Hey Wisecrack, Jared here and today we’re
talking the ultimate one
hit wonder, - One Punch Man. One Punch Man is unlike any anime you’ve
ever seen. For one thing, the show parodies just about
every trope in the genre. We might examine this in a future episode,
so be on the lookout for that. Today, however, we’re looking at another
way the show is unusual: there’s pretty much no drama. After you’ve seen one or two episodes, you
know how practically all of them are going to end: with a big-a** punch and a yawn from the
titular One Punch Man. So how does the show remain interesting? Well, that’s where it gets pretty smart. Not only does it provide a hilarious take
on anime but also a more subtle take on where humanity is going as a civilization. Welcome to this Wisecrack Edition on the Philosophy
of One Punch Man. As always, spoilers ahead. Our protagonist is Saitama. Once a disillusioned young man with a full
head of hair searching for a job in business, "I'm no business man, I'm unemployed. Right now I'm looking for a job." he discovers a love for hero work that lights
a fire in his eyes. But three years later, the thrill is gone,
along with that luscious hair. While he claims to be a “hero for fun,”
Saitama doesn’t seem to be enjoying it much. "Well, that was lame." That’s because he’s become so powerful
that he can defeat any enemy with a single swing. Ever try to play Mortal Kombat against your
mom? It’s not fun. That’s what it’s like for Saitama every
time he fights. "What the- I didn't even see what happened." It would be easy to conclude from Saitama’s
vacant expression and resigned demeanor that this is a show about boredom. Boredom is certainly a prevalent theme. But what the show really focuses on is conflict
- specifically, imagining a world without it. In doing so it highlights the importance of
conflict not only to a fictional story, but to human experience. The show’s abnormal story structure is key
to understanding its message. Conventional narratives, whether from a horror
movie, sitcom, or action flick, are driven by conflict. In his book Story, screenwriting guru Robert
McKee explains: “The music of story is conflict...as long as conflict is progressing and building
in the story, it moves forward in time.” Without conflict, the characters aren’t
motivated to do anything. Thus, in a typical narrative, there’s an
overarching problem that gives the characters some purpose. Find the bomb before it explodes. Survive detention. Impress the girl who’s out of your league. "Over the course of the story, the heroes
of these tales meet obstacles that force them to change and grow. Each of these mini-conflicts drives the narrative
forward towards the climax of the story. We can illustrate this with countless examples,
but let’s go with a classic: the original Star Wars trilogy. When we meet Luke Skywalker, he’s an ambitious but inexperienced youth who dreams of adventure. He faces constant challenges - the death of
Obi-Wan, the loss of his hand, finding out that the hot princess is really his sister. "Leia." As he overcomes these obstacles, he reaches
greater heights as a character, all in preparation for his showdown with Darth Vader. This kind of development doesn’t happen
in One Punch Man because, well, Saitama is too damn strong. Unlike Luke, he decimates any conflict with
one swing of his fist. Worse, he knows he can’t lose, so he doesn’t
even benefit from the fear of defeat. Absent any adversity, he has nothing to strive
for. So, with the exception of a brief flashback
to his origin story, he’s basically the same guy throughout the series. Even Saitama’s training regiment, usually
an opportunity to depict a character’s mental and physical development, is just the same
thing every day - there’s no progression. "One hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, and one hundred squats." "Then a ten kilometer run. Do it every single day! As superhero power sources go, it’s pretty
pedestrian, which appears to foreclose the possibility that he has any secrets to reveal. Since Saitama is immune to conflict, the bulk
of the episodes don’t really focus on him. He’s either not present during most of the
big battles or he’s relegated to a passive observer. "You saved me. You're pretty amazing aren't you." Instead, they focus on the supporting characters,
establishing their backstories and placing them in challenging situations. Genos presents a classic character
arc: the wandering warrior with a chip on his shoulder convinces a reluctant teacher
to impart secrets of great power, "Please teach me the way to become strong like you are." also this warrior can tap his inner beast-mode and avenge past injustices. "I have an old enemy who must be defeated at all costs. Thought the battle is not for me alone, it is for my entire hometown and productively single as well." Think Karate Kid, or the Bride and Pei-Mei
from Kill Bill, or again, Luke Skywalker. Even the villains’ motivations are developed
- like Dr. Genus, whose dismissal by the scientific community compels him to spend 50 grueling
years trying to unlock the key to humanity's evolution, "It's all over, there's no one in this world who can stop my glorious creation." all for it to be undercut by one
lackluster punch. "I think I'm finished dabbling with evolution." Saitama’s motivations, in contrast, are
mundane. He’s just doing all this for fun! "I'm just a guy who's a hero for the fun of it." His powers don’t spring from some deep-seated
pain in his past - he just did a bunch of exercise. The ease with which he reached superhero status
robs the supporting characters of any meaning they’ve derived from their struggles. "I did not ask to study under you to hear jokes!" And they get pretty pissed off about it. "You say you do this for fun? For fun? How dare you confront Mother Earth's apostle for such a mindless reason." Worse, whenever these characters get any kind
