
In Quentin Tarantino’s 2003 movie Kill Bill: Volume 1, vengeful assassin The Bride (Uma Thurman) seeks a sword from the legendary swordsmith Hattori Hanzō (Sonny Chiba). “I need Japanese steel,” she says. “I have vermin to kill.” Hanzō has sworn off making instruments of death, but when he learns the vermin is his former student Bill (David Carradine), he consents to forge her a new sword. It is his finest work. The Bride accepts the beautiful weapon in a solemn ceremony, and she’s off on her murderous way. It’s one of the coolest scenes in a cool movie.
Twenty years later, another female assassin got her own version of a Japanese swordcrafting story, in Amber Noizumi and Michael Green’s Netflix animated series Blue Eye Samurai. Mizu (Maya Erskine) is a half-white, half-Japanese warrior in the Edo period, filled with bitterness at her rejection by Japanese society, posing as a man, and seeking vengeance against four devilish white men, any of whom might be her father. In flashback, we learn how she was taken in as a child by the blind swordsmith Eiji (Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa), whom she calls Swordfather. She learned smithing from him, and swordfighting from his customers. She forges a sword using metal from a meteorite, and sets off on her murderous quest.
[Ed. note: Major spoilers ahead for Blue Eye Samurai.]
In its very first episode, Blue Eye Samurai pays a bold, direct tribute to Kill Bill. A Mizu training montage is soundtracked by Tomoyasu Hotei’s “Battle Without Honor or Humanity,” the guitar instrumental that was an iconic needle drop in Tarantino’s film, and went on to become a ubiquitous, almost clichéd shorthand for determined preparation and ice-cool swagger. Quoting it in such a similar story seems both obvious and risky. What if Blue Eye Samurai doesn’t measure up?
But perhaps this is both sincere homage and gentle misdirection on Noizumi and Green’s part. Because Blue Eye Samurai’s swordcrafting arc goes an awful lot deeper than Kill Bill’s version, and the creators have much more on their minds.
A swordcrafting story beat has obvious, mythic appeal. It’s a rest stop on the hero’s journey that allows them to reflect and gather strength; the preparation of the weapon mirrors the hero’s preparation to use it — they’re both being “tempered” and “sharpened.” It’s also an origin story for the weapon that imbues both it and the hero’s quest with resonance. (In the case of Kill Bill, The Bride’s sword is imbued with Hattori Hanzō’s regret at the countless lives his swords have taken, and with the righteousness of The Bride’s quest to kill the deadly Bill.) Above all, it emphasizes what makes the weapon special — and by extension, what makes its bearer significant. It’s a power fantasy. As Hattori Hanzō tells The Bride: “If on your journey you should encounter God, God will be cut.” Cool.
At first, it seems as though Blue Eye Samurai is heading in the same direction as Kill Bill, especially considering the mythic dimension of the meteorite sword. But Noizumi and Green deepen and complicate the swordmaster-and-student dynamic, weaving in the show’s themes of identity and trauma. Master Eiji teaches Mizu how to beat the impurity out of the metal — but tells her not to push too far. “An impurity in the right place is a quality,” he tells the girl, whose racial identity and gender are both considered impurities in this era and country — flaws the blind swordsmith can’t see, or chooses to ignore.

But the meteorite metal defeats him. “No man can tame this cursed metal,” Eiji says. But Mizu does. At the end of the first episode, as she leaves her Swordfather to go on her quest for revenge, she raps her new sword on the floor, and its unmistakable ringing sound tells Eiji she has succeeded where he failed. Oddly, though, we don’t see her forge her mythic weapon — at least, not the first time. Although Blue Eye Samurai is a revenge narrative, and it’s plenty bloody, Noizumi and Green are aiming for something other than the violent catharsis Tarantino is so drawn to.
Mizu’s sword serves her well on her adventures, and the two of them leave a trail of lopped-off limbs and heads behind them. But in a climactic confrontation in episode 6, the villainous Abijah Fowler (Kenneth Branagh) fires his flintlock at Mizu, and the shot shatters the sword’s blade. In episode 7, a similarly shattered Mizu returns to Master Eiji to reforge her weapon. “Your sword broke because the blend was wrong,” he says. “It was too pure. The metal wants to be blended with new steel.” But, disappointed in the heedlessness of Mizu’s thirst for blood, he refuses to reforge it: “The fire in you rages beyond control. I have no steel for you.” In other words, he’s effectively saying, “Your sword is broken because you are.”
Mizu resolves to smelt her sword down herself in a kiln of her own making, but fails at first. She falls back on the reflexive self-hatred of anyone who’s suffered a lifetime of discrimination: “Perhaps a demon cannot make steel,” she says. Master Eiji encourages her to try again, and it’s only when she smelts the metal as her true self — naked, breasts unbound, skin inscribed with the Heart Sutra (a key Buddhist text) — that she succeeds.
“A sword from this steel could kill a god,” Master Eiji says, in another nod to Kill Bill. But crucially, Mizu declines to use it to forge a new blade. “You were right, I don’t deserve a sword, not yet,” she says, vowing to continue her quest without it. “You can determine if I am worthy of a sword of this metal made by your hand.”

This level of self-knowledge and self-denial does not fit into the usual templates for a revenge story, or a swordcrafting arc. With a gentleness and nuance quite foreign to the heroic dimensions of these stories, Blue Eye Samurai folds Mizu’s complex, human relationships with both Master Eiji and herself into what’s usually a far simpler preparing-for-battle sequence.
Mizu’s original meteorite sword was not revered for its perfection, but flawed by it. It was a pure tool of killing, made in hatred and self-rejection, and at the moment of truth, it broke. Paradoxically, Mizu earns the right to reforge it by understanding that she is not yet ready to. Instead, she asks her Swordfather to one day make it for her, because a sword accepted as a gift of love from one father would be more beautiful and honest than a sword forged in hate to kill another.
It’s bold to tell a swordcrafting story in which the sword doesn’t actually get made. Perhaps we’ll get to see it in the show’s second season. But Blue Eye Samurai has already shown that it isn’t just a typical power fantasy or revenge story, and the sword at its center has an unusual depth of symbolism. In season 1 of the show, Mizu takes the first step toward becoming the person the sword deserves. There’s still a long road ahead for both of them.
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