Pages, Cels, Stories: The Count of Monte Cristo and Gankutsuou

“I have come from a planet called sorrow.”

In many ways, The Count of Monte Cristo, the famous novel by French writer Alexandre Dumas, is both a clear choice for an anime adaptation, and a book that defies any adaptation at all. It’s length, and the complexity of its plot, are of such a scale that anyone who seeks to tell the story in any medium other than the one it was intended for have a daunting number of challenges ahead of them. At the same time, the book is simply too well known and too enticing a tale to not be retold at all. This is the story that the mind invariably goes to when one thinks of revenge. A dark, stirring saga that peers into the most ugly sides of humanity, an exciting and introspective examination of the pleasures of giving in to ones most malicious desires and the justifications one makes to themselves even when committing horrible acts, and the ultimate consequences of both. This is, likely, why it’s been adapted to film so many times, but also why so much is always lost in the process. When using the work of Alexandre Dumas as a canvas, an artist needs to bring forth their best ideas. This is, perhaps, the mindset that went into Gonzo’s own take on the story, entitled Gankutsuou, or, translated literally, “the king of the cavern,” after the Japanese name for the book. In turning the classic novel into an animated series, director Mahiro Maeda went to make his version a work of art on its own, taking the story and adding entirely new elements to make up for what had to be lost in adaptation. Of course, as is the case with most other works I have already covered, the difficulty not only lies in connecting two different forms of storytelling, but two completely different cultures. How well can a story from nineteenth-century France carry over to twenty-first century Japan, with all the differences between them? Maeda makes the first steps to this by setting the anime in neither time period, but in the far off future, showing a time that is not our own, and that, therefore, can represent any time at all.

WARNING: Spoilers present from here on.

In the opening seconds of Gankutsuou, the heavy and daring style adopted by the series is made more than clear, showing the viewer exactly what it is they’re in for visually. The point in the story in which the anime opens, on the opening festivities of Carnival. It’s a moment of noise, chaos, and merriment, with bright lights flashing and masses of people enjoying themselves, but immediately one can see that there’s something off about this universe. The lighting is unworldly and bizarre, all the faces are hidden behind masks, and the textures do not move in a way that’s in any degree realistic. Watching it is like moving through a dream, and not at all a peaceful one. Even when the context says “fun,” the feeling exuded from the imagery speaks to something far different. As the imaginary camera pans out, we have a better glimpse of the setting of Gankutsuou, a brightly lit futuristic city, which is later clarified to be located on the moon. In Dumas’ novel, while an important part of the story did take place during the same festival, the location was in the far more likely city of Rome, and the descriptions, while vivid, still kept to reality. This change, while striking, is not without reason. When reading the text today, it becomes quickly apparent that the novel, while timeless in its themes and stories, was also very much meant for being read in the place and time in which it was written, and not every reference or allusion Dumas put in his story has lasted quite so long. Gankutsuou avoids this issue by putting it in a time that seems to far off to exist, so it can seem equally distant to anyone in any time. In a way, this also helps the issue of place, and how our perceptions of other countries and cultures has changed over the centuries. For instance, the Count’s fascination with the aesthetics and philosophy of Eastern cultures would not seem to be quite as unusual in a modern adaptation, and definitely wouldn’t to a Japanese audience. Putting much of the story in space, meanwhile, keeps the same sense of distance that must have been felt by the original readers, and updates it. This is not to say that the story abandons all elements of the original time period. In many cases, the dress, manners, and most certainly the social structure, seems more familiar to 1844 than it does to 2004, making it a combination of the past, present, and fantastical, speaking more to the needs of style and feeling than to representing realism. Interestingly, while modern dress and architecture does appear in the story, the Count himself seems to be the most grounded in the past, with his clothing and even his preferred mode of transportation, a carriage pulled by scary robot horses, clearly inspired by the nineteenth century, but in a very sci-fi way. Also, while many references to foreign countries are replaced by ones to outer planets, the setting that the vast majority of the anime takes place in is still, undeniably, France. Notable locations such as the Arc de Triomphe are clearly visible in multiple scenes, and the positions of nobility all come from the same source as Dumas used centuries earlier. This is not sci-fi, in the sense that it’s a representation of where humanity might be in a future year, this is merely a creatively designed world of its own, making it thematically closer to fantasy. Much of the setting also carries its own meaning to the narrative, like the design of the Count’s home, which appears to be placed in an abstract alternate reality, but is, as he explains, designed to represent his innermost self. Not only does this element further drive the Count’s distorted view of the world, but it also makes it significant that he so readily invites Albert in.

