The happy exception that establishes the rule is One Piece.
The long-running manga and anime series One Piece, created by Eiichiro Oda, is a gloriously odd, exuberantly unique masterwork with a political leaning towards emancipation and compassion. The hard-edged live-action storytelling that predominates in American popular film and television is precisely the kind of anime that seems impossible to adapt into live-action storytelling.
In the seafaring world of One Piece, there are fishmen, monsters, and pirates. It is a world where the laws of physics that govern the human body are completely disregarded, where people naturally have hair the color of sea moss and sapphires, where dragons the size of skyscrapers double as warlords, where friendship is explored more than romance, and where the earth is swallowed by the ocean.
There are many factors to take into account when adopting an environment that is so vastly different from our own, but just before I pressed the play button on one of Netflix’s most expensive productions to date, I had a question: What are they going to do with the snails?
Fans will recognize my worry, while others will want a primer: The live-action adaptation of One Piece, which has more than a thousand episodes and counting in the anime, quickly embraces the exhilarating, risk-taking character of its forerunner. The notorious pirate Gold Roger tells those watching his state-approved murder to find the infamous treasure that gives this tale its name when he is apprehended and executed by the World Government and their militaristic Navy.
Iaki Godoy’s portrayal of the sweet-natured Monkey D. Luffy as an adult is inspired by his request, and years later, he ascends to the position of King of the Pirates and seizes the One Piece. This is a more emotionally complex hero’s narrative than the typical one: Luffy wants to put together a team that works as a family and free people who are held captive by the World Government. He is visualizing a better community rather than wealth for himself. Equally important, he has consumed an extremely uncommon and significant Devil Fruit, a melon-sized purple and green meal with a rippling texture that grants the eater their own special set of abilities
As a result, Luffy has the flexibility and mobility of rubber, allowing him to stretch out and perform incredible strength feats that transcend the limitations of his slender physique, much like a Looney Tunes character brought into the world of actual flesh, blood, and gravity. Even in such an enhanced fanciful scenario as this one, the live-action effect is challenging to achieve. Hence, I return to the snails.
Snails, some the size of a small cat and others the size of a palm, are employed for communication, observation, and occasionally even projection in One Piece. They are telepathic telephones that allow for long-distance telepathic communication. In the live-action adaption, the giant-sword-wielding pirate Mihawk (Steven John Ward) is called by the vice-grand admiral of the Navy, Garp (Vincent Regan), who has a snail transponder on his desk.
The fact that One Piece embraces the oddity of a notion originating in the manga and avoids over-explaining anything is a testament to the showrunners Matt Owens and Steven Maeda. The snails come with personal accouterments that go with the owner; Garp’s includes a dapper ivory-and-navy coat and some white facial hair. The snails also emit a trilling, dialing noise that develops into a staccato declaration that sounds like “gotcha” (purupurupuru), as if that weren’t adorable enough. (Allow yourself a moment of your day to see it.)
Netflix’s One Piece demonstrates its desire to cling to what made the original concept so amazing by merely tolerating these minor but significant quirks. There are a few melodious moments in the first two episodes, but I could tell the show was having trouble getting going and finding its own more offbeat rhythms. Like most live-action fantasy, it strains and groans under the weight of realism, yet something shifts in episodes three and four. A little more inventiveness in the filming allows the blocking of all its strong bodies to breathe.
This is especially noticeable in the flashbacks that show the introduction of new crew members and the struggles that Luffy’s companions encountered, giving each person their own opportunity to shine. While never achieving the vivid heights of the anime itself, the show still finds its course bristling with enough humor, heart, and narrative wildness in these action moments, illustrating an exception that disproves the generalization that anime cannot be translated. What I formerly believed to be impossible, One Piece actually succeeds.
