Just wrapped up the surreal rollercoaster that is Junji Ito’s Uzumaki anime series, and let me tell you, it’s a spiral into madness in the most literal sense.
Every frame feels like a deliciously twisted fever dream, pulling you deeper and deeper into its eerie embrace.
If you thought you’d seen it all in horror, think again – this one unravels in ways you’ll never forget.
I’ve previously written about Junji Ito Maniac: Japanese Tales of the Macabre anime anthology series, and Uzumaki is as twisted as that, if not more.
There’s a peculiar magnetism of horror to it, especially when it manifests in such a unique and artful way.
Makes one questions what makes us willingly plunge into tales that unsettle and disturb? Why do we seek out stories designed to make our skin crawl?
Especially with the allure of the grotesque, the uncanny and the downright terrifying through the lens of Uzumaki and its broader implications on lifestyle and culture.
SPIRAL ALLURE
For those unfamiliar with Uzumaki (“spiral” in Japanese), it’s a story that takes a seemingly innocuous shape and twists it into a symbol of obsession, doom and existential dread.
Spirals appear everywhere in the series – in whirlpools, snail shells, hair and even human bodies. They start as curiosities but soon become harbingers of madness, sucking the inhabitants of the fictional town of Kurōzuchō into their vortex.
At first glance, this might seem absurd. How can something as simple as a spiral be terrifying? But therein lies its genius.
Junji Ito taps into a primal fear of the uncanny – the familiar turned strange.
The spiral’s infinite loop mirrors our own cyclical anxieties, whether it’s repetitive thoughts, daily routines or societal pressures.
It’s a shape that, once noticed, becomes impossible to unsee, much like the intrusive worries that sometimes spiral out of control in our own lives.
Horror, as a genre, has always served as a form of catharsis. It allows us to experience danger and dread from the safety of our sofas. By immersing ourselves in fictional terrors, we paradoxically feel more in control of our real-life anxieties.
The exaggerated metaphor for the fears that twist and tighten with us (much like the characters in Uzumaki), the fear of losing control, the fear of the unknown or even the fear of succumbing to societal expectations, externalised as grotesque as they may be can be oddly comforting.
It’s like holding up a mirror to our inner turmoil and realising that it, too, can be survived.
Of course, not everyone agrees. Some critics have accused the anime of pacing issues and a slightly stiff adaptation of Ito’s iconic manga art in episodes two to four.
Admittedly, there are moments when the animation feels like it’s struggling to capture the hypnotic horror of the manga, with one person saying they would’ve been happy if producers had stopped at just Episode One.
But honestly? I’d rather have a slightly imperfect spiral than none at all.
Despite the flaws, there’s still an undeniable beauty in the horror genre that shines through in the remaining episodes.
For me, it’s always been about the story and whether the imagery can still deliver the emotions and themes it sets out to convey.
I’d argue that the production successfully challenges the stereotype of horror being “lowbrow,” instead showcasing it as a medium rich with potential for profound storytelling and breathtaking visuals.
It’s this artistic depth that draws so many to series like Uzumaki, including those who might normally shy away from horror.
Sure, it wobbles now and then, but when it hits, it’s unforgettable – much like that one time I attempted to do yoga at home and ended up twisted in a way I’m still recovering from. (Who knew the human body could spiral?)
One of the most striking aspects of the anime is its aesthetic. The anime stays true to Junji Ito’s intricate and horrifying artwork, with every scene meticulously crafted to unsettle.
MACABRE ARTISTRY
Shadows dance unnaturally, faces contort into grotesque expressions, and the spirals themselves seem to writhe with a life of their own. It’s a visual feast for fans of the macabre.
Still, I can’t help but laugh at some of the over-the-top moments. There’s a scene involving a very unfortunate snail-human hybrid that had me equal parts horrified and thinking, “Well, at least they’re getting their daily dose of calcium.”
And isn’t that the joy of horror? It makes room for both terror and absurdity.
We already live in such a chaotic and overwhelming world, and horror provides a strange kind of clarity, stripping life down to its most basic elements: survival, fear and the will to overcome. – Izah Azahari