As if to give further proof that Gankutsuou doesn’t take place in our reality, the visuals, while impressive, are abstract and often overpowering. CGI is used liberally to create a sense of contrast, the clothing is eyecatching and bizarre in their patterns and designs, and even details like hair or furniture, which are usually animated in a very set, simple manner, look unnatural and different. As such, and coupled with Maeda’s talent for setting up a frame or an image, leads to most of the show, and a great majority of the frames, having a grand, artistic feeling, as if the characters are being swallowed up by the world they inhabit. This style is driven even further in moments of high tension or insanity, in which the world itself appears to break down, such as in one scene, where Villefort confronts his wife, where the animation is overlaid by an unsettling kaleidoscope effect. The music, that also combines the classical sensibilities with the modern, furthers this feeling, and overlays an intense, unhinged feeling onto everything. All fitting, for a story outlining a single man’s warped, grandiose plan for vengeance, set in a society that values beauty to the point that it becomes grotesque. By far the most striking aspect visually, however, is the way that the various surfaces move. Gankutsuou utilizes an animation technique where images are layered over each other, and remain in the same basic orientation no matter how the things around it are moving, giving the sense that these surfaces are windows into different layers, almost like they’re wallpaper. This technique is often used in other productions minimally, to save time or money while animating complex patterns, but here, as ubiquitous as it is, it serves to make a point about the story itself. In The Count of Monte Cristo, and therefore its adaptation, many of the cast claim nobility, both in their social positions and in their moral character, but their actions betray their pretenses. Even while committing horrible deeds and slipping further into depravity, more often than not spurred on by the scheming Count himself, they still wear their superiority as a mask. It’s fitting also, that the characters tend to look the most spectacular right before they’re hit with the consequences of their actions. Despite their pride, it’s all superficial, and their falsities and clinging to money and status, can be seen through every bit as easily as the clothes they wear. This is cemented even further in an added rant from Benedetto, in which he condemns the self-proclaimed aristocracy for hiding behind what he calls respectable masks. It’s doubly fitting then, that the anime also makes use of an animation technique called “masking.”

One of the most defining changes that separate the two versions is the portrayal of the protagonist, Edmond Dantés, himself. In the novel, the story was, right in the opening pages all the way to the end, his story, and followed the changing and development of his inner thoughts and moral outlook as much as it did his actions. We saw the world through his perspective, and were almost always let into what he was thinking. This was a big part of what made the plot so engaging, since we always could see how he operated, and were invested in how successful he was, and what would ultimately become of him after his mission is completed. The anime, meanwhile, takes almost the exact opposite approach. In Gankutsuou, Edmond is never a viewpoint character, and instead shows us the story through the eyes of his victims, most prominently Albert de Morcerf. Also, in the novel the reader got to experience, firsthand, his transformation from Edmond Dantés the sailor into the larger-than-life Count of Monte Cristo and the betrayal that prompted such a turn in his personality, while the anime begins in almost the middle of the story, at the point when he first starts acting on his plans. And thus, the antihero of Dumas’ novel is changed into a villain in Maeda’s anime. In Gankutsuou, the Count enters mysteriously, as an agent for change that begins the story, and carries an atmosphere of dread right from his first scenes. This view of his character is also enhanced by a outstanding vocal performances, from both Jouji Nakata in Japanese and Jamieson Price in the English dub. It’s not until a few episodes in that it’s revealed what the Count wants and why, making much of the conflict at the beginning about trying to figure out what it is he’s even after, at points where in the novel, it was already more than clear. This approach does carry its advantages. When only seen through the eyes of others, specifically the ones he’s harming, he’s far more frightening, almost chaotic when the scope of his plans isn’t clear, and outright supernatural in how he seems to others. This was present in the novel as well, but not quite to the extremes of the anime. As one example, in the novel the Count is offhandedly said to resemble a vampire, but only in his pale appearance and his enigmatic personality. In Gankutsuou, he might as well actually be one, for how many impossible acts he commits, not to mention in his character design, which portrays him as some kind of fanged blue space elf, or the fact that he doesn’t appear on camera or in recordings. That final detail is especially strange, since, after that aspect of him is first brought up, it never is at any point ever again. Because the Count is more of a mystery in the anime, the nature of the ambiguity surrounding his character has also shifted. There are moments, in both versions, where it seems that he genuinely develops feelings of kindness for others, and lets his seemingly all-powerful persona slip to show tenderness to others. In the novel, these moments are signs of the humanity that still lingers in him, and that ultimately turns him away from becoming a complete monster. In the anime, it’s implied that these were never honest for an instant, and all part of his plan to lull the innocent into a false sense of security so that he could better exploit them. This is best shown in a key scene where, right before his revenge goes beyond the point of no return, he looks back with what seems like sadness at Albert, before we see him later hunched over, shaking and appearing to be crying. He then tilts his head back and laughs manically. In addition, as early on as the execution scene, it’s apparent how different the worldview is between the two different versions, with the Count in the novel showing a clear active disdain for humanity, and his counterpart in Gankutsuou more focused on both his power over and indifference toward others. The way Edmond Dantés is treated between book and screen can show how radically different two varying interpretations of a character can be, even when what they actually do is, for the most part, kept the same. This distinction also greatly effects how the story ends. The Count, in the novel, realizes how his selfish revenge has ruined the lives of those who were otherwise innocent, and repents his prior deeds, where he has no such realization in the anime, and keeps going forward, with the viciousness of his acts only increasing. In the end, The Count of Monte Cristo is about Edmond Dantés starting from a place of happiness, falling into despair and hatred, but then finally receiving salvation, though he’s still lost the purity he had at the beginning, with no hope of ever getting it back. In Gankutsuou, we first see him from a place of power, then over time only slipping deeper into his malice, until it’s what, in the end, destroys him.

