January 26th, 2012
The Old City
We don’t to go to the old city if we can help it. No one does. It’s a depressing place if there ever was one, a towering mass of dark metal, with occasional patches of dilapidated property within which are situated the odd, stubby corpses of buildings, slowly growing darker in color and breaking down like rotting teeth. To walk down the streets, during the day or especially at night, feels like experiencing death itself. What few inhabitants live there – the impoverished, the failures, the criminals, and the fanatics – rarely seem to show themselves outdoors if they can help it, or if they do, I’ve only ever caught fleeting glimpses of them in the few times I’ve been there. We don’t know how many people live in the old city, but I highly doubt the number is even remotely proportionate to the sheer size of the place. You’d think that we, the people of the city, the people of society proper, would be eager to know such a thing, if only by virtue of it being unknown, creatures desperate for complete and total knowledge that we are. But honestly, nobody seems to care. We are secure just as we are. The city proper is our stronghold, eternally bathed in light: the shining glass and steel during the day, and the brilliant flashing neon at night. Just as it is never dark there, so is it never quiet; at any given place, at any given time, information is being disseminated, whether through the calm, maternal voice of the intercom network, or the flashing billboards, always eager to inform us of the newest ways to enhance our lives and ourselves, or the babbling mass of people in every space, or the communicators that are nearly as much a part of us as our own bodies. The old city, by contrast, is an old, decaying heap of memories we want to forget.
As a contributor for a certain very fine and respectable publication which, this piece being off-the-record and in fact rather personal, I shall not name, I have had a chance to leave the city – with proper authorization, of course (I am not an affiliate of those sorts of publications) – several times. It’s a hell of a place out there, and it’s not unlike the old city. Much of it seems blasted and barren and alien, and the people I’ve spoken to who work out there are all people who don’t seem to care much for casual conversation. I can see why. Out there is an environment, a state of being, that exists without man, perhaps even in spite of him. I feel unwelcome just staying at one of the rickety, understaffed facilities out there for a couple nights – I can only imagine what it would feel like to live there. The city is man’s place – made by man, for man. It’s where we’re meant to live. I can’t imagine it any other way.
But, I’m losing myself here. Editorializing will do that to you – start asking “why?” instead of “what”, “when” and “how”, and you can’t seem to stop. It’s not good for a person.
It was one afternoon early last autumn that I found myself wandering aimlessly down the streets in the southeast part of town, my mind in a jumble and my senses in a spin as the result of a particularly invigorating night at a certain out-of-the-way hovel for adventurous and well-financed gentlemen such as myself. I go there sometimes when I’m not inclined to take my business to the regular uptown bar, usually because I need to spend an evening without seeing the people from work stare at me out of the corners of their eyes. Incidentally, I wasn’t kidding when I said the place was out-of-the-way. Specifically, it’s a mere couple blocks away from the undrawn line that constitutes the outer limits of the city proper. On that day I was stumbling about without purpose or destination, inebriated and exhausted and underslept, my eyes and ears open yet my senses blind, my mind an ill rush that was contemplating nothing. It was as if I was walking within a dream, though in fact I’m pretty sure I have had dreams in which I’ve found myself more lucid than I was at that time. As is always the case when I am in such a state, eventually there came a moment in which, without warning or precedent, I abruptly woke up. Like a commuter emerging from a long tunnel, all of a sudden I was struck by the vastness and imminence of my surroundings, and I had to stop and squint for a moment as my eyes and mind adjusted to the light. Looking around me, I saw the empty streets, desolate except for the stray bit of garbage crawling around in the wind, and the large, lifeless black buildings looming over me, and the gray sky in turn looming over them. I was in the old city. Around me was total silence, except for the faint, raspy whispering of the wind, punctuated only once or twice every few minutes by the faintest sound of a vehicle’s horn who-knows-how-many miles away. The air was thick; it was going to rain.
My first thought was to call a cab and get a ride back to my apartment; I didn’t like paying for cab fare and, to be honest, I didn’t much care how unhealthy it is to stand in the rain, but all the same I was wearing my favorite jacket today and paying a little money was a preferable alternative to having it ruined by rainfall. While still (for some reason) shuffling along the sidewalk, I reached into my pocket to pull out my communicator and input a cab request; I felt a seizing grip in my chest as my hand entered the abyss and found nothing. I frantically grabbed around in my other pocket, then in my jacket pockets (all four of them) and, hell, even my breast pocket just to be absolutely certain. There was no doubt about it; the damned thing had slipped out last night at the hovel I mentioned earlier. I could try retracing my steps back there, but in truth I had been wandering now for a good hour or so and no longer quite knew where, exactly, I was. (In the old city, who would?) At this point, it seemed like a safer bet to try and see if there was a spot with decent shelter within the next couple blocks, and worry about finding my way back after the rain had cleared.
I staggered along the sidewalk in a daze, taking in my surroundings with half-focused eyes. It all seemed to me a mass of brown, gray and black, all of these colors bleeding into one another beyond the point of recognition. I walked to the end of a block, turned, walked down another, rinse and repeat. It was an odd place, the old city – unlike the residential districts in the new city, the buildings were not uniform in design, which struck me as unnecessary and awkward, and yet by all being in roughly equal states of abandonment and decay, they were far more indistinct than the buildings in the new city. Everything looked dusty as hell (I have rather severe dust allergies), and most of the buildings were fenced off.
After a while I was no longer in the residential district, and instead was in what appeared to have once been a center for business. Faded signs hung above sealed-off store windows, the best-preserved of which displayed faint traces of long-forgotten names, and the worst were little more than rusted slabs of metal. In a few places, windows and doors stood open, naked amongst their covered-up comrades; these had likely been the temporary abodes of squatters, gangs or cults or fugitives or whatever, and perhaps still were. These made me uneasy, though it’s hard to say which I feared more: the possibility that there might be people somewhere near me in this empty, lawless wasteland, or the possibility that there might not.
All the while that I wandered, the sky was growing darker and more threatening. I knew I had to pick a building in which to shelter myself soon, but some inscrutable force within me compelled me to keep going onward, just to see what was around the next corner, and the next after that. I told myself, at the time, that I simply wanted to find a place that didn’t look so damned dusty.
Eventually I found myself in a region beyond both the residences and the stores; I suppose the place I was in now must have been an industrial district at one time, or maybe another sort of business district. To be honest, I don’t remember the specifics of the place that well, perhaps because my line of sight was no longer at the ground level; my eyes were fixed straight upwards, gawking at the giant, thin black buildings that stared down at me from above, with the imposing dark mass of sky just beyond their pinnacles. Unlike in the previous districts, here each colossal tower seemed indistinguishable from the last, and there was little space between them. This gave either side of the avenue the impression of being a continuous wall, making the street a great hallway through which I was proceeding to an unknown destination. It was as I stopped to stare up at these buildings that the first droplet of rain fell, as luck would have it, directly in my eye. I immediately doubled over and pressed my hands to my eye socket, the pain searing through my eyeball like fire; the rain was especially bad today. When the pain in my eye subsided enough for me to regain my bearings, I realized just how bad a situation I had managed to get myself into; it was starting to rain, now, and it would be even harder to find an accessible entrance in one of these towers than in the other buildings. Maybe I should’ve just tried to find my way back to the hovel in the first place. Maybe it would’ve taken me less time than I had thought. Maybe I could have avoided all this in the first place.
Such thoughts were of little use to me now. I turned my unblemished eye (the other one was still tightly shut in discomfort) to the ground level, scanning my surroundings for an open or openable entryway, or a broken ground-floor window, or something of use to me at the present time. I started sprinting, going down to the end of the street, but the tall black towers seemed to stretch out forever, with no end in sight. The rain was still only dripping now, and every minute or so I could feel the slight burning on my head or hand of a droplet hitting skin. Eventually I needed to stop, simply to catch my breath. I seemed pretty well out of luck; I realized I might have to ruin my prized jacket simply to shield myself from the rain. It was then that I noticed it: a large, awkward gap between two of the towers, a square of land that seemed to stand out from the rest. I could glimpse the very edge of what looked like a modest-sized building. Still breathing heavily from all the running I had done to get here, I began to hastily walk over to it; I knew it was my best shot.
It was an odd little plot of land I saw before me. In the center was a fairly small building, rectangular in shape and mildly vertical in design; it was much larger than a shed but far too small to be an apartment. In front of the building was a set of concrete steps leading to a large set of doors that looked unlike any I’d ever seen. The roof was shaped like what appeared to be two edges of an upward-pointing equilateral triangle. It was a bizarre design that I had only ever seen before in images of the old world. It was practically hidden in the shade of the two massive buildings to its left and right; behind it, there was a huge wall. Compared to the dilapidated, pitiful things I had seen in the residential and small business districts, this one was in surprisingly good condition; the wall and buildings on three sides must have sheltered it from a lot of rain damage – or perhaps someone, or some group of people, was going out of their way to keep the place intact. That in and of itself seemed odd, and I wondered whether I might find myself unwelcome and endangered if I chose to enter the building for shelter. I had only barely got to thinking about this, though, when the loaded silence was torn asunder by a crackle of thunder, and mere moments later the rain changed from a trickle to a downpour. The water was falling all over me, soaking and burning and stinging my skin, and who knows what it was doing to my goddamned jacket. I decided I’d take my chances with this odd little place.
I rushed forward, up the steps, and grabbed the handles of the doors. I pulled with all my might, eventually managing to heave the great doors open. I rushed inside and, feeling the need to ensure I hadn’t done things halfway, slammed them behind me after I did, and promptly collapsed onto the floor, leaning against the wall and staring at the floor straight in front of me. Outside I could hear the furious torrents of rain pouring down outside, punctuated every so often by the pounding of thunder. Staring at the floor and squirming about in my de facto seat, I noticed it was made up of a creaky, flimsy-seeming substance consisting of boards that, despite the appearance of having been polished some time in the last several years, were nevertheless collecting dust and beginning to warp around the edges. I guess they must’ve been wood, which was something all the more unusual to find in such a run-down locale as this one. My curiosity about this old hut was growing by the moment.
Upon catching my breath, I looked around and took in my surroundings. The building was a strange and quaint little place that seemed in stark contrast to any and all of the places uptown. Most of the interior appeared to be one great room, with that semi-triangular ceiling situated a few dozen feet above. On the walls on either side of the door I had entered through were windows; looking out of them I could see that the sky had gone nearly pitch black, with rain falling in great torrents outdoors and flashes of lightning on occasion violently penetrating the gloom. On the walls of the chamber within were windows of a different sort; they were very large (which, in and of itself, was only slightly unusual) and from what I could discern in the dim light, they appeared to be decorated with many sorts of shapes and colors – including, most interestingly, what appeared to be crude illustrations of people. Squinting to make out further details and, between the darkness in the room and the dust and muck covering the windows, failing to do so, my eyes instead turned to the body of the room. On the floor were two long rows of benches, all of them empty, and in between the rows was an aisle leading up to some place in the back; bathed in shadows as it was, I could not clearly make out what was there, so in time I picked myself up and began, as if in a trance, to walk slowly down the aisle in the center, flashes of lightning faintly illuminating the great windows on either side of me and the sounds of the storm making their presence inescapably known outside.
As I passed each successive row of benches, the formation at the back of the room became more apparent to me. It looked like a small stage, and on it seemed to be a table of some sort. Behind that table was a large object, cloaked in shadow. As I reached the table the object became clear. It looked like a statue. I walked up to it. It appeared to be of a person – a woman, or a man, I couldn’t tell. Blackened and dirty, it stood gazing over the great chamber before it, its eyes featureless and blank yet a strange look of serenity about it. One of its arms was outstretched, as if offering up some invisible gift to me, or perhaps someone standing above me. It appeared to be wearing some kind of simplistic, loose garb, like the kind one might see on a girl some nights at the burlesque, or worn by a leader of one of the cults. The statue was situated on a pedestal, and holding my face directly in front of it and squinting in the dim light I could just barely make out what appeared to be letters. They looked similar to our letters, yet something about them was not quite the same. Even looking at the letters I could recognize, the words they spelled out were none that I’d ever seen. I looked back up to its body, and then noticed the strangest thing about it. Protruding from its back were two large appendages, and they looked strangely like the arms of a pigeon, only blown up to human size. The sheer absurdity of it struck me powerfully, and a broad grin erupted across my face; I was almost inclined to laugh. But, in moments, my grin left me.
I had noticed the wall behind the figure. Somehow I had not noticed it prior. Though the building had appeared small from the outside, the wall now seemed to tower over me, as vast as any of the city buildings, and in the dim light I saw that on the wall were… names. From foot to ceiling, every visible inch of the wall had been marked or inscribed with people’s names. Some of the names, particularly towards the bottom, were written over the others where there wasn’t room enough to write them in an open space. There must have been hundreds of names there. Probably thousands. There were more names on that wall than names I myself know. Maybe more than I could ever be able to know.
I looked back at the statue. I looked into its eyes. Those eyes, blank and cold and lifeless as they were, seemed to be looking straight into me… as if they could see something about me that I could not see myself. I had to look away. I looked around the room, and suddenly the place seemed to have taken on an entirely different character than that which it had possessed when I first entered it. All of a sudden I was overwhelmed by a sensation that I struggle to this day to find words for. If I had to try, I suppose I would call it a sense of… presence. The room was closing in on me – all of a sudden I felt that I was not alone. I frantically looked over the benches, to the sides of the stage, yet no other human being was in the building with me; only the statue and the windows and the wall of names. Yet this “presence” I felt… it was overpowering. I couldn’t stay in this place. I shouldn’t be here. I had to leave.