The crew’s impeccable casting helps. Emily Rudd portrays the thief Nami with a real appreciation for the psychological effects of oppression. She is a level-headed dynamo carrying a bo-staff who longs to use her extraordinary navigational abilities to draw the map of the First World, bringing much-needed equilibrium to Luffy’s fantasies. Zoro, a strong yet silken Mackenyu, has a slick nature with an unmistakable air of coldness, in contrast to Nami’s bluntness.
The dude is holding a third sword in his mouth; to pull that off, you need swag and dazzling control. Usopp (Jacob Romero), a tall tale spinner and sling shooter, lends the ensemble a clumsy, desirous air. By episode five, Sanji becomes the crew’s outstanding cook, looks amazing in a suit, and kicks an inordinate number of asses with balletic grace. He is a well-known simp, but Taz Skylar, the season’s MVP, portrays him as a hunk with heart rather than a crook. (My wig is the only thing I don’t like; take it off or buy a nicer one.)
The role of Luffy, played by Godoy, is a tightrope walker. He is a rare example of a white colonial character; they are men for whom friendliness and helpfulness are fundamental to who they are. Although never a simple-minded idiot, Luffy is a political revolutionary as well as a clown and grinning trickster. His gang is bonded by the fundamental truth that he holds dear regarding the joy of liberation in the lives of those living in fascist-controlled countries. Although the main cast is excellent, several people around them feel underwhelmed.
Because the One Piece series moves quickly through Luffy’s plot and gives the impression that Garp has nothing better to do but pursue him, Garp could use a little more bite. A key figure in Luffy’s past played by Peter Gadiot, Shanks, comes out as tepid rather than a man who can change his mood from jovial to imposing in the blink of an eye. Thankfully, the show focuses more on its main antagonist, Arlong (McKinley Belcher III), a member of the fish-men species who wants to subjugate humans like his own race was subjugated.
With gruel-gray skin, and a large nose accentuated by spikes, sharp fangs, and webbing, Arlong has a hideous appearance. To enable this One Piece to stand on its own, satisfying devoted fans and luring in new ones, the world-building around him is crucial.
Each of these characters’ presentations has a carefree wonder to it; their costuming, makeup, and hair, as well as the production design of their individual settings, are all unique while still feeling like they belong to the same narrative. The typical appearance of pirates as portrayed in popular culture is remixed by a long, braided moustache that protrudes just so from a face. In dramatic contrast to the gloomy, mostly wood-paneled landscapes on ships, Arlong’s island, the hub of his operations, is covered in a dense forest of vibrant tangerine trees.
The color palette is vast and ranges from arterial-blood red to ocean cerulean to wildflower orange. One Piece can occasionally seem with a sepia sheen that saps its splendor and freezes the action, making it appear successful but still lacking in several key areas. Then again, it can suddenly regain its elasticity and vitality, as when Zoro decides to join a fight rather than just ghost the crew and deftly glides along the dusty ground wielding one of his three swords, slicing through Marines’ legs before leaping to kick one opponent and slash two others. I exclaimed in delight.
The laws of motion should not apply to these characters, in my opinion. Never once did I have any doubts about a character’s location in the scene or how their movement and fighting style related to their inner self.
It’s significant to highlight the breadth of this first season. In the anime, this doesn’t happen until around episode 18, but at the conclusion of episode four, Luffy and his crew have their dream ship and have left Syrup Village. The friendship between Garp and Luffy takes a significant change in episode eight which doesn’t happen in the anime until 200 episodes have passed. These episodes flew by for me, and I finished them eager to see what the show would do next.
The compelling storytelling of One Piece spread across countless ships, crews, and islands, each with its own distinct culture and occasionally even species, is proof that this charged approach works incredibly well. This is not just a testament to the gorgeous characterization that Oda has developed over the years, but also to the sheer potency of casting a variety of hot actors who get along with one another and the material. Who knows if the show will get the chance to adapt what happens throughout the course of 1,073 episodes and beyond? However, given what it has already accomplished, I hope One Piece is given the opportunity.