It was the safest of safe bets that Mob Psycho 100 II was going to be great.  Usually I feel a sense of relief when that’s proved out, but honestly that show was such a mortal lock that I never even worried about it – the euphoria is all from the brilliance of the series itself.  Dororo, by contrast, was much more of an unknown quantity – which is certainly ironic given that it comes from the pen of the guy who basically invented both modern manga and anime, and is directed by the guy who helmed Rurouni Kenshin.  But this was known as one of Tezuka’s lesser works, without a definitive ending, and Rurouni Kenshin was a long time ago now…

It really shouldn’t surprise me so much that Dororo is fantastic, even so.  And even less so that it feels utterly timeless in the best sense of the word – a historical epic of the sort than anime has always been capable of producing, if the will is there to make it happen.  For anime fans of a certain age (guilty) a series like this is like chicken soup for the soul – but only when they’re as fantastic as Dororo has been through two episodes.  This is one of the faces of anime that made me an anime fan, truly.  As I said about Kyousougiga, this series doesn’t just remind me of why I love anime – it reminds me of why I became a fan in the first place.

There’s something so timeless about the buddy picture – it transcends not just eras, but language and continents too.  Make one of the duo a kid and you add another layer, and  – as Tezuka was especially brilliant at – when you pair two characters who are stark opposites the dynamic can be really powerful.  Dororo is a little chatterbox, a force of nature, Hyakkimaru the literal definition of stoicism and impassivity.  As you would expect this kind of drives Dororo nuts, and he tries to break through the silent youth’s facade (a little less facade-like now that it’s skin instead of a mask, at least) to no avail.

Things start out in charmingly idyllic fashion, the adventures of this odd couple on the road – Hyakkimaru is good at fishing, Dororo at building a fire, another example of their symbiotic skill sets.  But Dororo is forever an operator, and hears of an opportunity to cash in on Hyakkimaru’s combat skills – a local village is having monster trouble, and needs someone to slay the creature for them.  It could be the terrifying (albeit slightly daikon-like) creature with the bell that the blind samurai-priest-musician we met in the first episode (Sasaki Mutsumi) encounters in the woods, but the old man doesn’t seem too alarmed – and it’s clear that like Hyakkimaru, he can see in ways sighted people like Dororo cannot.

Dororo is every bit the good salesman you’d expect, and the pair are soon well-fed ad comfortably lodged at the (acting) chief’s house.  But it’s obvious that this is one of those “the real monsters are us” scenarios – especially when the bell-youkai visits the duo in the barn and asks its perpetual question, “Yarou ka?” and Hyakkimaru shows no inclination to answer in the affirmative.  But when he and Dororo are taken to meet the village head Bandai (Koyama Mami) in the morning, Hyakkimaru immediately goes to DEFCON 1 and, much to Dororo’s horror (Bandai looks a bit like Mom) tries to attack her.

Dororo is truly like stepping inside a classic Japanese folk tale – it transports you so effortlessly to this turbulent time when death was life’s constant companion.  A few travelers disappearing is nothing to attract attention in the Sengoku Period, but even in this dark world human beings still have consciences that torture them when they’re reminded of their sins – as the bell youkai does constantly to the villagers.  Hyakkimaru can provide them no relief, for this is not the monster he’s come to slay – the sense is that the creature will haunt the village until all those who gave rise to it are dead and gone.

It’s interesting to speculate on the blind priest’s story – he obviously sees in the same way Hyakkimaru does, but there’s no indication of how he got that way.  Hyakkimaru and the old man both “see the inside”, the color of one’s soul – but what does Hyakkimaru understand and feel?  For most of the first two episodes there’s no indication of human emotion from him at all, but Dororo’s sadness seems to reach him in a way nothing else has so far, and he shares his name (via writing in the dirt, which the illiterate thief must ask the old priest to read by feel) – the first look we’ve gotten inside his soul so far.

Really, it’s the supreme ease and confidence both Tezuka’s source material and Furuhashi’s direction bring to Dororo that make it the burgeoning classic that it seems to be.  It’s easy to tell when, as a viewer, you’re in the care of master storytellers – without realizing it you’re mesmerized, a door within the fire creaks and all you wish for is to hear the tale told to the end.  That’s an experience that’s not unique to anime of course, but for someone who loves the medium there’s a real sense of privilege at being able to immerse yourself in a show capable of delivering it.