Cowboy Bebop: Defining a Masterpiece
There’s this scene at the end of episode 13 of Cowboy Bebop where a man is dying from wounds inflicted by another man whom he had once considered a friend, almost a brother, and knowing that he was likely to die within minutes, the man requests to be brought aboard his airship so that he could fly to Titan, a place where the two men had once fought alongside one another as soldiers—a place where their friendship, their camaraderie, their brotherhood felt real. And if he couldn’t make it to Titan, at least he’ll be on his way.
That scene really got to me when I watched Cowboy Bebop for the first time, and even with the jaw-dropping animation of the episode, the wonderful characterization, the fantastic voice acting of the English dub (which I wholeheartedly recommend over the original Japanese, trust me on that), and the amazing music, it was that scene and the sense of pure melancholy and longing and desire to return to simpler times that really hit me on a deep and emotional level, and I think it’s this scene that really encapsulates why I love this show so much.
Cowboy Bebop was created in 1998 as the lovechild of director Shinichiro Watanabe, screenwriter Keiko Nobumoto, character designer Toshihiro Kawamoto, mechanical art designer Kimitoshi Yamane, and composer Yoko Kanno, collectively called the “Dream Team” due to the fact that each was considered a master in their respective disciplines, which is reflected in all aspects of the show from the striking character designs of the main cast to the moody, atmospheric backgrounds to the utterly amazing soundtrack, which can go from upbeat jazz to somber blues, all the while maintaining the distinctive voice that is Cowboy Bebop.
Set in the year 2071, the series follows the various misadventures of a ragtag team of bounty hunters in space—Spike Spiegel, Jet Black, Faye Valentine, and Edward—as they fly aboard their vessel, the Bebop. And while initially they all seem like typical tried-and-true archetypes—Spike is laid-back, cool, and cocky; Jet is the stern but caring leader; Faye is the token femme fatale; Edward is the eccentric tech whiz—these are among the most well-developed characters out of any work I've ever seen, to the point that I’m almost inclined to refer to them as people rather than characters. There is a depth and nuance to them that is typically not afforded to characters in most shows, and each member of the cast wears a mask that hides a deeply troubled past.
And it’s the fact that the show never lingers too long on the characters’ pasts that really sets it apart from other works. Most other shows center on the big, defining moments of the characters’ lives or—as is especially the case in anime—take a long time focusing on dramatic and convoluted backstories. I find that if you rewind time in Cowboy Bebop a few years, you’d find these very typical stories that you’ve seen again and again—Spike’s story as a criminal struggling to break free from a powerful crime syndicate, Jet’s story as the only straight cop in a corrupt system, Faye’s story as a young woman trapped in a world she doesn’t understand, robbed of the memories that define her life. Yet, we don’t get to see these stories outside mere glimpses, and instead we get to see three broken, worn-out adults desperately trying to get through their now mundane lives as best as they can. They’re constantly running away from their dark pasts, all except Edward who, as a 13-year old girl, doesn’t have a past to run away from. Instead she embodies all the youth and innocence that the adult members have long since lost, and I think it’s this very reason that the Bebop crew took her in in the first place.
Yet despite all that I’ve said, what’s amazing is that Cowboy Bebop isn’t the sad, lonely anime that I’m making it out to be, in fact only a small portion of it is. The vast majority of its episodes are simply wild and outrageous tales of the crew going after bounty heads, gunning down space aliens, and getting high off mushrooms. The show is kind of perfect in that there is a little bit of something for everybody. Action lovers will appreciate the really great action and choreography on display, mecha lovers will adore the detailed and beautifully drawn airships prevalent in the series, music lovers will fall in love with the bombastic and unique soundtrack, film lovers will smile at all the little references and nods to so many movies, lovers of great characterization will not be disappointed, and if you're a fan of that sweet, sweet cell-shaded 90's anime aesthetic, you're in for a treat.
There's an ebb and flow to these twenty-six episodic "sessions" that isn't found elsewhere, with episodes drastically changing genres like film noir, horror, blaxploitation, comedy, western, and crime drama. Plenty of these “lesser”, day-to-day episodes almost function as small pilot episodes for the guest characters who come into the lives of the Bebop’s crew, cause a crazy mess to happen all of sudden, and leave just as quickly. It paints this universe as one filled with real people, who have pasts just as complicated as Spike’s, Faye’s, and Jet’s. They are real people, with real wants and fears and desires: a young man who got involved with the wrong crowd in an attempt to cure his sister’s blindness, a couple desperately trying to escape into a better life than the slums they lived in, a man who cannot age and therefore cannot find peace, a girl who wants to see her father one last time and tell him that she loves him. These are all main characters of their own stories, but unlike the Bebop crew, they get to deal with their past. They get to move on.
And that’s what brings me to the scene I mentioned at the start of this essay—a beautiful send-off to a character we’ve barely known, a fallen warrior whose dying wish is nothing more than to return to a simpler time. Ultimately that’s the scene that really got to me, because that’s often what I see in myself. I often wish I could go back in time, back to a world where life wasn’t quite so difficult, where there wasn’t so much expected of me, where I wasn’t so disappointed with where I am now. Wouldn’t that be nice? It’s this same desire that I believe so many people of all ages and backgrounds can relate to and can find in these wonderful characters: Spike—a man who wants to go back to a time when his life wasn’t so messed up, Jet—a self-described “black dog” who clings so hard that he just can’t let go, and Faye—the loneliest woman alive who desperately wants to return to her stolen youth. It’s only when they finally learn to let go of these desires that eventually they, too, get to move on with their lives.
