Stepping into the first episode of Matori & Kyoken: Men in the Back Alleys felt like sitting down with a story that has real stakes from the very first frame. The setup doesn’t waste time: in the neon-lit streets of Tokyo, a violent incident at a Roppongi nightclub upends the life of Umezawa Kyonosuke, a character who once enjoyed the spotlight as a child actor but now finds himself in a world he barely understands. That inciting moment, brutal and abrupt, immediately communicates that this is a narrative about consequence and compromise, and it sets the tone for everything that follows.
Watching Kyonosuke (played with an intriguing mix of vulnerability and simmering tension by Daigo Nishihata) attempt to process what’s happened to him is compelling. The writing does a good job of balancing exposition with character reaction: instead of dumping background on us, the show lets key information surface through Kyonosuke’s interactions with others. We learn that he’s coerced into working as a double agent for rival narcotics enforcers, a role that instantly complicates his moral compass. That emotionally conflicting center—being caught between law enforcement, criminal elements, and his own doubts, is the engine that drives this first episode forward.
The pacing throughout is thoughtful. Director’s choices in framing and tempo allow the gritty atmosphere of back-alley Tokyo to come alive without overwhelming the characters. There’s a raw energy in the way scenes unfold—street chases, clandestine meetings in dim bars, and tense drop-ins at police safe houses are all staged with purposeful economy. The cinematography by itself deserves praise: the contrast between glitzy nightlife and shadowy crime scenes reinforces the duality of Kyonosuke’s new reality. These are environments you can feel almost viscerally, and the production design earns its place by not over-stylizing but instead leaning into texture and detail.
One of the strengths of this first episode is the way supporting players are introduced. Figures like the grim enforcer who recruits Kyonosuke and the seasoned detective who watches him with wary suspicion contribute depth to the world. Their presence isn’t just window dressing; they help propel Kyonosuke’s arc while hinting at larger conflicts that may unfold. On that front, the show feels intentional in planting seeds early—there’s a sense of a larger game being played, and we’re only seeing the first moves.
Performance-wise, Kokoro Morita and Yoshihiko Hosoda make noticeable impressions, offering moments that are subtle yet resonant. None of the principal cast members oversells their roles; instead, they bring a measured intensity that suits the material well. Kyonosuke’s vulnerability is especially well-anchored by Nishihata’s performance; you consistently believe in his fear, his resolve, and his dawning confusion at the shadowy forces pulling his strings. That emotional accessibility makes the character relatable even when the plot around him turns bleak.
That said, the episode isn’t without its flaws. The exposition, while generally well handled, occasionally feels too cautious. There are moments when the story seems to assume a little too much familiarity with crime-genre conventions, leaving new viewers to fill in gaps that might have benefited from clearer context. The danger in that approach is a risk of alienating viewers who aren’t already attuned to these kinds of narratives. At times, I found myself wishing for a bit more clarity around the rules of the game—the specific hierarchies of the criminal factions, for instance, or more details about how Kyonosuke’s past as a performer ties into his survival instincts in this new life.
Another minor weakness is tonal consistency. The show oscillates between gritty realism and occasional bursts of dramatic flourish that, while visually engaging, don’t always feel earned. A sharper editorial eye in certain scenes might have strengthened the narrative coherence, especially in transitional moments where the episode moves from high stakes to quieter character beats. Those shifts are important for pacing, but here they occasionally stumble, tugging the viewer out of an otherwise immersive experience.
Dialogue is another area with room for improvement. Much of it is solid—functional, purposeful, and often revealing—but some exchanges lean a bit too heavily on genre shorthand. In a world that otherwise feels lived-in and nuanced, a few lines come across as overly expository, as if the script is reminding us what we already know rather than adding new layers of depth. With a story this full of potential, there’s a delicate balance between clarity and redundancy, and the writing teeters on that line more than once.
Despite these critiques, the show’s ambition is evident, and its best elements shine through from the outset. The creative team clearly has a strong visual language, and the interplay between personal drama and crime thriller conventions is managed with a deft hand. By the end of the episode, you’re left with a sense that this world has many corners still to explore, many deceptive bargains, and shifting loyalties that will demand close attention.
Overall, Matori & Kyoken: Men in the Back Alleys makes a striking first impression by committing to its premise and grounding it with a credible central performance. Its willingness to place a flawed, bewildered protagonist at the center of something much larger than himself is compelling television, and even when the episode wavers slightly in clarity or tone, the core emotional and narrative thrust keeps you engaged. If subsequent episodes deepen the worldbuilding and refine the rougher edges of this opener, this could be one of the more thoughtful and tension-filled crime dramas on Netflix this year. I’ll be curious to see where Kyonosuke’s journey leads next and how the series balances its stylish execution with the moral complexity hinted at here.
Final Score- [6/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
Follow @AnjaliS54769166 on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times