Horror is one of the most underappreciated corners of anime. The medium can certainly muster depraved imagery, as seen in Jujutsu Kaisen and Chainsaw Man. Genuine horror beats, however, often get lost under the industry’s fixation on action, fantasy, and sprawling shonen adventures. There are exceptions, of course; the most striking among them being Satoshi Kon’s Perfect Blue. Other examples include Mononoke, which uses surreal imagery to tell stories about human suffering, and Higurashi: When They Cry, which transforms a seemingly idyllic rural community into a place of unimaginable cruelty. Even the much-derided 2024 Uzumaki series had a terrifyingly bleak first episode.
But if you’re looking for an anime that understands how horror can be both visually repulsive and emotionally devastating, Devilman Crybaby is the perfect series for you. Released on Netflix in 2018, Masaaki Yuasa’s 10-episode adaptation of Go Nagai’s Devilman is a spectacularly gruesome descent into the apocalypse. At its center is Akira Fudo, a sensitive young man forced into a horrific union with a demon to defend humankind from an existential threat. Granted immense power without sacrificing his empathy, Akira becomes a walking paradox: a creature born of unimaginable violence who still weeps for mankind. This core tension that propels the narrative, probing the fragile line between humanity and monstrosity.
Devilman Crybaby makes humanity its most frightening monster
What makes Crybaby so effective is that its violence is never merely superficial. To his credit, Yuasa focuses primarily on the devolution of human empathy. As demonic infestation spreads across the globe, humanity collapses under the weight of its own paranoia, turning neighbors against each other in a desperate (and misguided) bid for survival. We watch as neighborhood watch groups turn into armed vigilantes, public broadcasts amplify xenophobic panic, and ordinary citizens begin executing anyone who exhibits “suspicious” behavior. It’s a thematic lineage shared by works like Naoki Urasawa’s Monster or Andrzej Sapkowski’s The Witcher — stories where literal monsters serve as a mirror, revealing that humanity’s capacity for cruelty is far more terrifying than any beast’s predatory instinct.
While Nagai’s 1972 manga used demonic violence to explore the horrors of war and self-destruction, Yuasa brilliantly retools that dread for a modern age driven by social media witch hunts, sensationalism, and digital outrage. A perfect example is the tabloid blogger Nagasaki, who weaponizes shock-value footage of demon encounters posted on social media to spark viral mass panic. Then there’s star athlete Koda, whose televised breakdown at a track meet transforms a personal tragedy into a public spectacle when Ryo exposes him as a demon. The apocalypse in Crybaby isn’t triggered by demonic force alone; it unfolds because humanity, consumed by panic, so eagerly surrenders empathy when confronted with what it fears most.
Devilman’s influence runs through anime’s darkest stories
Nagai’s original Devilman established a brutally pessimistic vision of humanity that helped shape generations of dark fantasy and horror. Its influence can be felt in works as varied as Berserk and Neon Genesis Evangelion, both of which explore the terrifying consequences of power and humanity’s capacity for destruction. Earlier adaptations, including the 1987 OVA Devilman: The Birth and its 1990 follow-up, The Demon Bird, brought Nagai’s grotesque monster designs and apocalyptic sensibilities to life through some genuinely unforgettable imagery.
Devilman remains a landmark of dark fantasy manga. Historically, Sirene’s duel with Devilman was revolutionary for its time as a brutal, eroticized clash of wills that redefined dark fantasy manga. However, what elevates the fight beyond a simple clash between monster and hero is the tragic devotion lurking beneath the carnage. When Sirene finds herself losing to Akira, her companion Kaim offers his own body so that she can continue fighting, willingly sacrificing himself for the chance to help her win. It’s a startling moment of tenderness in an otherwise brutal story, revealing that demons are capable of the same fierce loyalty and selflessness we associate with humanity. In a manga so preoccupied with the blurred line between human and monster, Kaim’s sacrifice makes that distinction all the more complicated.
In Devilman Crybaby, Yuasa retains that visceral gut punch while elevating the tragedy through his signature hyper-fluid animation style. Yuasa noted in interviews that Crybaby is ultimately a story about passing love and grief down like a baton, with Sirene’s arc serving as the crucial first spark in that relay. Choreographed to Kensuke Ushio’s propulsive electronic score, their encounter rises above mere gore-soaked spectacle, playing out like an unsettling poem about the tragedy of mortality.
Beneath its apocalyptic chaos, Devilman Crybaby endures as a profound meditation on love and human vulnerability. Akira’s capacity to weep becomes his most potent power, maintaining a locus of empathy even as society surrenders to monstrous paranoia. The resulting conclusion is undeniably tragic, yet it achieves something rare in modern horror by ensuring every loss and heartbreak carries genuine weight. It stands not just as a triumphant adaptation, but as one of dark fantasy’s absolute highest benchmarks.