I rushed out the door and into the street, the rain still falling around me. I looked up at the towering buildings, with the dark sky just beyond their pinnacles, little cracks of light showing through the grayness even as the rain continued to fall. I could feel the burning on my skin, but I didn’t care anymore. I had to get as far away from this place as possible. I ran and ran, through the endless mass of buildings. Suddenly the great towers felt less like pillars in a hallway than bars in a prison cell. The sky was sneering down upon me as I ran from nothing in a cage of black metal. Everything was all fucked up. I kept running, away from the black towers, back into the barren land of the business district. Now I felt as though I was in the place outside; I was running through a barren world, a place man was not meant to live. I wasn’t the master of this place; I was merely its prisoner. I thought of home, of my roomy little apartment in uptown, but now even these thoughts were of little solace to me; in my mind’s eye, my beloved room warped and transformed into a chamber of solitary confinement, and the bright and familiar city surrounding it became an open range just as lawless and inhospitable as the old city and the world outside, in a bizarre and inexplicable way perhaps even moreso. I was trapped, and I could blame no one for entrapping me but myself. At the same time I realized that I was not alone, and never could be, and at the same time I was more alone than I could have ever realized; and both of these realizations terrified me in equal measure. Knowing that there was nowhere to escape to, I had to escape. I ran and ran in a feverish delirium, these thoughts grinding like a broken gear through my brain, my line of vision fixed in front of me, waiting to spot some sort of light in the darkness. And all the while my skin seared and my clothing began to stick.
I don’t know how long I ran for. It felt like an eternity. All I really remember is that at some unspeakable hour of the morning I stumbled into a building, my entire body aching from without due to the burning of the rain, and from within due to the extreme exertion of hours of running. There were some people there, and they contacted the medical services. I was taken to the hospital and stayed in a ward there, barely talking to anyone and barely doing anything. I still hadn’t got back my communicator. No one knew what the hell had happened to me and I didn’t know how to explain it, so I didn’t try. After a couple days they got me out of bed and gave me a psych test, which I passed, and then sent me back on my way with some lotion to treat my burns. I needed it, because those damned things tormented me for weeks. It took a couple days after I’d gotten back for me to leave my apartment, after which the first thing I did was force myself to go back and try and find my communicator. Turns out by that point, someone had pilfered it, and it was probably on the black market already. I had to go to the communications center, wipe the device, and apply for a new one. It was more of a pain in the ass than the damned burns.
Nearly a year later, here I am, composing this in my apartment. It’s the first time that I’ve made any attempt to talk about where I was or what I did that day. No one else knows – the couple of people who are close to knowing believe that I had an unfortunate experience while under the influence of mind-altering substances, and those who might have been in a position to terminate my employment were generous enough to sweep the incident under the rug and never speak of it again. So, things haven’t really changed. I’m still running the same job, still talking to the same people, still going to the same hangouts. But in my mind, I can’t help but suspect that some intangible change has taken place – some valve has been opened, some bolt has been unscrewed, some gear has run awry. I haven’t gone back to the old city since that day and I don’t plan to. But I feel as if there is something I must do, though I could not for the life of me tell you what, and perhaps I will, against my better judgment, act on that irrational impulse at some point down the road as the future sprawls out like the tracks of an endlessly turning wheel before me.
As a contributor for a certain very fine and respectable publication which, this piece being off-the-record and in fact rather personal, I shall not name, I have had a chance to leave the city – with proper authorization, of course (I am not an affiliate of those sorts of publications) – several times. It’s a hell of a place out there, and it’s not unlike the old city. Much of it seems blasted and barren and alien, and the people I’ve spoken to who work out there are all people who don’t seem to care much for casual conversation. I can see why. Out there is an environment, a state of being, that exists without man, perhaps even in spite of him. I feel unwelcome just staying at one of the rickety, understaffed facilities out there for a couple nights – I can only imagine what it would feel like to live there. The city is man’s place – made by man, for man. It’s where we’re meant to live. I can’t imagine it any other way.
But, I’m losing myself here. Editorializing will do that to you – start asking “why?” instead of “what”, “when” and “how”, and you can’t seem to stop. It’s not good for a person.
It was one afternoon early last autumn that I found myself wandering aimlessly down the streets in the southeast part of town, my mind in a jumble and my senses in a spin as the result of a particularly invigorating night at a certain out-of-the-way hovel for adventurous and well-financed gentlemen such as myself. I go there sometimes when I’m not inclined to take my business to the regular uptown bar, usually because I need to spend an evening without seeing the people from work stare at me out of the corners of their eyes. Incidentally, I wasn’t kidding when I said the place was out-of-the-way. Specifically, it’s a mere couple blocks away from the undrawn line that constitutes the outer limits of the city proper. On that day I was stumbling about without purpose or destination, inebriated and exhausted and underslept, my eyes and ears open yet my senses blind, my mind an ill rush that was contemplating nothing. It was as if I was walking within a dream, though in fact I’m pretty sure I have had dreams in which I’ve found myself more lucid than I was at that time. As is always the case when I am in such a state, eventually there came a moment in which, without warning or precedent, I abruptly woke up. Like a commuter emerging from a long tunnel, all of a sudden I was struck by the vastness and imminence of my surroundings, and I had to stop and squint for a moment as my eyes and mind adjusted to the light. Looking around me, I saw the empty streets, desolate except for the stray bit of garbage crawling around in the wind, and the large, lifeless black buildings looming over me, and the gray sky in turn looming over them. I was in the old city. Around me was total silence, except for the faint, raspy whispering of the wind, punctuated only once or twice every few minutes by the faintest sound of a vehicle’s horn who-knows-how-many miles away. The air was thick; it was going to rain.
My first thought was to call a cab and get a ride back to my apartment; I didn’t like paying for cab fare and, to be honest, I didn’t much care how unhealthy it is to stand in the rain, but all the same I was wearing my favorite jacket today and paying a little money was a preferable alternative to having it ruined by rainfall. While still (for some reason) shuffling along the sidewalk, I reached into my pocket to pull out my communicator and input a cab request; I felt a seizing grip in my chest as my hand entered the abyss and found nothing. I frantically grabbed around in my other pocket, then in my jacket pockets (all four of them) and, hell, even my breast pocket just to be absolutely certain. There was no doubt about it; the damned thing had slipped out last night at the hovel I mentioned earlier. I could try retracing my steps back there, but in truth I had been wandering now for a good hour or so and no longer quite knew where, exactly, I was. (In the old city, who would?) At this point, it seemed like a safer bet to try and see if there was a spot with decent shelter within the next couple blocks, and worry about finding my way back after the rain had cleared.
I staggered along the sidewalk in a daze, taking in my surroundings with half-focused eyes. It all seemed to me a mass of brown, gray and black, all of these colors bleeding into one another beyond the point of recognition. I walked to the end of a block, turned, walked down another, rinse and repeat. It was an odd place, the old city – unlike the residential districts in the new city, the buildings were not uniform in design, which struck me as unnecessary and awkward, and yet by all being in roughly equal states of abandonment and decay, they were far more indistinct than the buildings in the new city. Everything looked dusty as hell (I have rather severe dust allergies), and most of the buildings were fenced off.
After a while I was no longer in the residential district, and instead was in what appeared to have once been a center for business. Faded signs hung above sealed-off store windows, the best-preserved of which displayed faint traces of long-forgotten names, and the worst were little more than rusted slabs of metal. In a few places, windows and doors stood open, naked amongst their covered-up comrades; these had likely been the temporary abodes of squatters, gangs or cults or fugitives or whatever, and perhaps still were. These made me uneasy, though it’s hard to say which I feared more: the possibility that there might be people somewhere near me in this empty, lawless wasteland, or the possibility that there might not.
All the while that I wandered, the sky was growing darker and more threatening. I knew I had to pick a building in which to shelter myself soon, but some inscrutable force within me compelled me to keep going onward, just to see what was around the next corner, and the next after that. I told myself, at the time, that I simply wanted to find a place that didn’t look so damned dusty.
Eventually I found myself in a region beyond both the residences and the stores; I suppose the place I was in now must have been an industrial district at one time, or maybe another sort of business district. To be honest, I don’t remember the specifics of the place that well, perhaps because my line of sight was no longer at the ground level; my eyes were fixed straight upwards, gawking at the giant, thin black buildings that stared down at me from above, with the imposing dark mass of sky just beyond their pinnacles. Unlike in the previous districts, here each colossal tower seemed indistinguishable from the last, and there was little space between them. This gave either side of the avenue the impression of being a continuous wall, making the street a great hallway through which I was proceeding to an unknown destination. It was as I stopped to stare up at these buildings that the first droplet of rain fell, as luck would have it, directly in my eye. I immediately doubled over and pressed my hands to my eye socket, the pain searing through my eyeball like fire; the rain was especially bad today. When the pain in my eye subsided enough for me to regain my bearings, I realized just how bad a situation I had managed to get myself into; it was starting to rain, now, and it would be even harder to find an accessible entrance in one of these towers than in the other buildings. Maybe I should’ve just tried to find my way back to the hovel in the first place. Maybe it would’ve taken me less time than I had thought. Maybe I could have avoided all this in the first place.
Such thoughts were of little use to me now. I turned my unblemished eye (the other one was still tightly shut in discomfort) to the ground level, scanning my surroundings for an open or openable entryway, or a broken ground-floor window, or something of use to me at the present time. I started sprinting, going down to the end of the street, but the tall black towers seemed to stretch out forever, with no end in sight. The rain was still only dripping now, and every minute or so I could feel the slight burning on my head or hand of a droplet hitting skin. Eventually I needed to stop, simply to catch my breath. I seemed pretty well out of luck; I realized I might have to ruin my prized jacket simply to shield myself from the rain. It was then that I noticed it: a large, awkward gap between two of the towers, a square of land that seemed to stand out from the rest. I could glimpse the very edge of what looked like a modest-sized building. Still breathing heavily from all the running I had done to get here, I began to hastily walk over to it; I knew it was my best shot.
It was an odd little plot of land I saw before me. In the center was a fairly small building, rectangular in shape and mildly vertical in design; it was much larger than a shed but far too small to be an apartment. In front of the building was a set of concrete steps leading to a large set of doors that looked unlike any I’d ever seen. The roof was shaped like what appeared to be two edges of an upward-pointing equilateral triangle. It was a bizarre design that I had only ever seen before in images of the old world. It was practically hidden in the shade of the two massive buildings to its left and right; behind it, there was a huge wall. Compared to the dilapidated, pitiful things I had seen in the residential and small business districts, this one was in surprisingly good condition; the wall and buildings on three sides must have sheltered it from a lot of rain damage – or perhaps someone, or some group of people, was going out of their way to keep the place intact. That in and of itself seemed odd, and I wondered whether I might find myself unwelcome and endangered if I chose to enter the building for shelter. I had only barely got to thinking about this, though, when the loaded silence was torn asunder by a crackle of thunder, and mere moments later the rain changed from a trickle to a downpour. The water was falling all over me, soaking and burning and stinging my skin, and who knows what it was doing to my goddamned jacket. I decided I’d take my chances with this odd little place.
I rushed forward, up the steps, and grabbed the handles of the doors. I pulled with all my might, eventually managing to heave the great doors open. I rushed inside and, feeling the need to ensure I hadn’t done things halfway, slammed them behind me after I did, and promptly collapsed onto the floor, leaning against the wall and staring at the floor straight in front of me. Outside I could hear the furious torrents of rain pouring down outside, punctuated every so often by the pounding of thunder. Staring at the floor and squirming about in my de facto seat, I noticed it was made up of a creaky, flimsy-seeming substance consisting of boards that, despite the appearance of having been polished some time in the last several years, were nevertheless collecting dust and beginning to warp around the edges. I guess they must’ve been wood, which was something all the more unusual to find in such a run-down locale as this one. My curiosity about this old hut was growing by the moment.
Upon catching my breath, I looked around and took in my surroundings. The building was a strange and quaint little place that seemed in stark contrast to any and all of the places uptown. Most of the interior appeared to be one great room, with that semi-triangular ceiling situated a few dozen feet above. On the walls on either side of the door I had entered through were windows; looking out of them I could see that the sky had gone nearly pitch black, with rain falling in great torrents outdoors and flashes of lightning on occasion violently penetrating the gloom. On the walls of the chamber within were windows of a different sort; they were very large (which, in and of itself, was only slightly unusual) and from what I could discern in the dim light, they appeared to be decorated with many sorts of shapes and colors – including, most interestingly, what appeared to be crude illustrations of people. Squinting to make out further details and, between the darkness in the room and the dust and muck covering the windows, failing to do so, my eyes instead turned to the body of the room. On the floor were two long rows of benches, all of them empty, and in between the rows was an aisle leading up to some place in the back; bathed in shadows as it was, I could not clearly make out what was there, so in time I picked myself up and began, as if in a trance, to walk slowly down the aisle in the center, flashes of lightning faintly illuminating the great windows on either side of me and the sounds of the storm making their presence inescapably known outside.