A sizable factor in the difference between the two versions is in the addition of Gankutsuou’s title figure, and what that title even means. As mentioned in the first paragraph of this article, Gankutsuou was merely the name of the Japanese translation, and simply referred to Edmond Dantés, either referencing his extended period of time and the mental transformation he underwent during his imprisonment in the Chateau d’If, or the island of Monte Cristo itself, where Dantés found the treasure in a cave that enabled him to take his revenge. But in the anime, “Gankutsuou” refers to an entirely separate entity, a malevolent force that takes a hold over Dantés and gives him power, transforms him physically, and guides him on his path to revenge. Where Dumas did indeed show revenge as a destructive, all-consuming influence that needs to be overcome in order to attain true happiness, the anime takes the idea one step further and actually embodies revenge as some kind of magical demon that takes control of people, making the metaphor literal. To the anime’s credit, it never goes so far as to say what Gankutsuou really is, going so far as to change its explanation over time, keeping the metaphor still somewhat intact. The closest explanation anyone ever gives is one line, “Gankutsuou is the Chateau d’If,” still implying the time Dantés spent imprisoned, and the heights of despair he fell into after the betrayal, did the most to change him. Also, many times in the anime it’s not entirely clear whether or not Dantés or Gankutsuou is the one speaking, leading to a level of ambiguity in the story itself. Gankutsuou, while a complete addition for the sake of the anime, is still the closest thing to a counterpart for Abbé Faria, a character who was omitted from the adaptation. While complete opposites in personality and intent, they fulfill something of the same role, both giving Dantés means of escape from the Chateau d’If, and the power he later uses to take revenge. The differences lies in how they do it, with Gankutsuou being implied to give Dantés his power through supernatural means, and Faria by giving him an education and by telling him about the treasure that led him to becoming the Count of Monte Cristo. How these two figures are separated mirrors the separation between the two versions themselves, with Gankutsou being an evil influence that drives Dantés to villainy, and Faria, while inadvertently doing the same thing, being a much kinder individual who expresses regret at leading Dantés to vengeance in the first place.

With Edmond Dantés no longer having the role of viewpoint character, Gankutsuou moves that position over to Albert de Morcerf, who was originally only a supporting character. In the book, Albert was the archetypical image of a youthful, passionate, brash, idiot. He’s quick to start fights, makes horrible choices that get himself and others into danger, is flippant with most of his relationships, and pursues love and intimacy on a whim. Still, he’s nevertheless honorable, and that, along with his energy and his intense loyalty to his family, make him a sort of French ideal over what youth should be. In updating this character to play the lead, his role was drastically shifted in the anime, in every possible way. Essentially, he is now the typical image of the everyman anime hero, of the more sensitive variety. Rather than the brashness or the carefree nature that comes along with being the son of a nobleman, he has a kind, gentle nature, and has a tendency to blurt out everything he’s feeling at any given moment. This can be seen very early on, like in the scene where he’s seduced by Beppo (Peppo in the anime) and then kidnapped. In the book, what he thinks is an affair goes on for a lengthy period as a sort of courtship he pursues for his own pleasure, nevermind the fact that he was engaged at the time. In the anime, meanwhile, this period of pursuing Beppo was heavily toned down, and instead he ends up meeting her after a moment of tension, highlighting his softer nature. And yet, the impulsive, reactionary aspect of his character is kept in, leading to unintentionally hilarious scenes where he’s acting like his affable, open self in one moment, and then threatening to assault his friends in the next. These differences might be explained not only by the difference in medium, but in how Albert’s age is shifted. In the book, he’s in his early twenties, but is fifteen in the anime, which is enough of an age difference to justify his more exaggerated naivety. Also because of his status as the leading man, and because of the smaller scope of the anime in general, Albert is inserted into many moments and conflicts that he had no involvement with in the book, sometimes shoving aside other characters in the process, most noticeably Maximilien Morrel. His presence during parts he has no business in being in is handled far better than others, at times, and even those who watch the anime exclusively might have issues with how forced in some of his scenes are. This is most apparent towards the ending, where he gets to play the hero, and in the process winds up seeming less like a strong protagonist at the finale of his tale, and more like an inserted original character, do not steal, who’s there to fix everything and to be more right than anyone else. That being said, his increased amount of screentime does lead to him having more development scenes. There are times in the anime where he has a chance to express actual empathy towards the struggles faced by the other characters, such as a scene where he tries to help Valentine and Maximilien get together, and his relationships with the other members of the cast are more fleshed out as well, such as with his father or Franz. His relationship with the Count, meanwhile, is given a vast amount more development, to the point where it becomes one of the driving conflicts in the show. In the novel, Albert’s absolute devotion to the Count is present, but more plainly one-sided, and so it makes more sense when the friendship between them suddenly ends. In the anime, more time is spent forming what feels like an actual bond between the two, which is made possible due to us never really knowing what the Count is thinking. What was, in the book, clearly an example of a young man idolizing and seeking the friendship of one who impresses him, in the anime the Count takes on almost a fatherly role towards him. As such, at the moment when the Count reveals how Albert was from the beginning a pawn in his wider game, it feels like a true betrayal, and so it carries a bit more of an impact when Albert challenges the Count to a duel, even though it feels just a bit out of character when compared to Albert’s book self. It also feels right, between the two works, that in the novel Albert and the Count both end up choosing not to fight, while in the anime they both have reason enough to try and murder each other.

