The Tragedy of Chainsaw Man

By Elijah Gonzalez | October 24, 2025 | 10:08am

Anime Features Chainsaw Man

It feels like a bit of an understatement to say that Tatsuki Fujimoto, the manga author behind Chainsaw Man, Fire Punch, Look Back, Goodbye, Eri, and more, has a distinct voice. His work is known for blending disparate tones and subject matter, whiplashing between cartoonish hyperviolence and slice-of-life humor within the span of a few panels.

For instance, a teenager with a chainsaw for a head will battle a tornado monster while riding a shark, only for the narrative to later deliver a full-throated criticism of American imperialism and warmongering. He tends to write dirtbag characters, but imbues them with enough humanity and likable qualities that we can’t help but grow attached. And he has a tendency to build up a storyline, only to suddenly pivot in another direction entirely, abandoning traditional plot structure as he zips to an unexpected conclusion (fans have taken to calling this “Fujimoto pacing”).

While the latest adaptation of his work, Chainsaw Man – The Movie: Reze Arc, has all of these qualities, it’s particularly focused on what’s arguably his calling card: tragedy. Whether grandiose or personal, virtually all of his stories are centered around tragedy to some degree, and that same downward pull is felt in MAPPA’s latest adaptation of the series, which moves us towards emotional devastation with every awkward kiss and gruesome decapitation.

As its name implies, Reze Arc does, in fact, cover this arc of the same name from the manga, which goes from chapters 39 to 52. Things begin as Denji has a meet-cute with a mysterious girl named Reze; she’s the first girl his age that’s ever given him the time of day. Before long, he’s visiting the café she works at every day, so much so that he begins to question his affections for his boss, Makima (a sociopath who is very clearly grooming him and using him for his powers—more on that in a bit).

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While the manga endears us to this relationship in just a few chapters, the film takes its time, slowing down the pacing to let us stew in their feelings. For instance, after Reze and Denji meet for the first time in the source material, there are four quick panels of her walking to work—half a page. The anime stretches out this stroll, focusing on the details of the scenery—a winding staircase followed by a long alleyway—as Reze’s motions are brought to life with fluid character animation that grounds us in the scene. Later, we watch as the pair sneak into a school pool and Reze teaches Denji to swim, moonlight bouncing off the water. The framing and storyboarding remain intimate, and even as we get Denji’s comedic monologues, the relationship between them feels increasingly genuine, increasingly real.

Chainsaw Man explained

And then of course, Reze gruesomely bites off Denji’s tongue, and they have to fight to the death. On the one hand, the action scenes in this film are downright jaw-dropping, a kinesthetic feast of whirling chainsaws and head-exploding powers that never lets up, sometimes switching to a looser art style but never losing its sense of impact or style—there are moments I barely remember from the manga, like the ridiculous Sharknado fight, that are given such lavish care here.

But what makes this elongated battle avoid wearing out its welcome is the relationship between its two main combatants, as we wonder why Reze needs to steal Chainsaw Man’s heart in the first place. We learn in a throwaway line that it’s apparently to serve the Gun Devil, the looming big bad of the series, but the specifics remain vague. Whatever the reason, there’s an immediate tragedy to the two fighting, something that only grows more devastating as we learn the truth of the situation.

Throughout the film, Reze points out how abnormal Denji’s life is; after gaining the powers of the Chainsaw Devil, he’s forced to serve the Japanese government’s Public Safety division, with the threat of being executed if he deviates. As a kid who grew up in abject poverty due to his father’s gambling debts, Denji has never known a “normal” life, and thus lacks the context as to how a sixteen-year-old should be enjoying high school rather than hunting monsters for the government. Basically, he’s so glad to have three meals and a roof over his head that he can’t tell he’s being exploited.

Meanwhile, he’s being groomed by his adult boss, Makima, who is clearly playing to his loneliness and desperation by dangling the potential of a relationship if he does what she wants. From the jump, the series is about exploitation along lines of class, and how, instead of helping those who need it most, the state will bend those most vulnerable to commit acts of violence on its behalf.

Of course, the irony of the situation is that while Reze is the one to vocalize the abnormality of the situation to Denji, she happens to be in the exact same situation; in fact, her backstory is somehow worse. At the end of the film—and I think this is the one area where the movie would have benefited from showing us instead of telling—Kishibe reveals who she actually is: a victim of a Soviet training program that aimed to turn orphans into weapons. She doesn’t even have a real name, and the name of the film’s ending theme, “Jane Doe,” is an allusion to this. Just like Denji, Reze has never known what it’s like to be a normal kid, making her statements about his messed-up situation as much a self-reflection as a comment on his circumstances.

In general, the film has a great sense of symmetry. Obviously, both Denji and Reze have weapon-themed alter-egos, Chainsaw Man and Bomb Girl, their grisly deeds making them even more of a match, in a twisted sort of way. Their final battle is one that ends with them in the water, calling back to their late-night swim. It all creates a sense of fatalistic momentum towards the final bit of narrative bookending, as Reze makes her fatal choice.

As she bails on her clean getaway to go see Denji at the café, we return to that same painstakingly animated walk from earlier in the film—through the winding staircase and down the long alleyway. She’s reversed her decision and chosen to be like the “city mouse” (living in an exciting situation, but in constant danger), like Denji, instead of the “country mouse” (living in a boring but safe situation) from the Aesop Fable she previously explained.

But then, just as the café and Denji are in sight, Makima has her impaled with a spear. “Denji. Truth us… I’ve never gone to school either,” she says as she bleeds out on the pavement.

These two children were orphaned, abused by their governments, turned into weapons, and then forced to fight each other to the death. And even when they miraculously chose to save instead of kill one another, this too is taken away by the very same person who is exploiting Denji.

It’s one of the first true tragic moments in Chainsaw Man, but certainly not the last, and it works as a perfect encapsulation of Fujimoto’s ability to endear us to flawed, amoral characters, before tearing our hearts out, leaving a trail of deep red viscera behind; as one shot in the movie visualizes, the alley between Denji and Reze stretches on forever, never to be crossed.

Apparently, in ancient Greek theater, it was common to follow up a tragedy with a satyr play, a lighthearted performance meant to lift the audience’s spirits. The after-credits scene of this film has the same purpose, with a comedic appearance from the best character in the show, the blood fiend Power, who had been missing for the entirety of the movie. It lightens the load a bit, but that heaviness doesn’t fully go away.

Fujimoto has many gifts (and some flaws, too) as a writer, but perhaps his biggest strength is how he turned a story about a horny teenager who sprouts chainsaws from his body into one of the preeminent tragedies of the moment.

Elijah Gonzalez is an associate editor for Endless Mode. In addition to playing the latest, he also loves anime, movies, and dreaming of the day he finally gets through all the Like a Dragon games. You can follow him on Bluesky @elijahgonzalez.bsky.social.