Twitter

Where to Stream:

Daredevil

The first thing you need to understand about ninjas is that “There’ll be more. Always more.” So says Stick, the grizzled old anti-ninja played by Scott Glenn, returning from his season one guest-star appearances and looking more like if beef jerky could be a handsome older gentleman than ever. And if “Guilty as Sin,” the eighth episode of Daredevil’s impressive second season, teaches us anything, it’s that he’s right. Ninjas!

More ninjas!

Even more ninjas!

Clancy Brown!

Wait, how did that slide get mixed in here?

Anyway, ninjas have been a staple of pop culture since the ’80s, and we largely have Daredevil to thank. Driven by his own interest in the subject, writer-artist Frank Miller introduced the archetype to Ol’ Hornhead’s ongoing comic-book series during his massively influential run, which not only introduced Stick, Elektra, and the Hand — not to mention setting up Wilson Fisk as Daredevil’s nemesis and drawing him into conflict with the Punisher — but also heavily shaped other ninja-heavy artifacts of the time, from the G.I. Joe action-figure/TV-show/toy line Hasbro developed in tandem with several of Miller’s Marvel Comics colleagues, to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, who were pretty much a straight-up Miller/Daredevil pastiche. (Stick became Splinter, the Hand became the Foot, the radioactive goop that gave Matt Murdock his powers also spilled on a rat and four turtles, you name it.)

What are we to make of their presence here, and in such abundance, when their presence is about as realistic a representation of Japanese culture as (to crib from writer Sam Kriss) a show in which Tokyo is invaded by cowboys would be of America’s? The simple answer is that they provide a certain pop-cultural kick in the pants, like cowboys, yeah, but also like pirates and robots and zombies and vampires and vikings with horns on their helmets. (In the comics, at least, the ninjas of the Hand really are zombies or vampires, in the sense that they’re undead.) There’s an uncomfortable Orientalism to the concept that makes ninjas impossible to deracinate, but at the same time the ninja concept was drawn from imaginations sparked by enthusiastically exported products of Asian action cinema rather than appropriated unilaterally, In other words, it’s complicated, but I think it’s safe to take largely at its supervillainous face value.

Primarily, though, they exist for this to happen:

Elektra’s presence in Matt Murdock’s life has been a baleful one at best. We learn this episode that their entire relationship was a mission given to her by Stick, an attempt to corrupt this good-hearted altar boy to make him a more useful weapon in the fight against the Hand. But in human terms, this is expressed by Elektra marveling at Matt’s character: “Why are you so good? There’s a light inside you. I tried to snuff it out in college. I’m so lucky I failed.” Later, she says, “I want to be with you, the only person in this world who believes I’m good.” If you’ve ever been with anyone profoundly damaged by their past, who sees a version of themselves reflected in your eyes they never believed possible — or if you’ve ever been that person — these words resonate more deeply than the blade of a ninja can cut.

As a matter of fact, of Daredevil’s most consistently impressive features is its ability to stage and shoot conversations in a visually engaging and communicative way. Take a look at the exchange between Matt and his mentor Stick in which the old man finally divulges the nature of “the war” he’s been issuing ominous warnings about for decades. First of all, what kind of recruitment technique is that? If you want to indoctrinate at-risk youth into your apocalyptic cult of holy-man assassins, you might try telling them the cool origin story at some point before they grow up and decide you’re a dangerous lunatic.

But second of all, the scene is shot with both intimacy and urgency. As the green-gold light that’s the show’s visual go-to bathes their faces, revealing Stick’s crags and crevices while simplifying Matt’s silhouette into a smooth and elegant series of curves, the camera moves almost constantly, up and down, back and forth, slowly enough not to make you seasick but emphatically enough to convey the lack of solid ground on which these two men’s relationship currently stands. This is only enhanced by the lack of the customary eyeline-match crosscutting; the basic pattern is there, but since these are two blind men, no eye contact is implied, leaving you unmoored in the words rather than rooted in their experience of each other. Throughout, Stick is usually placed at the far left side of the frame, while Matt will alternately be shortsighted toward that end of the screen or situated on the opposite side, again evoking his competing curiosity and skepticism. Forget the ninja stuff — this is fight choreography, alright.

Attention to detail in areas like this renders relatively sloppy work elsewhere somewhat more forgivable. Once case in point is, well, the case in point: the trial of Frank Castle, which ends in an uproar, a spontaneous guilty plea, and a thoroughgoing debacle for the law firm of Nelson & Murdock. The sequence is shot through with absurdities, from the spectacle of placard-holding protestors inside the courtroom to Matt giving what amounts to a closing statement in praise of the virtue of vigilantism in lieu of actually asking his star witness anything. If you’ve seen so much a single episode of Law & Order — and given the presence of one-time SVU star Michelle Hurd as Attorney General Reyes, the show’s more than likely on your mental radar anyway — the phrase “Objection, your honor—is there a question here?” should have sprung to mind faster than a speeding shuriken. I’ve often written that in superhero stories and other works of fantastic fiction, suspension of disbelief and a willingness to overlook logical flaws go hand in hand with compensatory values elsewhere in the work; Daredevil’s strengths are considerable enough that complaining about stuff like this feels like nitpicking rather than slam-dunking. Still, it would be nice if the show had used the trial as more than a means to the dual ends of ratcheting up the tension between Matt and his colleague and placing the Punisher within arm’s reach of Wilson Fisk.

That’s right — the Kingpin’s back! I’m watching these episodes one day at a time, so the fact that Vincent D’Onofrio’s return in a role he made utterly, inimitably his own hadn’t been spoiled for me is a minor miracle. My resultant glee is largely critic-proof, even though I myself am a critic: I love this character, love this performance, love that he’s returned, love that he’ll be interacting with Jon Bernthal’s mad and melancholy Punisher. I’m excited for the next episode. See you tomorrow. No spoilers, please!

[Watch Daredevil on Netflix]
Sean T. Collins (@theseantcollins) is a freelance writer who lives with Diet Coke and his daughter, not necessarily in that order, on Long Island. He also recaps Showtime’s The Affair and HBO’s The Leftovers for Decider.