The duel, and the tragic result of it, is not the only change made to the storyline. As I have repeated already, the entire beginning of the novel is cut out, leaving a gaping hole in the narrative. While this does have a profound impact of the story, it is still an understandable choice, when viewed from the context of the director’s intention for the project, and for the sake of allowing the 1200-page story to fit within 24 episodes. That being said, the omission does lead to some plot holes, such as how the anime never explains how Edmond knew who betrayed him to begin with, or why in the world he started to call himself the Count of Monte Cristo. On top of cutting some things out, the anime also adds some details in, like one instance where the Count sends his enemies a letter from Edmond Dantés, though he doesn’t quite explain why he does this, or why he’s so willing to put himself at risk of giving himself away. Generally speaking, the anime sacrifices the thoughtful and methodical aspects of the novel for the sake of pacing and excitement, adding in swordfights, chases, and various other scenes to keep the energy and tension high. Scenes are chopped up and switched around, to accommodate the changed characterization of the Count and Albert, and many scenes that are kept more or less the same, like the Count’s dinner party, still have vastly different tones, often becoming more melodramatic in the process of adaptation, while some aspects, such as much of the politics of the novel, are either simplified heavily or removed wholesale. These differences are too many to list them all, and even if I were to go through the trouble, it wouldn’t be that necessary anyway, considering how much of it can be chalked up to the different needs that anime and novels require. What’s notable, in the bigger picture, isn’t all the edits that were made, but what was left in. For all that was changed, and for how stark the difference in setting and style are, compared to the story’s transitions into other narratives Gankutsuou is still one of the most faithful adaptations of The Count of Monte Cristo there is, in regards to all that was left in.

A large factor in the characterization of both stories is that of love, and how it affects the main characters. This can be seen in the strained relationships between Edmond and his former lover Mercedes in both versions, and between Albert and his fiancée Eugenie Danglars in the anime. And, once again, the differences are notable enough to not only change the way the story is seen, but changes its meaning entirely. The connection between the Count and Mercedes is one of the most complex and interesting parts of the entire novel. In that version, Mercedes is the first of any characters to actually figure out who the Count is, and is one of the only people who manages to actually reach out to Edmond and makes him reconsider his ways. Their scenes are challenging moments of tension between two intelligent, passionate adults, who have both suffered greatly and who both still care deeply for each other, despite how much they’ve been hurt, set against the expectations and intricacies that plagued interactions between men and women in that era. Even little things, like when they addressed each other using their first names, carried weight, and their interactions were filled with them. It was enthralling on a level entirely different from the basic revenge story, and made everything connected to it seem that much more real, and important. The experience of reading conversations between two characters like that was delicious, and also, lost entirely on the animators. Even when many of the same points are used in the animated versions of these scenes, they’re played as being so trite that they lose all their significance. Mercedes suffers the most from this, and seems so ineffectual compared to the novel’s rendition of her that all her moments fall completely flat, a problem that only gets worse the more the anime goes on. Part of the problem is, in Gankutsuou the Count is played as having a vastly greater amount of power over Mercedes, and is far past the point where he could be affected by anything she says, and thus the actual meaning of those conversations isn’t there to begin with. Mercedes is still a vital aspect to understanding his character, but only retroactively, and while she does have good scenes, it still feels as if the plot itself would still progress in much the same way if she wasn’t there. As for Eugenie, the anime does rather the opposite, and goes out of its way to better develop her connection with Albert. This is not necessarily a good choice. In The Count of Monte Cristo, their relationship was strained, but not by childish bickering or the awkwardness that comes from being arranged to marry at such a young age, as is the case in the anime, but because they simply do not care about one another. Albert is too carefree to be suited for the married life, and finds Eugenie intimidating, and Eugenie herself doesn’t like Albert, not fully because of any problems of his own, but because she does not like men at all. It’s heavily implied, which here means Dumas did everything he could to convey it without outright using the word, that Eugenie is a lesbian. Her ending comes not from any man, but when she embraces her free-spirited nature and pursues her passion for music with her very female lover. By finding her own freedom, and breaking away from the twisted influence of the older generation, Eugenie’s ending is truly one of the happiest and most ideal in the novel, not to mention that it’s by far the most progressive. The anime, meanwhile, goes in a completely different direction. There, Albert and Eugenie have true feelings for one another, support each other, and fight to stay together. When their engagement is called off, it’s a moment of relief for them both in the book, but it’s cause for distress in the anime. Worse, this culminates in a subplot where Albert needs to actively save Eugenie, who has been made into a far softer, more girlish sort of character in general. Admittedly, this isn’t entirely faults, as it does give Albert more motivation as a character, the instances of kindness between them aren’t badly done, and it furthers the idea of how the youth are at the mercy of those above them, but the change is still a disappointing one, and it’s shocking that, even as recently as 2004, Gonzo still couldn’t bring themselves to sensitively portray a lesbian character.