As I passed each successive row of benches, the formation at the back of the room became more apparent to me. It looked like a small stage, and on it seemed to be a table of some sort. Behind that table was a large object, cloaked in shadow. As I reached the table the object became clear. It looked like a statue. I walked up to it. It appeared to be of a person – a woman, or a man, I couldn’t tell. Blackened and dirty, it stood gazing over the great chamber before it, its eyes featureless and blank yet a strange look of serenity about it. One of its arms was outstretched, as if offering up some invisible gift to me, or perhaps someone standing above me. It appeared to be wearing some kind of simplistic, loose garb, like the kind one might see on a girl some nights at the burlesque, or worn by a leader of one of the cults. The statue was situated on a pedestal, and holding my face directly in front of it and squinting in the dim light I could just barely make out what appeared to be letters. They looked similar to our letters, yet something about them was not quite the same. Even looking at the letters I could recognize, the words they spelled out were none that I’d ever seen. I looked back up to its body, and then noticed the strangest thing about it. Protruding from its back were two large appendages, and they looked strangely like the arms of a pigeon, only blown up to human size. The sheer absurdity of it struck me powerfully, and a broad grin erupted across my face; I was almost inclined to laugh. But, in moments, my grin left me.
I had noticed the wall behind the figure. Somehow I had not noticed it prior. Though the building had appeared small from the outside, the wall now seemed to tower over me, as vast as any of the city buildings, and in the dim light I saw that on the wall were… names. From foot to ceiling, every visible inch of the wall had been marked or inscribed with people’s names. Some of the names, particularly towards the bottom, were written over the others where there wasn’t room enough to write them in an open space. There must have been hundreds of names there. Probably thousands. There were more names on that wall than names I myself know. Maybe more than I could ever be able to know.
I looked back at the statue. I looked into its eyes. Those eyes, blank and cold and lifeless as they were, seemed to be looking straight into me… as if they could see something about me that I could not see myself. I had to look away. I looked around the room, and suddenly the place seemed to have taken on an entirely different character than that which it had possessed when I first entered it. All of a sudden I was overwhelmed by a sensation that I struggle to this day to find words for. If I had to try, I suppose I would call it a sense of… presence. The room was closing in on me – all of a sudden I felt that I was not alone. I frantically looked over the benches, to the sides of the stage, yet no other human being was in the building with me; only the statue and the windows and the wall of names. Yet this “presence” I felt… it was overpowering. I couldn’t stay in this place. I shouldn’t be here. I had to leave.
I rushed out the door and into the street, the rain still falling around me. I looked up at the towering buildings, with the dark sky just beyond their pinnacles, little cracks of light showing through the grayness even as the rain continued to fall. I could feel the burning on my skin, but I didn’t care anymore. I had to get as far away from this place as possible. I ran and ran, through the endless mass of buildings. Suddenly the great towers felt less like pillars in a hallway than bars in a prison cell. The sky was sneering down upon me as I ran from nothing in a cage of black metal. Everything was all fucked up. I kept running, away from the black towers, back into the barren land of the business district. Now I felt as though I was in the place outside; I was running through a barren world, a place man was not meant to live. I wasn’t the master of this place; I was merely its prisoner. I thought of home, of my roomy little apartment in uptown, but now even these thoughts were of little solace to me; in my mind’s eye, my beloved room warped and transformed into a chamber of solitary confinement, and the bright and familiar city surrounding it became an open range just as lawless and inhospitable as the old city and the world outside, in a bizarre and inexplicable way perhaps even moreso. I was trapped, and I could blame no one for entrapping me but myself. At the same time I realized that I was not alone, and never could be, and at the same time I was more alone than I could have ever realized; and both of these realizations terrified me in equal measure. Knowing that there was nowhere to escape to, I had to escape. I ran and ran in a feverish delirium, these thoughts grinding like a broken gear through my brain, my line of vision fixed in front of me, waiting to spot some sort of light in the darkness. And all the while my skin seared and my clothing began to stick.
I don’t know how long I ran for. It felt like an eternity. All I really remember is that at some unspeakable hour of the morning I stumbled into a building, my entire body aching from without due to the burning of the rain, and from within due to the extreme exertion of hours of running. There were some people there, and they contacted the medical services. I was taken to the hospital and stayed in a ward there, barely talking to anyone and barely doing anything. I still hadn’t got back my communicator. No one knew what the hell had happened to me and I didn’t know how to explain it, so I didn’t try. After a couple days they got me out of bed and gave me a psych test, which I passed, and then sent me back on my way with some lotion to treat my burns. I needed it, because those damned things tormented me for weeks. It took a couple days after I’d gotten back for me to leave my apartment, after which the first thing I did was force myself to go back and try and find my communicator. Turns out by that point, someone had pilfered it, and it was probably on the black market already. I had to go to the communications center, wipe the device, and apply for a new one. It was more of a pain in the ass than the damned burns.
Nearly a year later, here I am, composing this in my apartment. It’s the first time that I’ve made any attempt to talk about where I was or what I did that day. No one else knows – the couple of people who are close to knowing believe that I had an unfortunate experience while under the influence of mind-altering substances, and those who might have been in a position to terminate my employment were generous enough to sweep the incident under the rug and never speak of it again. So, things haven’t really changed. I’m still running the same job, still talking to the same people, still going to the same hangouts. But in my mind, I can’t help but suspect that some intangible change has taken place – some valve has been opened, some bolt has been unscrewed, some gear has run awry. I haven’t gone back to the old city since that day and I don’t plan to. But I feel as if there is something I must do, though I could not for the life of me tell you what, and perhaps I will, against my better judgment, act on that irrational impulse at some point down the road as the future sprawls out like the tracks of an endlessly turning wheel before me.
Posted by Ni_Go_Zero_Ichi | Jan 26, 2012 12:03 AM | 0 comments
January 17th, 2012
MAL Groaning
Anime Relations: Cowboy Bebop, Cowboy Bebop: Tengoku no Tobira, One Piece, Shinseiki Evangelion, Shinseiki Evangelion Movie: Air/Magokoro wo, Kimi ni, Kenpuu Denki Berserk, Koukaku Kidoutai, Akira, Kidou Senshi Gundam: Gyakushuu no Char, Kidou Senshi Gundam SEED, Mai-HiME, Air, Sakigake!! Cromartie Koukou, Gunslinger Girl, Kareshi Kanojo no Jijou, Blood+, Mononoke Hime, Tenkuu no Escaflowne, Samurai Champloo, Ranma ½, Elfen Lied, FLCL, Bleach, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children, Mousou Dairinin, Perfect Blue, Shoujo Kakumei Utena, Innocence, Jin-Rou, Hotaru no Haka, Dragon Ball Z, Top wo Nerae! Gunbuster, Uchuu Kaizoku Captain Herlock, Sennen Joyuu, Ouritsu Uchuugun: Honneamise no Tsubasa, NHK ni Youkoso!, Lupin III: Cagliostro no Shiro, Memories, Black Jack, Code Geass: Hangyaku no Lelouch, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Naruto: Shippuuden, Lucky☆Star, Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha StrikerS, Darker than Black: Kuro no Keiyakusha, Clannad, Shinreigari, Daicon Opening Animations, Code Geass: Hangyaku no Lelouch R2, Gyakkyou Burai Kaiji: Ultimate Survivor, Trigun: Badlands Rumble, Clannad: After Story, Toradora!, Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha: The Movie 1st, Hetalia Axis Powers, Sengoku Basara, K-On!, Toaru Kagaku no Railgun, Angel Beats!, Durarara!!, InuYasha: Kanketsu-hen, Kaichou wa Maid-sama!, Suzumiya Haruhi no Shoushitsu, Mitsudomoe, K-On!!, Kami nomi zo Shiru Sekai, Shinryaku! Ika Musume, Ore no Imouto ga Konnani Kawaii Wake ga Nai, Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt, Hetalia Axis Powers Fan Disc, Gintama', Ano Hi Mita Hana no Namae wo Bokutachi wa Mada Shiranai., Fate/Zero
Look, it's no secret that anime fans have shit taste. I think we can all agree on this. What you might not be aware of is just HOW shit we are talking about here. Well, dear readers, wallow in your ignorance no longer, for I have performed exhaustive research on the MAL Top 1000 list just to bring you the searing, front-page headlines from the trenches of the Internet apocalypse. Listed below are pairs of various entries in the Top 1000, with their rank based on user ratings relative to each other. The power of NUMBERS and MATH and COLD, HARD SCIENCE is here at your aid, converting into QUANTIFIABLE TERMS just how garbage the taste of the average anime fan is. Let's go from the top down:
Ano Hana > Princess Mononoke and literally every Hayao Miyazaki movie with the exception of Spirited Away
Code Geass > Cowboy Bebop
Fate/Zero > Grave of the Fireflies
Angel Beats > Samurai Champloo
Toradora! > Welcome to the NHK!
The original Neon Genesis Evangelion and Ghost in the Shell do not appear anywhere in the top 100. Their (IMO watered-down) Noughties spinoffs, however, do. AKIRA is also absent from the top 100.
Darker Than Black > Cowboy Bebop: The Movie (no fuck you, Darker Than Black was stupid and you need to stop defending it just because it looks good next to virtually anything else in the last 5 years)
Inuyasha: The Final Act > Kaiji
Kaicho wa Maid-sama > Millenium Actress
Trigun: Badlands Rumble > The End of Evangelion
Durarara!! > Neon Genesis Evangelion
Clannad > Berserk
Nanoha The Movie 1 > Ghost in the Shell
Lucky Star > The Castle of Cagliostro
Elfen Lied > FLCL
Hetalia Axis Powers > Gunbuster
Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children > Revolutionary Girl Utena
K-On!! > Cromartie High School
K-On! > Perfect Blue
Gundam Seed > AKIRA
Katekyo Hitman Reborn > Char's Counterattack
The Word God Only Knows > Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence
Mitsudomoe > Ranma 1/2
One Piece > Dragon Ball Z
Toaru Kagaku no Railgun > Daicon Opening Animations
Transformers: The Movie > Katsuhiro Otomo's Memories
Blood+ > Captain Harlock
Hetalia Fan Disc > Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt
Squid Girl > Escaflowne
Nanoha Strikers > Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade
Naruto Shippuden > Kare Kano
My Little Sister Can't Be This Cute > The Wings of Honneamise
Air > Osamu Tezuka's Black Jack
Bleach > Ghost Hound
Sengoku Basara > Paranoia Agent
Mai Hime > Gunslinger Girl
and now...
FUN WITH IMDB
IMDB rating for Schindler's List: 8.9
MAL rating for Clannad: After Story: 9.1
IMDB rating for The Godfather, Part II: 9.0
MAL rating for Gintama series 2: 9.3
IMDB rating for The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King: 8.8
MAL rating for The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya: 9.1
IMDB rating for Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back: 8.8
MAL rating for Code Geass R2: 9.0
*pant* ...okay... I'm done.
...for now.
(BTW if this gets linked on Colony Drop or wherever, hire me!! I write.)
Ano Hana > Princess Mononoke and literally every Hayao Miyazaki movie with the exception of Spirited Away
Code Geass > Cowboy Bebop
Fate/Zero > Grave of the Fireflies
Angel Beats > Samurai Champloo
Toradora! > Welcome to the NHK!
The original Neon Genesis Evangelion and Ghost in the Shell do not appear anywhere in the top 100. Their (IMO watered-down) Noughties spinoffs, however, do. AKIRA is also absent from the top 100.
Darker Than Black > Cowboy Bebop: The Movie (no fuck you, Darker Than Black was stupid and you need to stop defending it just because it looks good next to virtually anything else in the last 5 years)
Inuyasha: The Final Act > Kaiji
Kaicho wa Maid-sama > Millenium Actress
Trigun: Badlands Rumble > The End of Evangelion
Durarara!! > Neon Genesis Evangelion
Clannad > Berserk
Nanoha The Movie 1 > Ghost in the Shell
Lucky Star > The Castle of Cagliostro
Elfen Lied > FLCL
Hetalia Axis Powers > Gunbuster
Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children > Revolutionary Girl Utena
K-On!! > Cromartie High School
K-On! > Perfect Blue
Gundam Seed > AKIRA
Katekyo Hitman Reborn > Char's Counterattack
The Word God Only Knows > Ghost in the Shell 2: Innocence
Mitsudomoe > Ranma 1/2
One Piece > Dragon Ball Z
Toaru Kagaku no Railgun > Daicon Opening Animations
Transformers: The Movie > Katsuhiro Otomo's Memories
Blood+ > Captain Harlock
Hetalia Fan Disc > Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt
Squid Girl > Escaflowne
Nanoha Strikers > Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade
Naruto Shippuden > Kare Kano
My Little Sister Can't Be This Cute > The Wings of Honneamise
Air > Osamu Tezuka's Black Jack
Bleach > Ghost Hound
Sengoku Basara > Paranoia Agent
Mai Hime > Gunslinger Girl
and now...
FUN WITH IMDB
IMDB rating for Schindler's List: 8.9
MAL rating for Clannad: After Story: 9.1
IMDB rating for The Godfather, Part II: 9.0
MAL rating for Gintama series 2: 9.3
IMDB rating for The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King: 8.8
MAL rating for The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya: 9.1
IMDB rating for Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back: 8.8
MAL rating for Code Geass R2: 9.0
*pant* ...okay... I'm done.
...for now.
(BTW if this gets linked on Colony Drop or wherever, hire me!! I write.)
Posted by Ni_Go_Zero_Ichi | Jan 17, 2012 5:30 PM | 5 comments
November 8th, 2011
Talkin bout Berserk
Anime Relations: Kenpuu Denki Berserk, Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu
Once again, my old friend and I have talked, and thought, and had many other wild and wacky experiences revolving around a work of Japanese pop-literature, this time Kentaro Miura's manga Berserk and, in particular, the anime series based on it. Please join us as we ramble about epic poetry, Nietszche, sexism, the nature of human will, and those special "holy shit" moments. I will keep this post updated as our conversation expands.
