On December 11th, 1960, Toho released The Human Vapor, the third and last instalment in their “Transforming Human” series of sci-fi features (following 1958โs The H-Man and 1960โs The Secret of the Telegian). Written by Kimura Takeshi, directed by Honda Ishiro, and counting on Tsuburaya Eiji’s visual effects (quick reminder that Ishiro and Tsuburaya also made up the creative team behind 1954’s Godzilla), The Human Vapor was an absolute critical and commercial success.
Even though The Human Vapor hasn’t garnered the widespread fame of his kaiju sibling, it’s become a highly regarded cult classic. After all, Honda’s character-centred direction, Kimura’s politically charged script, and Tsuburaya’s pioneering effects pushed the boundaries of sci-fi thrillers to devise a story that is more than the sum of its fantastical elements. More than a tokusatsu (lit. “special effects”), The Human Vapor is a tragic love story guided by moral ambiguity, oppression, and misguided attempts at connection.
Cut to July 2nd, 2026. Netflix brings Human Vapor back from its gaseous sleep as an eight-episode series directed by Katayama Shinzo and penned by Yeon Sang-ho, who also served as the production’s showrunner, and Ryu Yong-jae. Netflix’s Human Vapor is less a reboot or remake of Honda’s The Human Vapor and more a complete reimagining that pays wholehearted homage to its original source.
Besides sharpening Tsuburaya’s effects, Human Vapor embraces the political tone of Kimura’s work and the dramatic heart of Honda’s vision to create a modern, resonant, and heartbreakingly tragic social thriller. This is a well-executed and confidently delivered series that recognises its origins, but dares to assert its own contemporary identity.
This review contains very, very mild spoilers. But if you’d rather keep things spoiler-free, why don’t you pin our summary? It’s at the bottom!
Beyond Sci-Fi, a Poignant (and Opinionated) Human Drama
Human Vapor opens with Kono Kyoko (an exceptional Aoi Yu), a tenacious reporter rushing to join her news broadcast at JNT News Centre. She is interviewing a university professor about his work on biomass, and, despite her last-minute arrival at the studio, a composed and more-than-ready Kyoko goes live without a hitch. But a couple of minutes later, things go awry: a cloud of vapour quietly creeps into the studio and slides into the professor’s nostrils. Reporters, camerapeople, and audiences at home watch in utter horror as the show’s guest gradually swells up and upโฆ until he โ quite literally โ explodes on live TV.
Not for the faint-hearted, I know. The crime scene detective Okamoto Kenji (the great Oguri Shun) encounters is a complete mess of blood, guts, and body parts. Before the police can even begin to guess how or why such a thing would happen, news outlets all around Tokyo receive a video message from the “Human Vapor” (UTA’s impressive debut role), a young man in a blue suit who claims responsibility for the murder and makes it clear that he’s only getting started.
Is the Human Vapor an evil monster out on an indiscriminate killing spree? Not really. Slowly, the mystery changes shape from a chase after a wicked serial killer to a labyrinthine investigation into a wide web of corruption, cruelty, and injustice. The narrative then unfolds through three intertwining storylines as Kyoko, Kenji, and YouTuber siblings Fujikawa Kaho (Hirose Suzu) and Fujita (Hayashi Kento) each pursue their own means of finding the answers they seek.
Human Vapor blurs the line between victim and perpetrator, portraying the kind of dog-eat-dog world in which empathy and selflessness are nothing but utopian concepts. Every sequence in Human Vapor, no matter how small or seemingly unimportant, reflects this bleak perspective on society. Beyond unscrupulous politicians and crooked police officers, the universe of this series is also populated by small restaurant owners who shamelessly abuse their immigrant employees in front of their patrons, alcoholic journalists who demand money for their shady reports, YouTubers willing to do anything for a viral hit, and B-grade film directors mistreating their staff.
The marginalised are constantly and openly exploited and seen as less than human. The existence of a living being, especially of one that is forgotten and excluded by society, isn’t worth much in a world where money and violence reign supreme. This examination of systemic oppression and social division beats at the very heart of Human Vapor, whose protagonists’ principles, wounds, and desires get entangled in vicious cycles marked by moral ambiguity, urgency, and precarity.
Despite their own weaknesses and mistakes, Kyoko, Kenji, and Kaho are the ones who bring a touch of compassion back into this story. They are steadfast in their beliefs, restoring the humanity that the powerful, time and time again, take away from the powerless. All three are given excellent internal, interpersonal, and external conflicts that not only make them into well-rounded characters but also move the narrative forward with dynamism and purpose.
Human Vapor is then “a story about people“, as showrunner Yeon describes it. Kyoko’s character is given a particularly touching backstory, but the role that steals the spotlight is that of the Human Vapor himself. UTA offers a powerful delivery of such a complex character, a “murderous monster” created by the self-serving, brutal, and avaricious society that surrounds him.
Far from a villain, the Human Vapor is nothing but a victim who continues to be exploited, no matter the shape he finds himself in. The most fantastical of all characters in the series turns out to be the most human, the one with the kindest heart and most gentle soul, which flawlessly reflects the tone of tragic inevitability from the original film. It also invites us to question what makes one human and what makes one truly monstrous, whether violence is ever justified, and why we โ as a society โ keep disregarding the pain and suffering of those at a social disadvantage.
Even though Human Vapor could have used the Fujikawa siblings in a slightly different way to avoid the lull in the middle episodes, this is a mostly tight and certainly well-structured narrative that knows how to blend the poignancy of a human drama with the exhilaration of a sci-fi thriller. The script values its most intimate and personal beats without ever letting go of its social commentary, offering tiny sparks of light within the endless darkness of this universe.
This series manages to deliver so much also thanks to Katayama’s sharp direction, Kataoka Hazuki’s precise and rhythmical editing, Ikeda Naoya’s superb cinematography, and Ohmama Takashi’s quirky (and kaiju-inspired) score. The cast is excellent, especially as they perform alongside the show’s remarkable visual effects, which were skilfully and painstakingly created by the Shirogumi studio (throughout 48,000 working hours!).
Should You Watch Human Vapor?
Human Vapor won’t be everyone’s cup of tea: it’s grim, violent, and devastatingly sad. Its cynical and unforgivingly harrowing tone remains unflinching throughout its eight episodes, which means that this isn’t a particularly easy watch. But what makes it truly special is that it refuses to be a mere visual spectacle and, instead, strives to be the kind of story that leaves its audience with quite a bit of food for thought. It cares about its characters beyond the fantasy that influences their fate, and it proudly honours Honda’s The Human Vapor, creating a riveting conversation between the themes that guided the cult classic and our contemporary social issues.
If you’re up for the challenge, Human Vapor proves to be nothing short of an intoxicating journey of loss, love, and cruel madness.
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