of narrative traction, "My species won the struggle for survival. We possess the ultimate in regenerative ability." Saitama is there to whip the carpet out from under them. "Blah, blah, blah. Boring me out of my mind." Just when Vaccine Man’s rage is at its peak,
Saitama floors him with one punch, and all the dramatic tension built up over the last
several minutes evaporates. The same thing happens with Genos in Episode
2. As he fights Mosquito Girl we learn about
his character. His desire to minimize collateral damage establishes
him as a good guy. "When I first spotted her, I confirmed that there were no living beings within 500 meters in all directions." He perseveres, even when Mosquito Girl claims
one of his arms. Despite the admirable qualities we’ve discovered
in Genos, Mosquito Girl is too powerful for him. But Genos has one final move: he plays the
martyr and prepares to self-destruct and save the city. "I let my guard down, I have no chance of winning, all I can do is self destruct. Forgive me, doctor." We’re trained to recognize this as the emotional
climax of the episode. But just as he’s charging up for his big
moment, Saitama arrives, and destroys the villain with ease, rendering Genos’s struggle irrelevant. Every creative writing student learns early
in their education to avoid this kind of narrative bail-out. It’s called a deus ex machina, a plot device
whereby a character, object, or event swoops in to solve a problem that had appeared unsolvable. For example, in War of the Worlds, a seemingly
unstoppable alien race decimates the Earth for the entire film, only to drop dead en
masse at the very end because they can’t handle Earth’s bacteria. Saitama is a human deus ex machina - when
the situation is at its most dire, he just pops in to save the day with his unbeatable punch
- over and over again. When a conflict fizzles out like this, we
don’t only lose the narrative momentum. We’re also deprived the opportunity for
catharsis. Catharsis is the emotional release of repressed
emotions, and it’s a big part of how we relate to stories. We connect emotionally to narratives. We celebrate the hero’s victories and commiserate
at their defeats. By the time we get to the climax of the story,
we are set up for a big emotional payoff. Did you tear up when you found out Quill’s
mother called him her little Starlord? "My little starlord." How about at the end of Toy Story 3? Of course you did - you’re not made of stone! We respond emotionally because we relate in
some way to the character or the predicament they’re in. In his essay “Narrating Pain,” philosopher Richard Kearney discusses how story permits us to “repeat
the past forward.” Through the actions and personas of characters
we can revisit our own lives and past experiences. We feel sympathy for Genos, whose sad story
may remind us what it’s like to lose a family member. "He even took the lives of everyone in my family." Our feelings of encouragement for the Mumen
Rider may stem from our own experience trying to measure up to someone that’s bigger,
smarter, or stronger than us. We don’t simply feel empathy for these characters,
we’re working out some of our own issues too. We see particularly good examples of this
in Japanese media. In post WW2 Japan, for instance, the father
of Japanese professional wrestling, a guy named Rikidozan, would fight American wrestlers
styled as cheaters and villains. Watching Rikidozan struggle, persevere, and
ultimately beat the American fighters allowed the Japanese to release some of the emotions
associated with the war. To some extent, kaiju movies such as Godzilla,
which depicted mass devastation akin to the havoc wreaked by the atomic bomb, served the
same function. And it’s not just a Japanese thing. Following 9/11, American cinema produced numerous
films that tapped into the emotions associated with terrorist attacks. One Punch Man is precisely the opposite - "My acid breath will melt you into a pile of fleshy pulp." it’s the anti-catharsis. Sure, it LOOKS like some of those Japanese
kaiju movies on the surface. But since Saitama can destroy any enemy with
minimal effort, we don’t feel the drama of those threats in the same way Japanese
filmgoers did when they watched Godzilla stomping all over Tokyo. We just shrug it off, like Saitama does after
destroying the meteor. "Stop worrying about it. I think we kept the damage to a minimum. Since no one died we should just call it a win." The show has a lot of fun playing the role
of emotional spoiler. It goes out of its way to push our buttons,
priming us for a big release...then depriving us of it. We root for the Mumen Rider because he’s
an earnest underdog, clearly less powerful than the big bad S-class heroes. I mean he rides a bicycle for god’s sake. "The Bicycle is for justice!" When he works himself into a lather before
a crowd of cheering onlookers, and attacks a powerful foe despite the inevitability of
his failure, we’re supposed to root for him too. "It's not about winning or losing, it's about me taking you on right here and right now." "You're the cyclist for justice! You can beat him! I believe in you!" When the Sea King beats him down, instead
of some recognition of the drama of the situation, we get: "Nice fight man, you should be proud of yourself." Totally anticlimactic. Of course, all this is supposed to be funny,
and it is. But the show isn’t just playing for laughs. It’s highlighting what’s missing in a
life without conflict. Japanese theorist Masahiro Morioka has observed
the way our civilization’s drive to minimize pain and discomfort has actually drained value
from our lives. By and large, life is easier than it’s ever
been. On the surface, it may seem that our ability
