about a superhuman or a spirit? Oh, and I haven't even mentioned the yakuza and corrupt cops roaming through the story, have I? A flashback even introduces a melodramatic family drama into the mix. It's not that easy to slot Human Vapor into a fixed genre, and that's the best thing about it. More filmmakers should take advantage of the length of an eight-episode series and strive to be this fluid. But when the writing is so experimental, so fluctuating, the ordinariness of the other departments begins to catch the viewer's eye. Sang-ho and Yong-jae attempt to fly high with their ambitious script, but director Shinzo Katayama thwarts their efforts with conventional filmmaking. He doesn't find an original or audacious cinematic voice with which to translate the script to the screen. Rather, he dutifully submits to it, which is why Human Vapor ultimately offers the pleasures of its writing more than anything else. As an audiovisual experience, it's quite plain and merely fine. Katayama's major failure lies in his inability to evoke and unify the story's various moods. Everything feels loose and suspended, and things work only in brief patches.
Then again, the writing, too, has its share of issues, starting with Sang-ho and Yong-jae's conception of a world that's thuddingly black-and-white. Human Vapor is marked by merely two kinds of actions: moral and immoral. Characters are driven either by righteous rage or by greed. There is no middle ground. I think the series would have benefited from a few shades of grey. Since everybody is transparent, their decisions never yield any surprises. The only surprises here originate from the plot twists, which are, in their own way, engaging. Still, this narrow view undermines the power of the political messaging. The bad guys in Human Vapor are almost cartoonish. Hence, they never come across as truly intimidating. So when they are ultimately defeated, there is no sense of relief or catharsis. In the case of one policeman, the cartoonish depiction might be intentional, given how he dances after winning a bowling game and how he pulls out different weapons—guns and knives—concealed in his socks and pockets. Nonetheless, he feels more like a nuisance. Katayama isn't even able to mine him for good physical comedy.
Human Vapor is packed with striking storylines, but its lofty goals are deflated by an unexceptional style. The filmmakers have so much to say, and though they start promisingly, the route they take eventually leads somewhere recognizably generic. It's not all bad. Yet it's also true that it could have been something more daring. Sang-ho and Yong-jae, though, connect all the dots, tie up all the loose ends, and conclude every arc earnestly. If nothing else, you want to award them an A for their assiduousness. There is no denying that Human Vapor is written with sincere affection. It's just that it is simply more impressive on the page than on the screen.
Final Score - [6.5/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times