In the end, Cowboy Bebop isn’t just an anime. It doesn’t have a story to tell or a moral to teach. It’s not one of those pretentious works that’s so filled with weirdness and obscurity while trying desperately to force some bold question on the nature of mankind so that viewers think it obviously has to be a masterpiece. Rather, Cowboy Bebop is a work of art that feels like it was designed to truly capture every emotion and genre and aspect of life, from the melancholy of "Asteroid Blues" and "Ganymede Elegy" to the comedy of "Mushroom Samba" and "Cowboy Funk", from the wacky adventures of “Stray Dog Strut” to the classic noir of “Black Dog Serenade”, from the horror of "Pierrot le Fou" to the highly poignant "Jupiter Jazz". It’s a show with gorgeous animation and unique background art that paints the future as worn-out and tired, a parallel to the highly attractive character designs that mask the worn-out and tired people underneath. It’s a show that I’m sure I’ll constantly return to and find new things to relate to each time I do so. It’s a show that reminds me it’s okay to miss the simpler days, that I’ll probably be missing the simpler days all my life, and that eventually I’ll have to move on.
I’ll have to carry that weight.
Score: A+
That scene really got to me when I watched Cowboy Bebop for the first time, and even with the jaw-dropping animation of the episode, the wonderful characterization, the fantastic voice acting of the English dub (which I wholeheartedly recommend over the original Japanese, trust me on that), and the amazing music, it was that scene and the sense of pure melancholy and longing and desire to return to simpler times that really hit me on a deep and emotional level, and I think it’s this scene that really encapsulates why I love this show so much.
Cowboy Bebop was created in 1998 as the lovechild of director Shinichiro Watanabe, screenwriter Keiko Nobumoto, character designer Toshihiro Kawamoto, mechanical art designer Kimitoshi Yamane, and composer Yoko Kanno, collectively called the “Dream Team” due to the fact that each was considered a master in their respective disciplines, which is reflected in all aspects of the show from the striking character designs of the main cast to the moody, atmospheric backgrounds to the utterly amazing soundtrack, which can go from upbeat jazz to somber blues, all the while maintaining the distinctive voice that is Cowboy Bebop.
Set in the year 2071, the series follows the various misadventures of a ragtag team of bounty hunters in space—Spike Spiegel, Jet Black, Faye Valentine, and Edward—as they fly aboard their vessel, the Bebop. And while initially they all seem like typical tried-and-true archetypes—Spike is laid-back, cool, and cocky; Jet is the stern but caring leader; Faye is the token femme fatale; Edward is the eccentric tech whiz—these are among the most well-developed characters out of any work I've ever seen, to the point that I’m almost inclined to refer to them as people rather than characters. There is a depth and nuance to them that is typically not afforded to characters in most shows, and each member of the cast wears a mask that hides a deeply troubled past.
Yet despite all that I’ve said, what’s amazing is that Cowboy Bebop isn’t the sad, lonely anime that I’m making it out to be, in fact only a small portion of it is. The vast majority of its episodes are simply wild and outrageous tales of the crew going after bounty heads, gunning down space aliens, and getting high off mushrooms. The show is kind of perfect in that there is a little bit of something for everybody. Action lovers will appreciate the really great action and choreography on display, mecha lovers will adore the detailed and beautifully drawn airships prevalent in the series, music lovers will fall in love with the bombastic and unique soundtrack, film lovers will smile at all the little references and nods to so many movies, lovers of great characterization will not be disappointed, and if you're a fan of that sweet, sweet cell-shaded 90's anime aesthetic, you're in for a treat.
There's an ebb and flow to these twenty-six episodic "sessions" that isn't found elsewhere, with episodes drastically changing genres like film noir, horror, blaxploitation, comedy, western, and crime drama. Plenty of these “lesser”, day-to-day episodes almost function as small pilot episodes for the guest characters who come into the lives of the Bebop’s crew, cause a crazy mess to happen all of sudden, and leave just as quickly. It paints this universe as one filled with real people, who have pasts just as complicated as Spike’s, Faye’s, and Jet’s. They are real people, with real wants and fears and desires: a young man who got involved with the wrong crowd in an attempt to cure his sister’s blindness, a couple desperately trying to escape into a better life than the slums they lived in, a man who cannot age and therefore cannot find peace, a girl who wants to see her father one last time and tell him that she loves him. These are all main characters of their own stories, but unlike the Bebop crew, they get to deal with their past. They get to move on.
In the end, Cowboy Bebop isn’t just an anime. It doesn’t have a story to tell or a moral to teach. It’s not one of those pretentious works that’s so filled with weirdness and obscurity while trying desperately to force some bold question on the nature of mankind so that viewers think it obviously has to be a masterpiece. Rather, Cowboy Bebop is a work of art that feels like it was designed to truly capture every emotion and genre and aspect of life, from the melancholy of "Asteroid Blues" and "Ganymede Elegy" to the comedy of "Mushroom Samba" and "Cowboy Funk", from the wacky adventures of “Stray Dog Strut” to the classic noir of “Black Dog Serenade”, from the horror of "Pierrot le Fou" to the highly poignant "Jupiter Jazz". It’s a show with gorgeous animation and unique background art that paints the future as worn-out and tired, a parallel to the highly attractive character designs that mask the worn-out and tired people underneath. It’s a show that I’m sure I’ll constantly return to and find new things to relate to each time I do so. It’s a show that reminds me it’s okay to miss the simpler days, that I’ll probably be missing the simpler days all my life, and that eventually I’ll have to move on.
I’ll have to carry that weight.
Score: A+
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