Me:
Have you ever read/seen Berserk? Because watching it now I think you might love it. It's basically a dark (like, REALLY dark, as in I actually found the first couple volumes of the manga difficult to read because of how relentlessly bleak they are) Western fantasy series (from someone who has clearly done actual extensive research on European culture and mythology, for a change) on a massive scale that plays out almost like anime's answer to a medieval epic poem.
Him:
Is this related tothe old Dreamcast game Sword of the Berserk: Guts' Rage? I never played that game, but I always thought it looked very cool - if/when I get a Dreamcast, I will certainly play it.
Me:
The game is based on the manga/anime (which has been going for over 20 years!). I've never played it (or any other Dreamcast game, for that matter) but I've heard it's good.
If the game looked cool, definitely check out the anime and/or manga.
[weeks later]
Him:
I'm on episode 15 of Berserk, will resume watching probably tomorrow since I have a lot of work today. It started a little slow but it's gotten very good for the most part. It reminds me of a much darker and bloodier Fire Emblem with a dash of Legend of the Galactic Heroes (Griffith, so far, is basically a Reinhard clone crossed with your typical androgynous anime dude with a God complex) and "pulpier" action like Ninja Scroll, and it's an interesting mix. Aesthetically it's nothing too special, although I like some of the armor/character designs, and the animation for the most part is kind of average - but that's totally fine. Music has been effective but not mind-blowing. So far it hasn't been what I expected (much more political/war oriented - I thought it was going to be about some lone warrior/demon hunter dude based on initial impressions and the first episode), but I"m pleasantly surprised and am enjoying it. Thanks for the recommendation!
Me:
I thought you'd like it. It starts to pick up and really find itself around episode 10, wouldn't you say? The animation is pretty bad even for a 90s show (it came out the same year as Cowboy Bebop) but the story and soundtrack make up for it. I'm actually kinda surprised you weren't impressed with the music; IMO it's one of the best anime OSTs of all time. Even the Engrish opening/closing songs are winners. I'm currently still on episode 20, so no spoilers if you get past there!
Him:
The music is good, and yeah I liked the opening and ending (especially the opening, which is pretty catchy). And there's that one epic tune that has two versions, a slower one and a more upbeat one that they always play during the "next episode" previews at the end, which usually comes up when griffith does something epic and which is the high point of the show's music for me. I guess what I meant was merely that I'd put this show's music a step below what are, for me, the absolute top anime soundtracks (Bebop, Escaflowne, LotGH, and even Gurren Lagann :p). It's on that second tier, along with stuff like Outlaw Star.
Me:
I would actually place Berserk's OST on my top tier of anime soundtracks. I like it quite a bit. Try listening to some of the pieces on their own; they're pretty damn good. And yeah, the "epic" song is called "Forces" and is pretty much everyone's favorite. You can listen to a full version of it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWfrDG0nmlk
Him:
So I just finished Berserk. Holy shit. Wasn't expecting it to be nearly this good. I don't read manga, but I'm going to have to read the Berserk manga, no choice, too good. Even though I sort of saw where the story was going it was still very well done, great story and great characters for the most part.
Me:
Well, now I just feel silly. I'll talk to when I finish the last few episodes. I'll try to do so within the next week.
I do things REALLY SLOWLY
Since the ending has been mostly spoiled for me already, though, I will say that I think the fact that you sort of see where things are going is actually the point; the conclusion is supposed to be inevitable, in a Greek tragedy sort of way. Hell, it doesn't even try to hide this - the first episode pretty much tells you, implicitly, how things will turn out. The entire series is basically an origin story for Guts as a character, and the manga is his further exploits.
Me:
I like how having sex magically heals Guts's gaping shoulder wound.
Him:
1) Yeah, I actually didn't know that the manga was so long, so I had no idea that the anime was intended merely as an origin story. Once I realized it by the last episode, my opinion of the series actually went up - it did its job excellently, I thought (the fact that I can't wait to read the manga is evidence)
2) HAHAHA I totally forgot about his wound! Hilarious.
Me:
Just finished the last episode. Whoa. Even knowing the ending ahead of time, still, whoa.
Me:
Oh, if you haven't already, be sure to check out the Berserk dub outtakes. They're a riot, regardless of whether or not you watched the dub (I didn't). I think you can find them all on Youtube, or of course on the DVDs if you have them.
Him:
Whoa indeed. You are right on with the Greek tragedy comparison. The one thing I didn't quite get was why exactly Griffith was so unhinged by Guts leaving/defeating him back in episode 19. I mean, I get that it did unhinge him, but I'm not sure as to the precise reasons. What do you think? (Also, as a side note, I have seen few things as brutal and grotesque as what happens to Griffith physically after Guts leaves. Really fucking unnerving, I could barely stand to even look at him.)
Me:
Also looking back, I think the sense of inevitability was not only deliberate, but hugely important thematically. ("Is the destiny of man controlled by some transcendental entity or law?")
As for why Guts's leaving shook Griffith up: it's kind of complicated, but I feel like I more or less understand. To sum it up, because I need to conserve phone power (power outage, and I just heard it could last for days): 1) Griffith was intimidated by Guts, in the sense of both his raw power and the strength of his will, while at the same time 2) Griffith was obsessed with Guts, in both a platonic (envious of above qualities) and erotic way (c.f. metric fuckton of homoerotic subtext between them). I saw a theory that his rape of Casca at the end (a surprisingly ambiguous action since he says literally nothing after his transformation, and also the only part of the episode that really got to me) was done not out of desire for her, but as an act of jealousy directed at Guts. Given the predatory look in his eyes and the fact that he is staring at Guts practically the entire time, I find this believable, although I think it's also possible he had an erotic fixation on both of them.
Me:
Also, it's worth mentioning now that the sex and violence in the anime is WAY toned down from the manga. I found the early volumes almost physically sickening to read because they were so bleak (and, without the knowledge of Guts' backstory, seemingly senselessly so) and relentlessly graphic and grotesque.
Him:
So on Monday I burned through about 20 volumes of the Berserk manga (yes, really - I have a talent for epic media binges). Now that there’s a little distance between myself and the anime (and now that I've experienced the manga and the continuation of the story), I have a few things to say, which I doubt you'll agree with based on your expressed enthusiasm for the series. Actually, as I typed and thought, this basically turned into a mini-treatise on the quality of Berserk as a whole, so I apologize in advance for the length. Hopefully you’ll find it interesting:
First of all, Guts is not an interesting protagonist. His indestructibility is tiresome and makes most fights boring due to inevitable outcomes (side note: this underscores the importance of being willing to kill off your characters if you want your fantasy/science fiction to be “serious”). His basic character development throughout the "Band of the Hawk/Golden Age" story arc portrayed in the anime is very cliché (aggressive loner learns value of social relationships – where have I seen that before?). As Guts acknowledges at one point, he is a completely empty vessel with nothing but a sword. That’s why I don't buy him even for a second as Griffith's equal; I agree with Corkus that it was incredibly pretentious of Guts to leave in the first place. Even the pre-Eclipse "dream" he settles on in the "Sparks" episode after talking to the smith is fundamentally boring (oh great, his dream is to affirm his life… by fighting :p) He only becomes interesting due to Griffith’s mega-betrayal, but even that is not due to his own character traits but because the audience is so horrified by Griffith that it wants to see him fucking burn in hell (I sure do!). Guts is merely the vehicle through which revenge will be delivered to Griffith, and his quest is in a very real sense our quest too. That’s the only reason it even matters to us.
Second, I liked Casca a lot because, for most of the series, she was strong and intelligent and competent. But then, like almost every story of this type (whether in comic books, movies, anime etc.), the narrative tears her down and weakens her until, post-eclipse (MILD SPOILER ALERT) she is literally a blubbering wreck, completely broken, a doll for the male hero Guts to protect and save and probably fuck at some point. I understand that what Griffith did to her was not gratuitous – the rape was, after all, meant as the ultimate symbol of his betrayal, so it had a real function in the story as a symbol and as a visceral, emotional punch to the audience’s gut – but there was no similar narrative need for it to TOTALLY BREAK HER. For that matter, there was also no need for the whole PMS bullshit during that one battle where Guts ends up fighting 100 men, or for how she steadily “softens” and becomes girlier over the course of the series. I understand that this stuff happened in order to bring her and Guts together, but I think that could have been done in a different way that could have preserved her integrity as a strong and independent character. She was flat-out mishandled in the tired, all-too-familiar way, and I hate it. In particular, the manga gratuitously exploits her (and other female characters) in really revolting ways – I’ll touch on this again later on.
Moving on, it’s obvious (I’m sure you’ll agree) that the whole series revolves around Griffith, and that he is the most interesting character (even though he’s absent for long portions of the manga post-Eclipse). But even in his case, he’s not artistically interesting, not intellectually interesting. I say this because there are two ways to understand his character, and the most plausible of the two interpretations does not make him interesting in any “deep” way (whether the LESS plausible interpretation, which – spoiler alert – is the first one, makes him any more intellectually interesting is a question I leave unanswered, but I’m tempted to say no).
The first interpretation of Griffith’s character is that he is a typical anime ubermensch completely fixated on fulfilling his “castle dream” as the purest and highest expression of his will. His companions are merely other wills to be dominated, and he does not actually care about them or rely on them because he is so fixated on the dream. Under this interpretation, his speech to Princess Charlotte at the fountain about only wanting to be friends with an equal (which eventually motivated Guts to leave, sparking the whole tragedy) is sincere; he genuinely views the world as a “contest of wills” in which he can only respect those who do not subsume their own will to his (as opposed to the Band of the Hawk, who are merely “small flames joining the larger blaze”). Likewise, during the Eclipse he agrees to make the sacrifice demanded by the Behelit purely out of his all-consuming devotion to the “castle dream” as manifestation of his will. His betrayal is not motivated by base desires, but by his “pure” devotion to the dream, so he remains this ubermensch figure throughout.
In contrast, the second interpretation is that the whole ubermensch thing is a façade. Under this view, Griffith is actually a (comparatively) normal and IMPERFECT human being. He is just this skilled, manipulative, extremely ambitious guy for whom the “castle dream” is merely a burning ambition, without all the philosophical baggage of wills, etc. Without that philosophical baggage, he instead views his comrades as actual people. Although he manipulates them through his charisma to serve his ambition, at the same time he relies upon them for their strength and skill (especially Guts), as well as for emotional support; they are not nearly as “beneath him” as under the first interpretation. This implies that Griffith was being pretentious and arrogant in his speech to Charlotte at the fountain, rather than totally sincere. Similarly, the implication of this interpretation for Griffith’s actions during the Eclipse is that he basically deludes himself into thinking that he makes the sacrifice out of devotion to his dream. In reality, he makes the sacrifice BECAUSE HE IS A FUCKING WRECK, BECAUSE HE HAS REACHED THE NADIR OF HIS EXISTENCE, BECAUSE HE IS DESPERATE AND LONELY AND JEALOUS AND FUCKING PATHETIC.
Him:
Which of these interpretations is correct? I would argue the second one (let’s call it the “human” interpretation), for a number of reasons. First of all, it offers a more plausible explanation for why Griffith is so attached to Guts. Remember what Casca told Guts upon their reunion: Griffith RELIED upon Guts both practically and emotionally (and as you yourself said, there were definite erotic undertones as well). By extension, this also explains why Griffith reacted so strongly to Guts leaving, and why he “lost his head and his cool” and paid the resulting price. In contrast, the first interpretation (let’s call it the “ubermensch” interpretation) can only tell us that Griffith lost his head because he had never tasted defeat, had never actually experienced an “equal will” and was unnerved by his defeat, which isn’t nearly as strong of an explanation for his emotional and irrational behavior the night after Guts leaves. Remember that throughout the series, Guts views Griffith according to the ubermensch interpretation, which is why he told Casca that he thought Griffith would just brush off the defeat and keep going, as if it were merely a pebble in his path. If the ubermensch interpretation were true, then Griffith would never have gone to the Princess’ room that night. That’s why Casca corrects Guts and calls him a fool.
Another reason that I accept the second interpretation is that I believe that Griffith was in fact deluding himself during the Eclipse. Remember that he overcomes his fear and guilt and arrives at the conclusion that he should accept the sacrifice ONLY AFTER being shown an illusion by one of the “God Hand” demons. Although the demon claimed to be accurately revealing to Griffith his actual desires, surely it is possible that instead the demon was tricking Griffith and “helping” him delude himself. In fact, I would argue that it is much more likely that the demon was deluding Griffith; do you really trust those God Hand demons? Me neither. And remember that right at the moment that Griffith makes the fateful choice, the demons tell him to “abandon reason”. To me, this is the same as telling him to give in to his pathetic desperation and selfishly abandon his moral obligations to his companions. Remember what you said about how Griffith stares at Guts the whole time he’s raping Casca. Why else would he have done it anyway, except to get back at Guts, to vent his jealousy and pathetic fear and rage by expressing his newfound unholy strength?
Finally, another reason to accept the “human” interpretation over the “ubermensch” interpretation is that all of the other “Behelit” demons/Apostles encountered in the manga, such as the Count, the insect/elf girl and the egg demon at Albion Abbey (if that’s what it’s called) had very human reasons to make the sacrifice and become demons – they were all pathetic and desperate in some way, and wanted to overcome their weakness at all costs. Why would Griffith be any different?