In addition, the anime layers a feeling of sexuality onto many scenes. Sometimes this for strong effect, though it sometimes just makes moments feel more awkward than they have to be. Other times when it’s used just feel jarring, like one scene were Madame Villefort is shown quite clearly masturbating, but the anime never does anything or goes anywhere with that idea. When used effectively, it furthers the unsettling emotions that come from certain character interactions, either to project a level of power or control into a relationship, or as another means of conveying the scandalous and hedonistic nature of the nobility that rests underneath their clean polished surfaces. It makes sense, in a version of the story that’s focused around the younger characters, to be more centered around notions of sensuality, but most of the scenes that incorporate it are with the older characters, with most of the younger main character’s relationships, like that between Albert and Eugenie or Maximilien and Valentine, being portrayed about as sensually and tenderly as two awkward kids holding hands for the first time. What makes this aspect of the anime unusual is, it was clearly meant to be a deliberate choice on the director’s part, for the story to delve into the more carnal subjects Dumas skirted away from, but it doesn’t fully delve into them either, leaving that aspect of the anime a bit flat and undeveloped, ending up more gimmicky than substantial.

A good revenge story is not whole without memorable figures for the revenge to be enacted on, and in The Count of Monte Cristo, they take the form of Danglars the banker, Morcerf the general, and Villefort the crown prosecutor. Gankutsuou makes a blatant attempt to make all three of them seem like bigger villains than they were in the book, which is something of an odd choice, considering that they were all plenty despicable enough already. Because the beginning of the novel had been taken out, the reader has little idea of what these characters were like before the crime that connected the three of them, and only knows what they were like years afterward. In the book, there’s a distinct difference in how they were portrayed before and after the event, demonstrating the corrupting nature of wealth and power, especially when gained through dishonest means. Danglars is the only one of the three that went mostly unchanged, being a greedy scumbag right from the start. The novel’s version of him was opportunistic and self-serving, but he was still intelligent, being the one who fully plotted out Edmond Dantés’ demise. Afterwards, he increased his own standing even further off of his own cunning, and doing rather well for himself until the very end, and even then he manages to escape his misfortune while holding on to a portion of his money before the Count intervenes. The anime, meanwhile, portrays Danglars as a thuggish oaf who somehow managed to be the greatest banker in Paris, and who mostly goes through the plot by getting angry and shouting at people. In The Count of Monte Cristo, Danglars was by far the least likeable and redeemable of the three antagonists, which is why it was meaningful that he was the one who had received the lightest punishment at the end of the book, since it demonstrated how much the Count had come to regret the vengeful methods he had used until that point, and how he had finally taken steps to becoming a good man. In the anime, since there is no such realization, Danglars meets an end that’s every bit as sadistic as those of his two colleagues. In the reverse, Villefort begins the novel as an ambitious, but mostly good spirited young prosecutor, who only takes a dark turn when the opportunity presents itself in the form of Edmond Dantés. Even then, he’s not quite the coldhearted bastard that the anime, paints him as, or at least not as cartoonishly so. In Gankutsuou, Villefort is competent, to the point where he almost uncovers the truth about the Count, but is still outmatched by the end. All things considered, of the three he’s the one who’s closest to his book counterpart, though there are some differences, mostly in exactly how he’s brought down. In the novel, the combination of his status being ruined overnight on top of his family slowly being destroyed around him was enough to drive him to madness, while in the anime, where less time could be spent on detailing his misfortune, the Count had to use poison to bring him to that state. As for Fernand Morcerf, his differences between book and show are a bit more subtle, but still worth mentioning. Similar to Villefort, in the novel Morcerf was a mostly honorable, if far too forward, romantic young man, up until the moment his meeting with Edmond Dantés set him down a path of jealousy and hatred. The anime, meanwhile, does not include that aspect of his character, being unable to show his full early moments of development. What it does do is heavily suggest, if not just state, that he and Edmond were best friends before the betrayal, when in the book the two barely knew each other beforehand, and when they did interact it was not under friendly terms. In both book and anime, Morcerf found success through treachery, and meets his ruin when his past deeds are brought to light. The biggest difference is precisely when this happens. In the book, Morcerf was the first of the three to be faced with his retribution, with his end coming several hundred pages before those of the other two. The anime, meanwhile, sets him up to be the biggest villain of them all, adding in a big confrontation with the Count as his climax. Not to say that the anime does nothing to make Morcerf deserve this heightened treatment. In addition to his bigger role in the story, he’s given more scenes as well, including more active moments with Albert, a relationship with Mercedes that’s biting and mature, and a dramatic episode at the end that feels fully realized, rather than him just fading out. As an aside, it’s also worth mention that his ending, though coming later, is the closest to how Dumas wrote it, with him committing suicide alone, after having been left behind by the last two people he cared about. Still, as good as his portrayal in particular is, it does lead one to think, if his interactions with Mercedes were so well-written, why couldn’t the same be true for the Count’s?

