In the opening scene of Human Vapor, the first collaboration between Netflix and historic Japanese company Toho, Korean showrunner Yeon Sang-ho and Japanese director Shinzo Katayama deftly establish how science-fiction has scaled up since 1960, the release year of the original The Human Vapor film.
We meet harried but dedicated reporter Kyoko Kono (Yû Aoi) interviewing a scientist about his new method of biomass power on live Japanese television when a strange and self-directing vapor infiltrates the studio, slipping under the scientist’s clothes and into his airways. All hell breaks loose: the autonomous, aggressive vapor floods his body, suspending him high in the air. His clothes stretch and his legs twitch as the vapor forces itself down his throat—before he explodes, blood and viscera raining down on the studio.
Rendered with vivid, pulsating CG effects, this is an explicit and attention-grabbing moment of body-horror, and viewers who only know the simplest contextual details about the series before they hit play—that it’s based on an old Japanese sci-fi film—will realize this reboot is not beholden to the style and restraint of a ‘60s monster movie. (The fact that the vapor-triggered combustion is broadcast live itself feels like a comment on the type of extreme material that you see on television nowadays.) This happens before we even meet the titular Human Vapor, a sinister suited man who can shift between physical and gaseous form responsible for a mysterious killing spree. But how does the Netflix series expand the scope of the original film by the original Godzilla director Ishirō Honda and special effects pioneer Eiji Tsuburaya, and how faithful is the show to its beguiling murderous villain?
The Human Vapor is a tokusatsu film, which literally translates as “special photography” and refers to Japanese film and television that makes prominent use of practical special effects. Think monster suits, miniature battlefields and cityscape