So, if the second interpretation is correct, then Griffith is this weird, super-ambitious guy who rises high, fucks up, is almost totally destroyed, and in the hour of his darkest desperation does the unthinkable, totally betraying his friends in the most disgusting, dramatic way possible, and all for pathetic, selfish reasons. What we have in Griffith, then, is an absolutely despicable villain – certainly one of the most despicable I’ve ever encountered in any medium. I cannot express to you how much I hate him for what he did. And while I will keep reading Berserk to find out if Guts finally gets revenge and gives Griffith his just deserts, my ultimate point in all of this is to show that Griffith is merely this odious character who provides the impetus for a dark, pulpy, and somewhat trashy revenge tale. He’s not at all a profound, intellectually interesting character like the protagonists of Legend of the Galactic Heroes, although he’s certainly more interesting than Guts.
So this brings me to the series as a whole. As I think I’ve made clear, Berserk is a shallow revenge saga and nothing more. Its ability to hold the audience’s interest stems (if we generously exclude all of the gratuitous exploitation) almost entirely from how despicable the villain is and how badly the audience wants to see him pay and suffer. Most of the characters are flat (everyone besides Griffith and pre-Eclipse Casca), the combat is totally implausible and for the most part free of genuine tension and suspense due to Guts’ invulnerability, the violence is totally gratuitous, there is tons of tasteless, gratuitous, and in some cases perverted and morally reprehensible sex (I’m not a prude, but there’s shit in Berserk that is so gross and unnecessary) the aesthetics are dark, ugly, and uninteresting, the women are more or less reduced to sex objects (even Casca, to my great chagrin), and worst of all, there isn’t really a deeper meaning to any of it. It’s all just empty sound and fury. (Note: Obviously some of these criticisms apply more strongly to the manga then to the anime, but I still think they apply to the anime as well. See this review, with which I agree at least 70% and which triggered these thoughts in the first place: http://animeworld.com/reviews/berserk.html)
In sum, I argue that Berserk is merely trashy revenge pulp with little or no artistic merit. It’s like a B-list exploitation action movie that holds your interest only because it happens to have an incredibly despicable villain who you genuinely care about seeing die a painful death. So, the only thing that Berserk actually does relatively well is pull off the set-up to Griffith’s betrayal and the betrayal itself, thus setting up the AUDIENCE’S desire to see him pay (actually, there is one other thing – the anime does a good job of understating the supernatural stuff until then end and dangling it as a big mystery in the background of the plot). That’s perhaps enough to make Berserk decently trashy fun and somewhat involving in a mindless way, but let’s not kid ourselves – at best, that’s all it is.
Me:
Whoa, that's a lot to respond to. I'll try and get around to a proper response later, but for now let me give my extra-short, supremely simplified response: yes and no. Everything you say is true; at the same time, it is also not quite right. I will try and elaborate some time within the next week.
Him:
Sorry to respond before you've actually responded, but I just finished getting through most of the latest story arc in the manga, which was a big improvement on the Albion story arc and which prompted me to read what I sent you and reassess it. Basically, I agree with 90% of what I said, but I want to qualify some statements and reel some others in a bit:
1) Guts does eventually show some post-Eclipse character development, but it's extremely predictable. I stand by everything I said about him.
2) On Berserk's treatment of women - I stand by everything I said (because it's fucking obvious), but to be fair I will acknowledge that the manga does pass the Bechdel test. In particular, the latest story arc which I am reading develops a few new female characters who are somewhat interesting and, in a refreshing turn of events, aren't constantly threatened with rape. Of course, that doesn't absolve Berserk of its grievous sins in any respect, but I thought I should point it out.
3) The main thing I want to revise is my assessment of the series as a whole. At heart, it is still a shallow, pulpy revenge saga, but at least in the latest story arc the characters aren't as flat and the 'moment to moment" plot independent of the main revenge quest is somewhat interesting (I think my emphasis on how trashy I found the manga to be stemmed from how bad the first two post-Eclipse story arcs in the manga are - the later stuff is better, especially because the exploitation is toned down a little). And the setting/world, which I didn't mention at all in the original message, is pretty interesting and deserves some praise. And it wasn't fair of me to say that there is no deeper meaning to it; the series has themes - cliched and not deep or that interesting, but themes nonetheless.
In sum, I was a little harsh in comparing it to a trashy B-movie. Certainly the series has those aspects, but there's a little more to it too. But again, I stand by at least 90% of what I said
Me:
Okay, first bit of response (disclaimer: I have only read the first two-and-a-half volumes of the manga at this time):
I disagree that Guts is not an interesting protagonist. He is not a particularly LIKABLE protagonist, but I do not think he is uninteresting. As I have said before, the plot and aesthetic of Berserk is something like that of an epic poem. In keeping with this, Guts is a "hero" in somewhat the same way as, say, Odysseus or Beowulf is a hero - he is the hero not because he is virtuous or complex, but because he is powerful. Guts' sheer power is the defining feature of his character - however, the series uses this in such a way that actually makes him quite interesting. First, the story goes to great lengths to establish both how he became so strong and how his strength came to be his defining characteristic, via the portrayal of his childhood, encounter with the Band of the Hawk, etc. More importantly, he is aware that his power (represented by his iconic sword) is the defining feature of literally his entire existence - his personality, his actions, his relationships. The story of the series (or at least the Golden Age arc) is about his search for meaning in his life beyond pure Darwinian survival, with the forces around him representing various existential elements: Griffith's character and his relationship with Guts is all about human will, its power, its capacity, its influences, its sources, its limits, and whether or not it is free. The God Hand represent the ultimate nihilism - they are "superhumans" who believe that ordinary humans have "no control, even over their own will" and thus manipulate their lives and desires. Their only motives are the lust for pleasure and power. In order to become a demon, a human being must embrace pure nihilism, rejecting emotion and morality in the ultimate act of sacrifice - in order to become one of the God Hand, one must be an ubermensch, the purest and most intense embodiment of this philosophy with the overwhelming willpower and means to bend the world to their will. During the scene in the manga in which the demon-ified king is offered the option of becoming one of the God Hand by sacrificing his daughter, Griffith even invokes him to "cast your love asunder". You know more about Nietszche than I do, but isn't abandoning love in exchange for ambition one of the fundamental requirements of the ubermensch? More on that later, though.
Anyway, going back to Guts: the "angry loner opens up" thing is indeed the superficial element of his character arc (not that I inherently have a problem with that sort of thing if it is written reasonably well, which in Berserk for the most part it is), but beneath that is his existential journey, which comprises the real thematic meat of the series. Guts himself is an animal - he is a brutal beast ruled by his instinct to survive and possessing wild and uncontrollable emotions. (I suspect this is the source of the series' title.) Guts is representative of the most fundamental and base qualities of human nature - fear, anger, love and desire. Despite (or perhaps, because of) being socially and emotionally stunted as a result of his upbringing, he is in fact ruled by emotion. Griffith is his polar opposite in every respect: he is cold, calculating, ruled by ambition, and aspires to be something more than human. One of the greatest ironies of the series is that, as a result of these qualities, it is Griffith who is ultimately manipulated by greater forces, a slave to his own ambition, while Guts, the "lesser" man to Griffith's ubermensch, is the one who is truly free. (This is a huge part of why Griffith loves, despises, and above all envies him.)
I agree that Berserk is in essence pulp entertainment, though I don't really hold that against it. Again, I think it's in keeping with the aesthetic of the series. Like many epic poems, Berserk is melodramatic, lurid, and goes well out of its way to glorify the might and near-invincibility of its "heroes" (again, heroic not so much because they are likable or good as because they are really, really strong, and the villains are far more despicable than they ever are). (Incidentally, Kentaro Miura has explicitly cited Conan the Barbarian as an influence on the series.) On the one hand, the excessively explicit violence, sex and grossness can get to be a little much (a lot much, even) and I do find much of it unnecessary. On the other hand, it IS mostly in keeping with the spirit of the series and the aesthetic it's going for.
One of the greatest strengths and weaknesses of the manga is its obsession with detail; on the plus side, this results in a really intricate plot, well-drawn characters, impressive (if often deliberately ugly) art, and the like; the negative side is manifested by his utter lack of restraint; Miura feels the need to include everything that strikes his fancy, from every grotesque nuance of every injury, dismemberment and killing to every intimate detail of every sex scene (except, oddly enough, for actual genitals) to every sick and twisted idea that crosses his head to every minute detail of every character and plot development to nearly three whole volumes of prologue before even beginning to bother explaining to readers what's going on and why they should care. This kind of everything-and-the-kitchen-sink style of plotting and presentation is not nearly as much of a disaster in Berserk as it is in, say, Xenogears, mostly because Miura is a vastly better writer than Tetsuya Takahashi, but at times it can still be one of the weaker points of the series.
I agree that the series has some definite misogynistic undertones, particularly in its portrayal of Casca. Even taking aside all the threatened/implied/explicitly depicted rape (and man, that would trim the story down by a fair amount!), most of the women are overly-emotional/irrational (c.f. the scene where Casca - at this point in the story the leader of the Band of the Hawk - in short order tries to kill Guts, tries to kill herself, and fucks Guts's brains out) and defined by their sexuality and relationships to men, on whom they are often weakening or corrupting influences. That said, the female characters are at least more intricate and sympathetic than crude stereotypes, and as such the misogynistic aspect is not IMO obnoxious or offensive enough to seriously detract from my enjoyment of the series. It does make me raise an eyebrow when Casca is held up as a great example of a feminism in anime, though. having her be completely broken by her experience during the Eclipse doesn't really bother me (it's a pretty understandable reaction from a psychological perspective) so much as the treatment of her womanhood in general.
Which brings me to Griffith. Oh boy... Griffith. There is a lot to talk about there. So much, in fact, that I will get around to it a bit later. Stay tuned.
Also, this is definitely turning into another "blog" post.
To be continued... (comments welcome!)
Me:
Have you ever read/seen Berserk? Because watching it now I think you might love it. It's basically a dark (like, REALLY dark, as in I actually found the first couple volumes of the manga difficult to read because of how relentlessly bleak they are) Western fantasy series (from someone who has clearly done actual extensive research on European culture and mythology, for a change) on a massive scale that plays out almost like anime's answer to a medieval epic poem.
Him:
Is this related tothe old Dreamcast game Sword of the Berserk: Guts' Rage? I never played that game, but I always thought it looked very cool - if/when I get a Dreamcast, I will certainly play it.
Me:
The game is based on the manga/anime (which has been going for over 20 years!). I've never played it (or any other Dreamcast game, for that matter) but I've heard it's good.
If the game looked cool, definitely check out the anime and/or manga.
[weeks later]
Him:
I'm on episode 15 of Berserk, will resume watching probably tomorrow since I have a lot of work today. It started a little slow but it's gotten very good for the most part. It reminds me of a much darker and bloodier Fire Emblem with a dash of Legend of the Galactic Heroes (Griffith, so far, is basically a Reinhard clone crossed with your typical androgynous anime dude with a God complex) and "pulpier" action like Ninja Scroll, and it's an interesting mix. Aesthetically it's nothing too special, although I like some of the armor/character designs, and the animation for the most part is kind of average - but that's totally fine. Music has been effective but not mind-blowing. So far it hasn't been what I expected (much more political/war oriented - I thought it was going to be about some lone warrior/demon hunter dude based on initial impressions and the first episode), but I"m pleasantly surprised and am enjoying it. Thanks for the recommendation!
Me:
I thought you'd like it. It starts to pick up and really find itself around episode 10, wouldn't you say? The animation is pretty bad even for a 90s show (it came out the same year as Cowboy Bebop) but the story and soundtrack make up for it. I'm actually kinda surprised you weren't impressed with the music; IMO it's one of the best anime OSTs of all time. Even the Engrish opening/closing songs are winners. I'm currently still on episode 20, so no spoilers if you get past there!
Him:
The music is good, and yeah I liked the opening and ending (especially the opening, which is pretty catchy). And there's that one epic tune that has two versions, a slower one and a more upbeat one that they always play during the "next episode" previews at the end, which usually comes up when griffith does something epic and which is the high point of the show's music for me. I guess what I meant was merely that I'd put this show's music a step below what are, for me, the absolute top anime soundtracks (Bebop, Escaflowne, LotGH, and even Gurren Lagann :p). It's on that second tier, along with stuff like Outlaw Star.
Me:
I would actually place Berserk's OST on my top tier of anime soundtracks. I like it quite a bit. Try listening to some of the pieces on their own; they're pretty damn good. And yeah, the "epic" song is called "Forces" and is pretty much everyone's favorite. You can listen to a full version of it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWfrDG0nmlk
Him:
So I just finished Berserk. Holy shit. Wasn't expecting it to be nearly this good. I don't read manga, but I'm going to have to read the Berserk manga, no choice, too good. Even though I sort of saw where the story was going it was still very well done, great story and great characters for the most part.
Me:
Well, now I just feel silly. I'll talk to when I finish the last few episodes. I'll try to do so within the next week.
I do things REALLY SLOWLY
Since the ending has been mostly spoiled for me already, though, I will say that I think the fact that you sort of see where things are going is actually the point; the conclusion is supposed to be inevitable, in a Greek tragedy sort of way. Hell, it doesn't even try to hide this - the first episode pretty much tells you, implicitly, how things will turn out. The entire series is basically an origin story for Guts as a character, and the manga is his further exploits.
Me:
I like how having sex magically heals Guts's gaping shoulder wound.
Him:
1) Yeah, I actually didn't know that the manga was so long, so I had no idea that the anime was intended merely as an origin story. Once I realized it by the last episode, my opinion of the series actually went up - it did its job excellently, I thought (the fact that I can't wait to read the manga is evidence)
2) HAHAHA I totally forgot about his wound! Hilarious.
Me:
Just finished the last episode. Whoa. Even knowing the ending ahead of time, still, whoa.