One of the most baffling aspects of The Count of Monte Cristo, by far, was the character of Albert’s best friend, Franz d’Epinay. A prominent figure in the first half of the book, he actually meets and has a full conversation with the Count before Albert does, and plays a vital role in the Rome chapters. Franz is the one who realizes that there’s more to the Count than he’s letting on, and is a major source of support and friendship for Albert. Not only that, but even before then, it’s implied that his family, specifically the mysterious death of his father, will play a major role in later events. After the story moves to Paris, however, he all but vanishes. He’s absent for a good chunk of the story, then only comes back for a brief moments, only just long enough for his father’s killer to be explained to him and for him to call off his engagement with Valentine, after which point he’s never seen or mentioned again. Gankutsuou, meanwhile, fixes this issue by having Franz be an important character from the beginning up until the end, and, while his first interaction with the Count (and their surreal hashish-trip) is cut out, his overall number of scenes is increased to justify his continued involvement. Unlike Albert, whose insertion into certain scenes feels forced and unneeded, it’s more acceptable with Franz, mainly because he’s only kept as a support, and there’s no pretense of him being the most important character in the room. Rather, he’s a voice of reason for Albert, much like in the novel, and a good one. While Edmond is out exacting his revenge, there’s a recurring subplot of Franz investigating the truth behind what exactly Gankutsuou is, and he comes close to uncovering everything. In fact, much of the exposition related to the Count is delivered right to him, making him just as needed for the audience as he is for the other characters, if not even more for us. Aside from him playing the role of a minor detective, his friendship with Albert is heavily expanded on as well. We’re treated to a flashback on how they’re met, and we see them fight, make up, and go through all the other stages of a typical friendship between overemotional young men. His most important moment in Gankutsuou comes after Albert challenges the Count to a duel using giant mechs, because despite being based off of one of the great novels, this is still an anime. Franz tries to talk Albert out of it, but he doesn’t listen to reason, so Franz ends up stealing Albert’s mech (sigh) and fights in his place, which results in his death. This ends up being the most important moment in Albert’s characterization in the anime, and the letter that Franz leaves behind for him leads to one of the most profoundly sad scenes, with an effective message, that love and hate both stem from caring deeply for someone else. It’s this sacrifice that, in the end, turns Albert away from becoming violent or hateful like his father or Edmond, and guides him on his path to manhood. This change in Albert’s character directly ties into the climax of the anime, making Franz one of the defining differences between the original and adaptation. Also, while in the anime Franz never did learn who killed his father, it’s interesting that his fate in Gankutsuou, death in an honorable duel, is the same as the demise of his father in The Count of Monte Cristo.

The Count’s revenge story, however, would not have been possible if it wasn’t for the followers serving under him, and this is true for both the anime and the book, both of which take the time to develop those working for Dantés. The most noticeable of these characters is the Count’s slave, Haydee, who’s presence is more than a little bit problematic, particularly in modern times. The anime tries skirting the issue by calling her a doll instead, which is not really any better, since they’re both horrible things to call a person. Like many other aspects of Gankutsuou, the series uses its science-fiction setting to update Haydee’s backstory, moving her homeland from Janina, the city, to Janina, the planet, leading one to think that nobody at Gonzo had ever heard of Greece before, and that they imagined Dumas made it up. In the text, Haydee is described as being unimaginably beautiful, which is easy to write, but must have caused some distress for the character designer who had to actually imagine her, though credits are due for the effort. Her role as a slave, though, is not meant to be an expression of Dumas’ values, in fact it’s something that many of the characters within the story remark on, but as yet another means of making the Count seem that much more powerful, and for her value as a part of his plan. Both these purposes for her role in the story are translated into the anime fairly well. When she makes her first appearance, she’s impossible to look away from, giving the Count, by proximity, an aura of dramatic wonder. And, once the revenge is fully underway, Haydee’s role stays true to the novel and goes even further. After she exposes Morcerf for the fraud he is, and exacts her own revenge in the process, she acts in the anime as a sort of contrast to the Count himself, since she attained the same vengeance that he had been seeking, and yet, found no fulfillment from it, the first indication in the series of how hollow the Count’s goals really were. In the book, her role takes a much different turn, in which, after the revenge is over and she’s set free, she still remains by the Count’s side, as his lover. This would have been creepy on its own, even taking into account the differing values from when the book was written, and made even worse when one considers that up until that point Edmond, despite the official master-slave relationship, had in effect been acting as Haydee’s adoptive father. Naturally and thankfully, this layer to their relationship is not at all there in the anime, and there’s even one scene where Albert goes out of his way to say what a ridiculous notion that is. Instead, in the anime she returns to her homeland to take her rightful place as ruler following the events of the story, though no time is spent explaining how she was able to do this. Though it makes less sense from a logical perspective, it gives far more agency to her character, and as such, is highly welcomed. As for the other followers of the Count, they’re mostly kept true to the original, with some notable adjustments between them. Bertuccio goes from being the archetypical faithful servant to a fetish-gear wearing badass, Baptistin is made out to be far more brave and loyal than he was in the book, and Ali is turned into a space alien with magical abilities, though otherwise is exactly the same. One giant difference is, in the anime, the servants eventually catch onto the self-destructiveness of the Count’s actions, and try to save him from going too far, making them much more heroic than how Dumas wrote them. While their detailed backstories and many of their distinguishing qualities are gone, their basic intent is still kept the same, which is about as much as one could ask for, in a compressed adaptation such as this. As a general rule, if a character had a backstory in the novel, they probably don’t in the anime, or, if they’re lucky, they’ll get to rush through it in a few sentences.