to reduce pain is good, because it’s enabled us to increase our pleasure and comfort. But to Morioka, in doing so we gradually “lose
the opportunity of experiencing the joy of life that comes from encountering an unwanted
situation and being forced to transform ourselves to find a new way of thinking and being…” The show provides a great illustration of
Morioka when Saitama recalls his first battle against Crablante. The win means something to Saitama because
he has to struggle to achieve it. Flash-forward three years, and we see Saitama
considering some pre-packaged crab at the supermarket. This juxtaposition perfectly depicts how modern
life has managed to iron out any hardships. Clearly, Saitama would prefer to work for
his seafood. Through the lens of Morioka, we see that Saitama’s
frustration stems not only from boredom, but from his inability to change and progress
through failure and pain. This is clear from the first episode, when
Saitama defeats Vaccine Man and experiences not triumph, but frustration. "Not again. All it took was one punch. Daammnn itttt!" Without any meaningful hardship, his life
has become devoid of purpose. Just as a story requires conflict to progress,
so does a human being. The idea that ease detracts from life’s
value is articulated again when Saitama reacts to the Paradisers’ manifesto. "We will continue to riot until food, clothing, and shelter are provided free of charge for those who do not work." "Sounds pretty boring." For these villains, paradise means success
with no effort. Saitama has this, and he thinks it sucks. "I've become too strong." Morioka agrees, writing that “a civilization
without pain and suffering seems to be the ideal of the human race. However, I wonder if people might end up with
losing sight of joy, and forgetting the meaning of life, in a society pervaded by pain reduction
mechanisms and filled with pleasure.” In the last episode of season 1, it appears
that Saitama may have finally met a genuine challenger - finally, an enemy who can take
a punch! Even multiple punches! "Consecutive normal punches." But it turns out that Saitama’s been holding
back the whole time. "In that case I'll use my own final move. Killer move serious series. Serious punch! Yup, life’s still meaningless. "You're just too strong." And so, in the dead fish stare of Saitama
perhaps we find a warning: don’t get too comfortable. Be grateful for your failures, and embrace
your pain and suffering, because without it, life has no meaning. "Oh come on. I'm back to one punch again? Daaamnn ittttt!"
His analysis seems to be based on the dubbed version, which has a different emotional tone and hence interpretation. The real conflict in the story is not in the fights most of the time. The conflict is in the tension between Saitama's values and desires. He wants recognition and money, but also has a code of ethics towards how he treats others, which conflicts with his desires, most notably when he sacrificed his reputation after the Sea King fight. He is also beginning to develop emotional connections with other characters, which is a further source of conflict.
Well, Saitama does experience conflict from his obscurity. That's what his heroes journey revolves around, receiving the recognition and respect his heroic deeds entails. He could of course avoid that if he simply stuck around a bit after defeating monsters, and toyed with them a bit to show off how amazing he is. He seems to go out of his way to cover up his heroics at times, like when Genos asked him where he got all that seaweed from, and he lied and said it was on sale. Though, I guess that might have been because Saitama didn't want Genos to know they were eating monster parts for dinner.
In short, Saitama's greatest enemy is his own modesty and social awkwardness. The strongest man in the galaxy, and most just see him as a bald dweeb in a yellow onesie.
Interesting but weakly connected to the souce material. Rather than an interpretation of OPM, these are thoughts inspired by OPM.
As for the "real meaning" of the manga... firstly, I'm not sure we can find any one single main theme. If there was one, it would probably be that this is entertaining and fun; for the rest, it seems like ONE just tells us whatever he feels like telling us. But I think /u/Jirakrich is really onto something:
Indeed, Saitama often has a buddha-like presence, dispensing not only swift justice, but also nuggets of wisdom.
This is what happens when you read too much Robert McKee and believe you understand story telling without really experiencing it. I find that one punch man provides heaps of catharsis precisely because it destroys the trappings of over serious, self important characters who have little to no substance, much like Robert McKee and any other script doctors who profess some kind of strict universal "guidelines" that are totally not hard rules that you just have to totally abide by becuase they say so.
In fact OPM provides the opposite effect, providing catharsis by directly parodying popular writing tropes of the genre and literally destroying them with a single punch by a bald headed guy who is more worried about his groceries than any facile sense of of self importance or grand personal narrative.
Nice, I am a fan of this channel. Love his Rick and Morty videos.
Had only seen OPM memes in passing on various sites of the internet. Came across this clip on YouTube today and figured I'd give the show a go. Gotta admit, probably one of my favourites now.
Rat farts, beat me too it.
What was really disturbing was the special episode where the bank was robbed , his behaviour was simply incoherent and borderline psychotic
I would be annoyed by this but knowing this guy didnt even bother watching the original sub, its not worth considering his view on it.