Me:
Oh, if you haven't already, be sure to check out the Berserk dub outtakes. They're a riot, regardless of whether or not you watched the dub (I didn't). I think you can find them all on Youtube, or of course on the DVDs if you have them.
Him:
Whoa indeed. You are right on with the Greek tragedy comparison. The one thing I didn't quite get was why exactly Griffith was so unhinged by Guts leaving/defeating him back in episode 19. I mean, I get that it did unhinge him, but I'm not sure as to the precise reasons. What do you think? (Also, as a side note, I have seen few things as brutal and grotesque as what happens to Griffith physically after Guts leaves. Really fucking unnerving, I could barely stand to even look at him.)
Me:
Also looking back, I think the sense of inevitability was not only deliberate, but hugely important thematically. ("Is the destiny of man controlled by some transcendental entity or law?")
As for why Guts's leaving shook Griffith up: it's kind of complicated, but I feel like I more or less understand. To sum it up, because I need to conserve phone power (power outage, and I just heard it could last for days): 1) Griffith was intimidated by Guts, in the sense of both his raw power and the strength of his will, while at the same time 2) Griffith was obsessed with Guts, in both a platonic (envious of above qualities) and erotic way (c.f. metric fuckton of homoerotic subtext between them). I saw a theory that his rape of Casca at the end (a surprisingly ambiguous action since he says literally nothing after his transformation, and also the only part of the episode that really got to me) was done not out of desire for her, but as an act of jealousy directed at Guts. Given the predatory look in his eyes and the fact that he is staring at Guts practically the entire time, I find this believable, although I think it's also possible he had an erotic fixation on both of them.
Me:
Also, it's worth mentioning now that the sex and violence in the anime is WAY toned down from the manga. I found the early volumes almost physically sickening to read because they were so bleak (and, without the knowledge of Guts' backstory, seemingly senselessly so) and relentlessly graphic and grotesque.
Him:
So on Monday I burned through about 20 volumes of the Berserk manga (yes, really - I have a talent for epic media binges). Now that there’s a little distance between myself and the anime (and now that I've experienced the manga and the continuation of the story), I have a few things to say, which I doubt you'll agree with based on your expressed enthusiasm for the series. Actually, as I typed and thought, this basically turned into a mini-treatise on the quality of Berserk as a whole, so I apologize in advance for the length. Hopefully you’ll find it interesting:
First of all, Guts is not an interesting protagonist. His indestructibility is tiresome and makes most fights boring due to inevitable outcomes (side note: this underscores the importance of being willing to kill off your characters if you want your fantasy/science fiction to be “serious”). His basic character development throughout the "Band of the Hawk/Golden Age" story arc portrayed in the anime is very cliché (aggressive loner learns value of social relationships – where have I seen that before?). As Guts acknowledges at one point, he is a completely empty vessel with nothing but a sword. That’s why I don't buy him even for a second as Griffith's equal; I agree with Corkus that it was incredibly pretentious of Guts to leave in the first place. Even the pre-Eclipse "dream" he settles on in the "Sparks" episode after talking to the smith is fundamentally boring (oh great, his dream is to affirm his life… by fighting :p) He only becomes interesting due to Griffith’s mega-betrayal, but even that is not due to his own character traits but because the audience is so horrified by Griffith that it wants to see him fucking burn in hell (I sure do!). Guts is merely the vehicle through which revenge will be delivered to Griffith, and his quest is in a very real sense our quest too. That’s the only reason it even matters to us.
Second, I liked Casca a lot because, for most of the series, she was strong and intelligent and competent. But then, like almost every story of this type (whether in comic books, movies, anime etc.), the narrative tears her down and weakens her until, post-eclipse (MILD SPOILER ALERT) she is literally a blubbering wreck, completely broken, a doll for the male hero Guts to protect and save and probably fuck at some point. I understand that what Griffith did to her was not gratuitous – the rape was, after all, meant as the ultimate symbol of his betrayal, so it had a real function in the story as a symbol and as a visceral, emotional punch to the audience’s gut – but there was no similar narrative need for it to TOTALLY BREAK HER. For that matter, there was also no need for the whole PMS bullshit during that one battle where Guts ends up fighting 100 men, or for how she steadily “softens” and becomes girlier over the course of the series. I understand that this stuff happened in order to bring her and Guts together, but I think that could have been done in a different way that could have preserved her integrity as a strong and independent character. She was flat-out mishandled in the tired, all-too-familiar way, and I hate it. In particular, the manga gratuitously exploits her (and other female characters) in really revolting ways – I’ll touch on this again later on.
Moving on, it’s obvious (I’m sure you’ll agree) that the whole series revolves around Griffith, and that he is the most interesting character (even though he’s absent for long portions of the manga post-Eclipse). But even in his case, he’s not artistically interesting, not intellectually interesting. I say this because there are two ways to understand his character, and the most plausible of the two interpretations does not make him interesting in any “deep” way (whether the LESS plausible interpretation, which – spoiler alert – is the first one, makes him any more intellectually interesting is a question I leave unanswered, but I’m tempted to say no).
The first interpretation of Griffith’s character is that he is a typical anime ubermensch completely fixated on fulfilling his “castle dream” as the purest and highest expression of his will. His companions are merely other wills to be dominated, and he does not actually care about them or rely on them because he is so fixated on the dream. Under this interpretation, his speech to Princess Charlotte at the fountain about only wanting to be friends with an equal (which eventually motivated Guts to leave, sparking the whole tragedy) is sincere; he genuinely views the world as a “contest of wills” in which he can only respect those who do not subsume their own will to his (as opposed to the Band of the Hawk, who are merely “small flames joining the larger blaze”). Likewise, during the Eclipse he agrees to make the sacrifice demanded by the Behelit purely out of his all-consuming devotion to the “castle dream” as manifestation of his will. His betrayal is not motivated by base desires, but by his “pure” devotion to the dream, so he remains this ubermensch figure throughout.
In contrast, the second interpretation is that the whole ubermensch thing is a façade. Under this view, Griffith is actually a (comparatively) normal and IMPERFECT human being. He is just this skilled, manipulative, extremely ambitious guy for whom the “castle dream” is merely a burning ambition, without all the philosophical baggage of wills, etc. Without that philosophical baggage, he instead views his comrades as actual people. Although he manipulates them through his charisma to serve his ambition, at the same time he relies upon them for their strength and skill (especially Guts), as well as for emotional support; they are not nearly as “beneath him” as under the first interpretation. This implies that Griffith was being pretentious and arrogant in his speech to Charlotte at the fountain, rather than totally sincere. Similarly, the implication of this interpretation for Griffith’s actions during the Eclipse is that he basically deludes himself into thinking that he makes the sacrifice out of devotion to his dream. In reality, he makes the sacrifice BECAUSE HE IS A FUCKING WRECK, BECAUSE HE HAS REACHED THE NADIR OF HIS EXISTENCE, BECAUSE HE IS DESPERATE AND LONELY AND JEALOUS AND FUCKING PATHETIC.
Him:
Which of these interpretations is correct? I would argue the second one (let’s call it the “human” interpretation), for a number of reasons. First of all, it offers a more plausible explanation for why Griffith is so attached to Guts. Remember what Casca told Guts upon their reunion: Griffith RELIED upon Guts both practically and emotionally (and as you yourself said, there were definite erotic undertones as well). By extension, this also explains why Griffith reacted so strongly to Guts leaving, and why he “lost his head and his cool” and paid the resulting price. In contrast, the first interpretation (let’s call it the “ubermensch” interpretation) can only tell us that Griffith lost his head because he had never tasted defeat, had never actually experienced an “equal will” and was unnerved by his defeat, which isn’t nearly as strong of an explanation for his emotional and irrational behavior the night after Guts leaves. Remember that throughout the series, Guts views Griffith according to the ubermensch interpretation, which is why he told Casca that he thought Griffith would just brush off the defeat and keep going, as if it were merely a pebble in his path. If the ubermensch interpretation were true, then Griffith would never have gone to the Princess’ room that night. That’s why Casca corrects Guts and calls him a fool.
Another reason that I accept the second interpretation is that I believe that Griffith was in fact deluding himself during the Eclipse. Remember that he overcomes his fear and guilt and arrives at the conclusion that he should accept the sacrifice ONLY AFTER being shown an illusion by one of the “God Hand” demons. Although the demon claimed to be accurately revealing to Griffith his actual desires, surely it is possible that instead the demon was tricking Griffith and “helping” him delude himself. In fact, I would argue that it is much more likely that the demon was deluding Griffith; do you really trust those God Hand demons? Me neither. And remember that right at the moment that Griffith makes the fateful choice, the demons tell him to “abandon reason”. To me, this is the same as telling him to give in to his pathetic desperation and selfishly abandon his moral obligations to his companions. Remember what you said about how Griffith stares at Guts the whole time he’s raping Casca. Why else would he have done it anyway, except to get back at Guts, to vent his jealousy and pathetic fear and rage by expressing his newfound unholy strength?
Finally, another reason to accept the “human” interpretation over the “ubermensch” interpretation is that all of the other “Behelit” demons/Apostles encountered in the manga, such as the Count, the insect/elf girl and the egg demon at Albion Abbey (if that’s what it’s called) had very human reasons to make the sacrifice and become demons – they were all pathetic and desperate in some way, and wanted to overcome their weakness at all costs. Why would Griffith be any different?
So, if the second interpretation is correct, then Griffith is this weird, super-ambitious guy who rises high, fucks up, is almost totally destroyed, and in the hour of his darkest desperation does the unthinkable, totally betraying his friends in the most disgusting, dramatic way possible, and all for pathetic, selfish reasons. What we have in Griffith, then, is an absolutely despicable villain – certainly one of the most despicable I’ve ever encountered in any medium. I cannot express to you how much I hate him for what he did. And while I will keep reading Berserk to find out if Guts finally gets revenge and gives Griffith his just deserts, my ultimate point in all of this is to show that Griffith is merely this odious character who provides the impetus for a dark, pulpy, and somewhat trashy revenge tale. He’s not at all a profound, intellectually interesting character like the protagonists of Legend of the Galactic Heroes, although he’s certainly more interesting than Guts.
So this brings me to the series as a whole. As I think I’ve made clear, Berserk is a shallow revenge saga and nothing more. Its ability to hold the audience’s interest stems (if we generously exclude all of the gratuitous exploitation) almost entirely from how despicable the villain is and how badly the audience wants to see him pay and suffer. Most of the characters are flat (everyone besides Griffith and pre-Eclipse Casca), the combat is totally implausible and for the most part free of genuine tension and suspense due to Guts’ invulnerability, the violence is totally gratuitous, there is tons of tasteless, gratuitous, and in some cases perverted and morally reprehensible sex (I’m not a prude, but there’s shit in Berserk that is so gross and unnecessary) the aesthetics are dark, ugly, and uninteresting, the women are more or less reduced to sex objects (even Casca, to my great chagrin), and worst of all, there isn’t really a deeper meaning to any of it. It’s all just empty sound and fury. (Note: Obviously some of these criticisms apply more strongly to the manga then to the anime, but I still think they apply to the anime as well. See this review, with which I agree at least 70% and which triggered these thoughts in the first place: http://animeworld.com/reviews/berserk.html)
In sum, I argue that Berserk is merely trashy revenge pulp with little or no artistic merit. It’s like a B-list exploitation action movie that holds your interest only because it happens to have an incredibly despicable villain who you genuinely care about seeing die a painful death. So, the only thing that Berserk actually does relatively well is pull off the set-up to Griffith’s betrayal and the betrayal itself, thus setting up the AUDIENCE’S desire to see him pay (actually, there is one other thing – the anime does a good job of understating the supernatural stuff until then end and dangling it as a big mystery in the background of the plot). That’s perhaps enough to make Berserk decently trashy fun and somewhat involving in a mindless way, but let’s not kid ourselves – at best, that’s all it is.
Me:
Whoa, that's a lot to respond to. I'll try and get around to a proper response later, but for now let me give my extra-short, supremely simplified response: yes and no. Everything you say is true; at the same time, it is also not quite right. I will try and elaborate some time within the next week.
Him:
Sorry to respond before you've actually responded, but I just finished getting through most of the latest story arc in the manga, which was a big improvement on the Albion story arc and which prompted me to read what I sent you and reassess it. Basically, I agree with 90% of what I said, but I want to qualify some statements and reel some others in a bit:
1) Guts does eventually show some post-Eclipse character development, but it's extremely predictable. I stand by everything I said about him.
2) On Berserk's treatment of women - I stand by everything I said (because it's fucking obvious), but to be fair I will acknowledge that the manga does pass the Bechdel test. In particular, the latest story arc which I am reading develops a few new female characters who are somewhat interesting and, in a refreshing turn of events, aren't constantly threatened with rape. Of course, that doesn't absolve Berserk of its grievous sins in any respect, but I thought I should point it out.
3) The main thing I want to revise is my assessment of the series as a whole. At heart, it is still a shallow, pulpy revenge saga, but at least in the latest story arc the characters aren't as flat and the 'moment to moment" plot independent of the main revenge quest is somewhat interesting (I think my emphasis on how trashy I found the manga to be stemmed from how bad the first two post-Eclipse story arcs in the manga are - the later stuff is better, especially because the exploitation is toned down a little). And the setting/world, which I didn't mention at all in the original message, is pretty interesting and deserves some praise. And it wasn't fair of me to say that there is no deeper meaning to it; the series has themes - cliched and not deep or that interesting, but themes nonetheless.