When facing a novel of the size of The Count of Monte Cristo, it’s expected that there would be a large cast, and the fact that Gankutsuou manages to fit in even most of them is impressive by itself. All of Albert’s friends in the nobility are included, and manage to be distinct, without any great deviations from their characterization, though at times they’re lessened. This is mostly true for Beauchamp, who does not have the level of involvement in the story that he did in the novel, and whose personality is slightly shifted from a dedicated, morally noble journalist to something of a sleazy reporter with a knack for taking unwanted pictures. Chateau-Renaud, meanwhile, is actually more memorable than he was in the book, albeit since he was made into something of the conventionally wimpy anime friend character. Maximilien Morrel likewise stays true to how he was portrayed, but was hit hard by the editor. His romance with Valentine, herself also faithfully adapted, remains in the anime, but is not developed even half as well. More significantly, his friendship with the Count, and what he learns from him, is omitted entirely, and as such, the importance that was placed on him in the concluding chapters is gone as well. Of all the major characters of the story, his was the one that suffered the most in the transition between mediums, in terms of his prominence in the story, though the anime does create new scenes for him as well, like a brief swordfight with Albert and a budding friendship with Franz. Another role in the story that has been diminished notably is Monsieur Noirtier. While in the novel he stood out for accomplishing much despite being almost entirely paralyzed for the entire story, this does not translate quite as well in a visual medium, and the series is tightly-written enough as it is. Points are given, still, for the effort taken to tie him in better with the Count’s story, since in the book they were mostly entirely separate. Conversely, some characters have more screentime than Dumas gave them, the biggest and most flagrant example being Beppo the bandit. In The Count of Monte Cristo, Beppo was barely a character at all, and more of a plot device to get Albert to where he needed to be early on, and only named in an offhanded comment. The anime, perhaps out of artistic need, or perhaps because Gonzo couldn’t pass up the chance to include that specific character type in the story, this walk-on role was expanded to a recurring supporting part, where she (it’s implied she identifies as female in the anime, whereas he was just a boy in drag in the novel) sticks around long after her literary counterpart bowed out, and mostly acts a voice for Albert to express his thoughts to, and at times helps guide him to the choices he needs to make. Adjusting characters to better fit in old anime tropes is not unique to Beppo either, and can be seen also with Benedetto, aka Andrea Cavalcanti, who in the book was a dashing, clever, if still despicable rogue, and who was transformed in the series into an effeminate sadomasochistic psycho-rapist. The changes made to other supporting roles are less minor, but still there all the same, like Madame Danglars who goes from being a slightly silly noblewoman type into a very silly noblewoman type. Caderousse, a fairly prominent supporting role in the book, and an inadvertent part in the betrayal, is also in the anime, though I’m not exactly sure why, since his part has been cut to the point where he ended up with very little bearing on anything in the plot, with certainly nothing that couldn’t have been done by somebody else, and who could have been removed entirely with no issues. In the end, any subplot he might have been left with in the anime is dropped, leaving him with a strange sort of non-ending mentioned in the final episode, just one of those instances where an element from the book stays in the adaptation out of obligation, as it seems, even when it doesn’t contribute anything else.

