‘Shogun’ Episode 5 Recap: Communication Breakdown

Episode 5: ‘Broken to the Fist’

Sometimes there’s nothing worse than a miracle. On this week’s episode of “Shogun,” Lady Mariko is shocked when her lord husband, Buntaro, emerges unscathed from what seemed like certain death at the hands of Lord Ishido’s soldiers back in Osaka. Though a brave and formidable warrior, he’s also a emotionally and physically abusive husband. To Buntaro, being forced to share a house with a barbarian like John Blackthorne is like living in the monkey house at a zoo. What he would do if he found out about the clandestine dalliance between Blackthorne and Mariko is all too obvious.

Buntaro’s disgust with the Anjin is easy enough to explain. But his contempt for Mariko — on display during a drunken target practice when he laces arrows millimeters past her face —is part and parcel of his contempt for her entire family. In violation of virtually every shibboleth governing the conduct of samurai, her father assassinated a brutal lord for the sake of the realm. Mariko’s entire family was executed for it — by her father, who committed seppuku after being forced to carry out the act. Mariko wished to fight and die to avenge this injustice, but Buntaro has ordered her to live. She does this while offering him no emotional response to his importunities whatsoever.

To Blackthorne, who cannot fully grasp the concept of the eightfold fence, it sounds like a miserable existence — and to be fair to the Anjin, Mariko has given him little reason to believe otherwise. “You’d die to avenge your father,” he says. “You live in anguish to spite your husband. What becomes of you?” Does she not crave the freedom of self that Englishmen like him enjoy? She wouldn’t enjoy that kind of freedom, Mariko retorts, because it’s a prison of its own. “If freedom is all you ever live for,” she says, “you will never be free of yourself.”

By the time they have this bitter conversation, Blackthorne has come to rue intensely what he perceives to be Japan’s absence of freedom. In an attempt to capture the flavors of home, he allows a pheasant to rot outside his house — the better, he says, to prepare it for stew. For a while, the bird’s stench and the flies it attracts are the stuff of comedy, as is Blackthorne’s complete inability to talk to his consort Lady Fuji about it without Mariko around to translate. (His inability to make himself understood absent Mariko’s aid will become important later.)

The miscommunication, however, turns fatal. Seizing the few words he knows, Blackthorne hyperbolically says that anyone who touches the pheasant in defiance of his wishes will die. The servants have no choice but to take his words literally, just as they have no choice but to remove anything that upsets the harmony of the village as much as that stinking bird.

So it falls to Blackthorne’s favorite employee, the old gardener Uejiro (Junichi Tajiri), to dispose of the bird, and then kill himself for disobeying the Hatamoto. Blackthorne is naturally horrified. Had anyone asked him — had anyone been able to ask him, that is, and had he been able to reply — he would have simply said it was no big deal. Instead, Uejiro died for nothing.