In sum, I was a little harsh in comparing it to a trashy B-movie. Certainly the series has those aspects, but there's a little more to it too. But again, I stand by at least 90% of what I said
Me:
Okay, first bit of response (disclaimer: I have only read the first two-and-a-half volumes of the manga at this time):
I disagree that Guts is not an interesting protagonist. He is not a particularly LIKABLE protagonist, but I do not think he is uninteresting. As I have said before, the plot and aesthetic of Berserk is something like that of an epic poem. In keeping with this, Guts is a "hero" in somewhat the same way as, say, Odysseus or Beowulf is a hero - he is the hero not because he is virtuous or complex, but because he is powerful. Guts' sheer power is the defining feature of his character - however, the series uses this in such a way that actually makes him quite interesting. First, the story goes to great lengths to establish both how he became so strong and how his strength came to be his defining characteristic, via the portrayal of his childhood, encounter with the Band of the Hawk, etc. More importantly, he is aware that his power (represented by his iconic sword) is the defining feature of literally his entire existence - his personality, his actions, his relationships. The story of the series (or at least the Golden Age arc) is about his search for meaning in his life beyond pure Darwinian survival, with the forces around him representing various existential elements: Griffith's character and his relationship with Guts is all about human will, its power, its capacity, its influences, its sources, its limits, and whether or not it is free. The God Hand represent the ultimate nihilism - they are "superhumans" who believe that ordinary humans have "no control, even over their own will" and thus manipulate their lives and desires. Their only motives are the lust for pleasure and power. In order to become a demon, a human being must embrace pure nihilism, rejecting emotion and morality in the ultimate act of sacrifice - in order to become one of the God Hand, one must be an ubermensch, the purest and most intense embodiment of this philosophy with the overwhelming willpower and means to bend the world to their will. During the scene in the manga in which the demon-ified king is offered the option of becoming one of the God Hand by sacrificing his daughter, Griffith even invokes him to "cast your love asunder". You know more about Nietszche than I do, but isn't abandoning love in exchange for ambition one of the fundamental requirements of the ubermensch? More on that later, though.
Anyway, going back to Guts: the "angry loner opens up" thing is indeed the superficial element of his character arc (not that I inherently have a problem with that sort of thing if it is written reasonably well, which in Berserk for the most part it is), but beneath that is his existential journey, which comprises the real thematic meat of the series. Guts himself is an animal - he is a brutal beast ruled by his instinct to survive and possessing wild and uncontrollable emotions. (I suspect this is the source of the series' title.) Guts is representative of the most fundamental and base qualities of human nature - fear, anger, love and desire. Despite (or perhaps, because of) being socially and emotionally stunted as a result of his upbringing, he is in fact ruled by emotion. Griffith is his polar opposite in every respect: he is cold, calculating, ruled by ambition, and aspires to be something more than human. One of the greatest ironies of the series is that, as a result of these qualities, it is Griffith who is ultimately manipulated by greater forces, a slave to his own ambition, while Guts, the "lesser" man to Griffith's ubermensch, is the one who is truly free. (This is a huge part of why Griffith loves, despises, and above all envies him.)
I agree that Berserk is in essence pulp entertainment, though I don't really hold that against it. Again, I think it's in keeping with the aesthetic of the series. Like many epic poems, Berserk is melodramatic, lurid, and goes well out of its way to glorify the might and near-invincibility of its "heroes" (again, heroic not so much because they are likable or good as because they are really, really strong, and the villains are far more despicable than they ever are). (Incidentally, Kentaro Miura has explicitly cited Conan the Barbarian as an influence on the series.) On the one hand, the excessively explicit violence, sex and grossness can get to be a little much (a lot much, even) and I do find much of it unnecessary. On the other hand, it IS mostly in keeping with the spirit of the series and the aesthetic it's going for.
One of the greatest strengths and weaknesses of the manga is its obsession with detail; on the plus side, this results in a really intricate plot, well-drawn characters, impressive (if often deliberately ugly) art, and the like; the negative side is manifested by his utter lack of restraint; Miura feels the need to include everything that strikes his fancy, from every grotesque nuance of every injury, dismemberment and killing to every intimate detail of every sex scene (except, oddly enough, for actual genitals) to every sick and twisted idea that crosses his head to every minute detail of every character and plot development to nearly three whole volumes of prologue before even beginning to bother explaining to readers what's going on and why they should care. This kind of everything-and-the-kitchen-sink style of plotting and presentation is not nearly as much of a disaster in Berserk as it is in, say, Xenogears, mostly because Miura is a vastly better writer than Tetsuya Takahashi, but at times it can still be one of the weaker points of the series.
I agree that the series has some definite misogynistic undertones, particularly in its portrayal of Casca. Even taking aside all the threatened/implied/explicitly depicted rape (and man, that would trim the story down by a fair amount!), most of the women are overly-emotional/irrational (c.f. the scene where Casca - at this point in the story the leader of the Band of the Hawk - in short order tries to kill Guts, tries to kill herself, and fucks Guts's brains out) and defined by their sexuality and relationships to men, on whom they are often weakening or corrupting influences. That said, the female characters are at least more intricate and sympathetic than crude stereotypes, and as such the misogynistic aspect is not IMO obnoxious or offensive enough to seriously detract from my enjoyment of the series. It does make me raise an eyebrow when Casca is held up as a great example of a feminism in anime, though. having her be completely broken by her experience during the Eclipse doesn't really bother me (it's a pretty understandable reaction from a psychological perspective) so much as the treatment of her womanhood in general.
Which brings me to Griffith. Oh boy... Griffith. There is a lot to talk about there. So much, in fact, that I will get around to it a bit later. Stay tuned.
Also, this is definitely turning into another "blog" post.
To be continued... (comments welcome!)
Posted by Ni_Go_Zero_Ichi | Nov 8, 2011 2:12 PM | 1 comments
August 19th, 2011
On Xenogears, World-Building and Story
Anime Relations: Xenosaga The Animation
The following are excerpts from a private message exchange between an old friend of mine who recently encouraged me to play Xenogears (which I did to completion). Rather than trying to rework the things said into a proper, more coherent blog post, I decided to just post it raw, because why the hell not? Names have been excised to protect the innocent.
Him:
Final verdict on Xenogears?
Me:
Wildly uneven. It's got some really neat ideas and great (sometimes even profound) moments, but it spends an equal amount of time going full retard. The (admirable) ambition of its narrative is counterbalanced by the fact that its story is told with the poise, restraint, focus and attention to structure of an overexcited teenager. My biggest problem with it, however, is its general lack of regard for its own medium. Xenogears clearly wants to be an anime series, but it's a game, and it does almost nothing to take advantage of its own interactivity. It's more or less a 75-hour visual novel with a half-finished Final Fantasy game shoehorned in. Player agency, exploration and discovery, experimentation, customization, strategic depth - all the things that make a game FUN are pretty low on Xenogears' priority list. When I beat the game, I regretted not playing it when I was at JDS, because at that time in my life the story would surely have blown my mind straight across the room. But then I realized that back then (and on a home console as opposed to a handheld), I would likely never have had the patience to slog through the literally dozens of hours of tedium - strictly-average, ultra-linear gameplay with a sluggishly-paced story - Xenogears expects players to endure before they reap the rewards of its narrative. And I don't think I should've had to. While it shares many of the same flaws (in addition to a few of its own), Chrono Cross is still my favorite of Square's "fascinating failures" - not just for nostalgia, but also because it has a much better understanding of what it means to be a GAME, including using its gameplay to illustrate the themes of its ambitious plot, something Xenogears could never grasp.
All the same, I'm glad I played Xenogears, for the good parts as well as the sheer spectacle of it. Hell, maybe I'm not even assessing it as objectively as I could - from beginning to end, I was frequently shocked and horrified by the game's myriad plot points (in some cases right down to ridiculously specific details) that were seemingly pilfered from a similarly vast outline for a relugiously-tinged sci-fi saga I came up with in middle/high school. The similarities are to the point that if I were ever to actually do anything with this
material, it would be virtually impossible to convince any reader that it wasn't a ripoff of Xenogears. I'm not sure whether that means I should feel intense jealousy for Tetsuya Takahashi, or a certain sense of kinship with him.
At any rate, I'll probably start playing Xenosaga soon, out of sheer curiosity. Now that I've knocked out Xenogears, I've still got Final Fantasy IX, Vagrant Story, Phantasy Star II-IV, Radiant Historia, and Tactics Ogre on my handheld RPG to-do list (not to mention Dragon Quest V, Final Fantasy VIII and Flower, Sun & Rain still to finish). Got any favorites among those? (I know you said you liked FF9.)
Him:
Your assessment of Xenogears is pretty spot-on, especially when you said that it "wants" to be an anime series. And I also agree with your comparison of Xenogears and Chrono Cross, although I ultimately prefer Xenogears. While Chrono Cross is far more beautiful (both graphics and music) and has a better battle system, those elements of it just weren't enough to hold my interest - I ultimately kept playing just to see if it would get more interesting (which it sort of did when you get to Chronopolis, but even including that there was precious little meat on the game's bones. Honestly, I thought that Radical Dreamers' plot was much more engrossing and interesting, but we've talked about this I guess). With Xenogears, on the other hand, I was sort of addicted to finding out just what crazy-ass plot twist they would come up with next, and I was never bored (especially since a grinding session early in the game allowed me to breeze through the rest of the plot). It's obviously not the profound work of art it aspires to be (that it even has this pretension is laughable in itself), but that doesn't change the fact that the story is always crazy, often gripping, and sometimes unintentionally hilarious. It's by far the most epic (if only in scale) JRPG plot there is, and if you're going to play a game in a genre as self-indulgent and decadent as it is, why not go all the way?
Honestly, I wouldn't advise wasting your time with Xenosaga. I tried playing the first, got maybe 10 hours through, and was totally bored throughout. It's just not a good game/series. Xenoblade, on the other hand, looks so amazing that I am without a doubt going to hack the Wii and import it. Last Story too.
Final Fantasy IX is awesome because it, alone among the post VII FFs, doesn't take itself too seriously. I like the game's graphics and style, its characters, and its combat system. I didn't actually beat it (full disclosure, I haven't actually played any of the mainline FFs to completion, but IX was the closest I got to beating one). I also like the little "side skits" they pepper throughout the game. It's just really charming and fun, and I wish Square would make more games like it.
I don't remember if I told you or not, but I played and beat Radiant Historia, and then did all the side quests except for the super optional extra boss, who I couldn't beat. It's a great, tight, solid game with a very good plot and (unlike most JRPGs) a cool main character, and I highly recommend it.
Me:
I've heard a lot of differing things on Xenosaga, but the majority consensus seems to be that Episode I was good (or at least interesting), Episode II sucked, and Episode III was okay, but not good enough to make up for Episode II. I'm going to try to play through Episode I, and if I don't like it then I probably won't bother with the other two.
I started Final Fantasy IX the other day and so far I'm really liking it. As you say, it doesn't take itself too seriously - it has a playfulness and sense of adventure that post-FF7 games have lacked. In fact, it feels like a 16-bit RPG created with the expertise, budget and scale of a 32-bit RPG - which is pretty cool.
Him:
On Xenosaga Episode I:
http://www.toastyfrog.com/toastywiki/index.php/Site/Xenosaga1
Me:
Hm. That article does seem to confirm all my worst fears about Xenosaga. Still, at some point I am going to play it, just to see it for myself and make my own judgments (even if they likely will be nearly identical to Parish's). I've been thinking about playing it for too long not to
BTW, I've probably said before that I'm not a big fan of Jeremy Parish (for my pretentious hipster game reviews, I prefer Tim Rogers) but that may be the best article by him I've ever read. A number of passages, such as the one about the creative outlook of a generation of game makers raised solely on games and anime and the one in which he describes the kind of "intelligent, nerdy teenager" who's so desperate for games to be legitimized as a medium worthy of intellectual expenditure that he eats this sort of sophomoric stuff up, are extremely insightful and highly quotable.
While I'm thinking of it: another excellent point Parish makes in that article is his comparison of Tetsuya Takahashi to George Lucas, Hideo Kojima and Masamune Shirow. The comparison could not be more apt. All four are gifted world-builders - they have breathtakingly wild imaginations with which they craft entire universes, with fictional societies, technologies and histories chronicled down to the smallest minutiae. What they also have in common, however, is that they are all so focused on the "big picture" that they neglect (or are unable to manage) the moment-to-moment process of storytelling. Their works are filled with flat, hackneyed characters, awkward, implausible dialogue, abrupt, contrived turns of plot, storylines rendered bloated and incoherent by excessive and poorly-integrated detail, and many other indications that they just don't understand how ordinary human beings think and function in day-to-day life. For all four, attaining protection from editors was the worst thing that ever happened to them. All of these creators desperately needed a producer assertive enough to say "Hey, maybe you don't really need to include that, maybe this doesn't really add all that much to the plot in the long run, maybe that hurts the tone and flow of this scene, maybe you should think a little more about how the audience will experience your work". They needed a Harrison Ford to tell them that "you can write that shit, but you just can't say it." Kojima and Takahashi are particularly worthy of blame, however, on two accounts: one, because they are working in an interactive medium, rather than a passive one, and as such their stories themselves not only struggle, but they wrest control away from the player, who - regardless of what any game may tell you, is ALWAYS the star of every game. Furthermore, video games SHOULD be the BEST POSSIBLE medium for a story where the world itself is the main feature - if you've ever played Metroid Prime or even the hugely overrated BioShock, you should know exactly what I mean.
