As a child, Afro bears witness as a lanky gunman named Justice (Perlman) challenges his swordsman father to a duel, kills him and takes his headband, which bears the words "number one" in Japanese. "With this band, I will rule the world like a god!" the killer exults. He then tells the young Afro to come back and challenge him "when you're ready." Afro leaves, carrying his father's head and the headband Justice was wearing, which says "number two."

Before too long, he learns about the legend of the ancient, mystical headbands: Supposedly, the "number one" warrior gains the power of a god, and only the "number two" warrior has the right to challenge him to combat. But anyone is permitted to challenge number two, which means he lives a bloody, traumatic life as he works his way to the mountain where number one waits. Everyone on the planet capable of carrying a weapon seems to want to kill number two and claim his headband, either to prove their prowess to their fellows or so they'll have their shot at godhood, or both.

As the adult Afro (Jackson) and his loudmouthed, nervy companion Ninja Ninja (also Jackson) work their way back to the mountain where Afro's father died, Afro has to fight huge numbers of claimants to the headband, from crowds of paid assassins to killer robots set on him by an evil brotherhood. Meanwhile, flashbacks reveal how he became the swordsman he is today, and how he made the friends and enemies that still haunt him.

An anime feature unlike any other

First and foremost, Afro Samurai is about Studio Gonzo's showy animation, which is executed on a scale rarely seen even in theaters: phenomenally rich and ridiculously stylish, it focuses on odd angles, extreme close-ups, strange forced perspectives and vast gouts of blood. Virtually the entire five-episode miniseries is executed in grim, forbidding grays and browns—plus, inevitably, vivid arterial red.

The story itself is equally severe; essentially an anime blaxploitation film, it's mostly a stylish killfest with some sex and a little personal tragedy mixed in for flavor. Based on a manga series and adapted by Studio Gonzo, it was originally produced for America's Spike TV, "the first network for men," and it reads like someone's wet-dream stereotype of what a man would want in animation: extreme violence, boobs, flashy style and more extreme violence. Oh, and Samuel L. Jackson—who co-produced the series.

Original manga artist Takashi Okazaki describes himself as obsessed with hip-hop and urban culture, and that carries into the film, with original music by The RZA and an attempt to give the series a "street" feel, largely through Ninja Ninja's nonstop profane babble: When Afro faces a new opponent, Ninja Ninja wails, "Afro! Don't fight this f---er! He got arrows and grenades and s---! You ain't got no chance, dude!" and when Afro steps away from a defeated opponent, Ninja Ninja chants, "Add one more body to the body toll! May God rest this poor bastard's soul!" He's an annoying character, except for fans of the babbly likes of Chris Tucker, though he does serve a narrative purpose as a counterbalance for Afro's bleak silence.

The DVD comes in two flavors: The basic TV cut and the deluxe "director's cut," which comes with more sex and violence; an extra DVD with featurettes on the voice artists, music production and characters; and truly beautiful high-end packaging. It's questionable whether the short features on the extra disc are worth the extra $20, but clearly no corners were cut in putting the package together. The same thing can be said for Afro Samurai itself; its simple, gory revenge tale won't be for all tastes, but as eye-popping eye candy, this is as gourmet as anime gets.