The anime attempts to modernize not only the setting, but the writing as well, going for dialogue that feels contemporary, and more suited to the art form that is anime. In theory, tailoring the style to the medium would seem like a natural choice, but in execution, the results can feel clumsy and unpolished. Dumas’ skill for writing effective, flowing stories is completely gone in this, with lines that feel forced in. Material that once was conveyed through narration is spoken aloud through dialogue, something that invariably happens in adaptations, but it results in characters repeatedly and unabashedly saying lines that, in reality, nobody would ever say to anyone. At times there are moments when it works, at times the faults are forgivable, but there are also times where the dialogue gets so stilted, one feels secondhand embarrassment on the part of both the writer and the voice actors struggling to make the lines work. Albert is the absolute worst in this regard, with the writers never feeling confident enough to let us figure out what it is he thinks or feels about what’s happening around him, with Franz being a close second. Unless it’s the Count himself involved, no subtext will ever be left unsaid in this anime, and even he’s not entirely free of the occasional needlessly melodramatic, oblique speech thrown into the script. Many of the modernizations, meanwhile, fall completely flat, and feel jarring even in the updated setting. A glaring example is in a romantic moment between Albert and Eugenie. Right in the middle a scene that otherwise feels like it would belong in any classical drama about young love, Eugenie suddenly utters the line, “you are such a dork,” a series of words that shouldn’t, for any reason, be placed near anything even associated with Dumas. Certainly, concession can be made for the difficulties of translation. But still, if not considering the style of the original novel, then one must still take into account the style of the show’s own visuals, music, tone, and overall aesthetic, and what mood they’re trying to convey. It shouldn’t even need to be said that the words themselves are as much a part of making that aesthetic than the other aspects, and yet, so many times the writing comes out clunky and haphazard, seemingly with no effort or care put behind it. If the writing is lazy, or if it doesn’t fit in with the whole then what, exactly does that say about the value in the rest of the work?

Gankutsuou is decidedly a liberal adaptation, but it’s only after the point in which Franz is killed that the plot derails completely from anything that Dumas tried to do, and tells its own story completely. Fernand, having his life ruined by the Count, attempts a hostile takeover of Paris, allowing for the final episodes to shove in action, explosions, and most importantly, famous landmarks getting blown up. This leads to some exciting backgrounds if nothing else, before moving to the Count’s expansive home, where there are mech battles, violence, bloodshed, and tense standoffs, flying completely in the face of how Edmond in The Count of Monte Cristo had managed to exact his revenge without getting his hands dirty. And what happens from there gets only more ridiculous. After much shenanigans, Albert gives both the Count and his father a speech condemning their selfish ways, and appeals to the humanity that still remains inside the Count. Gankutsuou then takes over, says some dramatic lines about how there’s no way Albert could understand the Count’s feelings. Albert’s rebuttal is to, and those who have not seen the anime will just have to take my word for it that I’m not kidding, give the Count a hug. The sheer overwhelming force of Albert’s kindness is enough to drive the malevolent force that is Gankutsuou from the body of Edmond Dantés, whose heart proceeds to explode for some reason. That is actually what happens. It’s the sort of conclusion that’s bad enough if only for how overdone it is, made worse by how it doesn’t fit in at all with the logic or tone of the story that came before it, and absolutely clashes with the spirit and intention of the novel, which never descended to such trite storytelling techniques. However, it’s not a total reverse from the book’s ending either. In The Count of Monte Cristo, Edmond, having recognized himself the sadness he brought to others through his actions, believes that he is no longer deserving of any happiness and resolves to spend the rest of his life in regret, only to be rebutted by those who he had helped in his few truly good moments, namely Haydee, and, at the end, finds peace. In a way, the anime directly contradicts this ending by killing the Count, since one of the grander themes of the novel is how any pain can be overcome with time, no matter how impossible it may seem in a moment, and how salvation and atonement are always possible. Still, the basic intent is the same, that Edmond Dantés, at the moment he’s most consumed by darkness, is saved by those who he had reached out to, that love is, in the end, the stronger force. It was only the anime that said that literally. The final final episode of the anime is an epilogue showing what became of the surviving characters, how they found happiness, and their hopes for a better future. Notable in this episode is that, after the Count is gone, the world the story takes place in appears much brighter, with the futuristic technology having a more uplifting, whimsical design. This represents how the shadow of revenge had clouded the world for young Albert, and how, once it’s gone, life can continue forwards again.. In spite of it being probably the most well-known revenge tale of all time, both versions of The Count of Monte Cristo are quick to condemn the idea, showing it for how hollow it really is, and in the final moments instead valuing compassion and forgiveness.

When Gonzo made Gankutsuou, they were still mostly unknown as a studio. They had big dreams, but little to show for it, and were set to create a work that would make them noticed, that would stand out from everything else on the market. The result was an experiment in exactly what they could accomplish, a showcase of their particular talents, and a statement on behalf of bold new techniques in anime. For this, they were recognized, and to this day over ten years later, Gankutsuou is still an obligatory mention in any discussion on artistically unique anime. And really, what would have been a better way to approach such an ambitious project, than to tell their own version of a classic story? Gankutsuou is even more about Gonzo as a studio as it is about Alexandre Dumas as a writer, but even then, beneath the most glaring aspects, the core of the story hasn’t been changed all that much. They’re different, no doubt, but the intentions behind both works are not as far off as the surface may make it seems. So, returning to the question posed in the beginning of this article, how well has the story from 1844 transitioned to this animated series in 2004? The truth is, people are not so different from one another to make the adjustment impossible at all. The answer, perhaps, lies not in what separates the worlds between The Count of Monte Cristo and Gankutsuou, but in the inherent darkness that remains inside man, no matter where they are, and in the goodness that can save them.