More generally, I've noticed that in works of fantasy and science fiction, the writers who are the most gifted world builders are typically also the least gifted storytellers. Again, they become so fixated on the "big picture" - on the sweeping epic they want their story to be, on the Big Ideas they want to grapple with, and on cramming in every possible detail of the world they've imagined even if doing so dampers the pacing and structure of the story itself - that they lose sight of the need and means by which to tell an engaging, accessible story with interesting, human characters. Some works manage to pull this off with some grace - Blade Runner, for instance, isn't really about Decker so much as the world he lives in, but that world is so vivid, evocative and emotional, and is depicted with such poise, form and flow by its inhabitants and by the story structure and camerawork of Ridley Scott, that it works fantastically. And Metroid Prime, despite having exactly one human character and no spoken dialogue whatsoever, manages to be incredibly gripping because the player's exploration and investigation of its beautiful, desolate and intricate alien world is ITSELF the story. In contrast, Neon Genesis Evangelion (you knew it was only a matter of time before it would come up again) is "secretly" an intensely personal, intimate and character-focused narrative, with the sci-fi setting only present to provide vivid external context for its fundamentally internal narrative. However, in most large-scale fantasy and sci-fi works, the focus on crafting a big, dazzling world seems to come at the expense of populating it with interesting, three-dimensional characters or an entertaining story. I can't help but wonder whether this is because the type of people who imagine entire worlds tend to be people who "live in their own world", so to speak, and as such have a dubious understanding of the real one? I like sci-fi (and, to a lesser extent, fantasy) because of its ability to indulge and stretch the limits of the imagination, its capacity to challenge our very perceptions of reality, and its willingness to grapple directly and openly with those aforementioned Big Ideas that most conventional works of literature can't or won't. But, as I'm getting older and am no longer the chronically daydreaming, socially oblivious teenager I used to be, the degree to which fantasy and sci-fi so often seem to be out of touch with, well, reality is frustrating to me. My favorite narratives, I think, are those that manage to successfully balance a "big picture" outlook with a focused, personal story that grounds the narrative and gives it relevance to the audience. (Or alternately, narratives that are SO focused and personal that they occupy an entirely different world altogether - the subjective world of the internal, i.e. surrealism.) What narratives do you know of that manage to effectively pull off that balance between "cosmic focus" and "personal focus"?
Updates to come(?)
Him:
Final verdict on Xenogears?
Me:
Wildly uneven. It's got some really neat ideas and great (sometimes even profound) moments, but it spends an equal amount of time going full retard. The (admirable) ambition of its narrative is counterbalanced by the fact that its story is told with the poise, restraint, focus and attention to structure of an overexcited teenager. My biggest problem with it, however, is its general lack of regard for its own medium. Xenogears clearly wants to be an anime series, but it's a game, and it does almost nothing to take advantage of its own interactivity. It's more or less a 75-hour visual novel with a half-finished Final Fantasy game shoehorned in. Player agency, exploration and discovery, experimentation, customization, strategic depth - all the things that make a game FUN are pretty low on Xenogears' priority list. When I beat the game, I regretted not playing it when I was at JDS, because at that time in my life the story would surely have blown my mind straight across the room. But then I realized that back then (and on a home console as opposed to a handheld), I would likely never have had the patience to slog through the literally dozens of hours of tedium - strictly-average, ultra-linear gameplay with a sluggishly-paced story - Xenogears expects players to endure before they reap the rewards of its narrative. And I don't think I should've had to. While it shares many of the same flaws (in addition to a few of its own), Chrono Cross is still my favorite of Square's "fascinating failures" - not just for nostalgia, but also because it has a much better understanding of what it means to be a GAME, including using its gameplay to illustrate the themes of its ambitious plot, something Xenogears could never grasp.
All the same, I'm glad I played Xenogears, for the good parts as well as the sheer spectacle of it. Hell, maybe I'm not even assessing it as objectively as I could - from beginning to end, I was frequently shocked and horrified by the game's myriad plot points (in some cases right down to ridiculously specific details) that were seemingly pilfered from a similarly vast outline for a relugiously-tinged sci-fi saga I came up with in middle/high school. The similarities are to the point that if I were ever to actually do anything with this
material, it would be virtually impossible to convince any reader that it wasn't a ripoff of Xenogears. I'm not sure whether that means I should feel intense jealousy for Tetsuya Takahashi, or a certain sense of kinship with him.
At any rate, I'll probably start playing Xenosaga soon, out of sheer curiosity. Now that I've knocked out Xenogears, I've still got Final Fantasy IX, Vagrant Story, Phantasy Star II-IV, Radiant Historia, and Tactics Ogre on my handheld RPG to-do list (not to mention Dragon Quest V, Final Fantasy VIII and Flower, Sun & Rain still to finish). Got any favorites among those? (I know you said you liked FF9.)
Him:
Your assessment of Xenogears is pretty spot-on, especially when you said that it "wants" to be an anime series. And I also agree with your comparison of Xenogears and Chrono Cross, although I ultimately prefer Xenogears. While Chrono Cross is far more beautiful (both graphics and music) and has a better battle system, those elements of it just weren't enough to hold my interest - I ultimately kept playing just to see if it would get more interesting (which it sort of did when you get to Chronopolis, but even including that there was precious little meat on the game's bones. Honestly, I thought that Radical Dreamers' plot was much more engrossing and interesting, but we've talked about this I guess). With Xenogears, on the other hand, I was sort of addicted to finding out just what crazy-ass plot twist they would come up with next, and I was never bored (especially since a grinding session early in the game allowed me to breeze through the rest of the plot). It's obviously not the profound work of art it aspires to be (that it even has this pretension is laughable in itself), but that doesn't change the fact that the story is always crazy, often gripping, and sometimes unintentionally hilarious. It's by far the most epic (if only in scale) JRPG plot there is, and if you're going to play a game in a genre as self-indulgent and decadent as it is, why not go all the way?
Honestly, I wouldn't advise wasting your time with Xenosaga. I tried playing the first, got maybe 10 hours through, and was totally bored throughout. It's just not a good game/series. Xenoblade, on the other hand, looks so amazing that I am without a doubt going to hack the Wii and import it. Last Story too.
Final Fantasy IX is awesome because it, alone among the post VII FFs, doesn't take itself too seriously. I like the game's graphics and style, its characters, and its combat system. I didn't actually beat it (full disclosure, I haven't actually played any of the mainline FFs to completion, but IX was the closest I got to beating one). I also like the little "side skits" they pepper throughout the game. It's just really charming and fun, and I wish Square would make more games like it.
I don't remember if I told you or not, but I played and beat Radiant Historia, and then did all the side quests except for the super optional extra boss, who I couldn't beat. It's a great, tight, solid game with a very good plot and (unlike most JRPGs) a cool main character, and I highly recommend it.
Me:
I've heard a lot of differing things on Xenosaga, but the majority consensus seems to be that Episode I was good (or at least interesting), Episode II sucked, and Episode III was okay, but not good enough to make up for Episode II. I'm going to try to play through Episode I, and if I don't like it then I probably won't bother with the other two.
I started Final Fantasy IX the other day and so far I'm really liking it. As you say, it doesn't take itself too seriously - it has a playfulness and sense of adventure that post-FF7 games have lacked. In fact, it feels like a 16-bit RPG created with the expertise, budget and scale of a 32-bit RPG - which is pretty cool.
Him:
On Xenosaga Episode I:
http://www.toastyfrog.com/toastywiki/index.php/Site/Xenosaga1
Me:
Hm. That article does seem to confirm all my worst fears about Xenosaga. Still, at some point I am going to play it, just to see it for myself and make my own judgments (even if they likely will be nearly identical to Parish's). I've been thinking about playing it for too long not to
BTW, I've probably said before that I'm not a big fan of Jeremy Parish (for my pretentious hipster game reviews, I prefer Tim Rogers) but that may be the best article by him I've ever read. A number of passages, such as the one about the creative outlook of a generation of game makers raised solely on games and anime and the one in which he describes the kind of "intelligent, nerdy teenager" who's so desperate for games to be legitimized as a medium worthy of intellectual expenditure that he eats this sort of sophomoric stuff up, are extremely insightful and highly quotable.
While I'm thinking of it: another excellent point Parish makes in that article is his comparison of Tetsuya Takahashi to George Lucas, Hideo Kojima and Masamune Shirow. The comparison could not be more apt. All four are gifted world-builders - they have breathtakingly wild imaginations with which they craft entire universes, with fictional societies, technologies and histories chronicled down to the smallest minutiae. What they also have in common, however, is that they are all so focused on the "big picture" that they neglect (or are unable to manage) the moment-to-moment process of storytelling. Their works are filled with flat, hackneyed characters, awkward, implausible dialogue, abrupt, contrived turns of plot, storylines rendered bloated and incoherent by excessive and poorly-integrated detail, and many other indications that they just don't understand how ordinary human beings think and function in day-to-day life. For all four, attaining protection from editors was the worst thing that ever happened to them. All of these creators desperately needed a producer assertive enough to say "Hey, maybe you don't really need to include that, maybe this doesn't really add all that much to the plot in the long run, maybe that hurts the tone and flow of this scene, maybe you should think a little more about how the audience will experience your work". They needed a Harrison Ford to tell them that "you can write that shit, but you just can't say it." Kojima and Takahashi are particularly worthy of blame, however, on two accounts: one, because they are working in an interactive medium, rather than a passive one, and as such their stories themselves not only struggle, but they wrest control away from the player, who - regardless of what any game may tell you, is ALWAYS the star of every game. Furthermore, video games SHOULD be the BEST POSSIBLE medium for a story where the world itself is the main feature - if you've ever played Metroid Prime or even the hugely overrated BioShock, you should know exactly what I mean.
More generally, I've noticed that in works of fantasy and science fiction, the writers who are the most gifted world builders are typically also the least gifted storytellers. Again, they become so fixated on the "big picture" - on the sweeping epic they want their story to be, on the Big Ideas they want to grapple with, and on cramming in every possible detail of the world they've imagined even if doing so dampers the pacing and structure of the story itself - that they lose sight of the need and means by which to tell an engaging, accessible story with interesting, human characters. Some works manage to pull this off with some grace - Blade Runner, for instance, isn't really about Decker so much as the world he lives in, but that world is so vivid, evocative and emotional, and is depicted with such poise, form and flow by its inhabitants and by the story structure and camerawork of Ridley Scott, that it works fantastically. And Metroid Prime, despite having exactly one human character and no spoken dialogue whatsoever, manages to be incredibly gripping because the player's exploration and investigation of its beautiful, desolate and intricate alien world is ITSELF the story. In contrast, Neon Genesis Evangelion (you knew it was only a matter of time before it would come up again) is "secretly" an intensely personal, intimate and character-focused narrative, with the sci-fi setting only present to provide vivid external context for its fundamentally internal narrative. However, in most large-scale fantasy and sci-fi works, the focus on crafting a big, dazzling world seems to come at the expense of populating it with interesting, three-dimensional characters or an entertaining story. I can't help but wonder whether this is because the type of people who imagine entire worlds tend to be people who "live in their own world", so to speak, and as such have a dubious understanding of the real one? I like sci-fi (and, to a lesser extent, fantasy) because of its ability to indulge and stretch the limits of the imagination, its capacity to challenge our very perceptions of reality, and its willingness to grapple directly and openly with those aforementioned Big Ideas that most conventional works of literature can't or won't. But, as I'm getting older and am no longer the chronically daydreaming, socially oblivious teenager I used to be, the degree to which fantasy and sci-fi so often seem to be out of touch with, well, reality is frustrating to me. My favorite narratives, I think, are those that manage to successfully balance a "big picture" outlook with a focused, personal story that grounds the narrative and gives it relevance to the audience. (Or alternately, narratives that are SO focused and personal that they occupy an entirely different world altogether - the subjective world of the internal, i.e. surrealism.) What narratives do you know of that manage to effectively pull off that balance between "cosmic focus" and "personal focus"?
Updates to come(?)
Posted by Ni_Go_Zero_Ichi | Aug 19, 2011 3:39 PM | 7 comments
June 8th, 2011
Game of 2010
Anime Relations: World Destruction: Sekai Bokumetsu no Rokunin
I wrote this as part of an application for Joystiq (the requirement was to write a paragraph on "my nomination for the best game of 2010". I decided to take a slightly unconventional route. I was somewhat happy with the result and thought I'd post it here, because why the hell not:
I gave a lot of thought to what game I would pick for the best game of 2010. Really, I did. There certainly were a lot of games that came out in 2010, and people sure were talking about them a lot on the Internets. But when I stopped and thought about it, I realized that as of now I have in fact played very few games that were released in 2010. I spent most of my gaming time in 2010 playing games that were released in 2009, if not earlier, and thus far I’ve spent most of my gaming time in 2011 playing games that were released in 2011… or before 2010. The few 2010 games I did play I enjoyed, but none felt as if I could adequately pass them off as Game of the Year material. After giving it a lot of thought – including entertaining the possibility of writing about games I haven’t even played, and dismissing that possibility on the grounds that it just wasn’t journalistic – I decided instead to flout expectations, just a little, and write instead about what was, for me, the worst game of 2010. That game is Sands of Destruction, a title published by Sega for the Nintendo DS at the very beginning of the year. By all accounts, it is a blindingly mediocre Japanese RPG, featuring a poorly-explained, horribly-balanced and strategically lightweight battle system, a maddening overabundance of random encounters, and an oppressively linear, milquetoast storyline populated by a cast of lame, obnoxious JRPG clichés given exasperatingly over-the-top voices in sluggish, unskippable cutscenes. It’s not an unmitigated disaster of game design, but it sure is a long way from being fun. But all of this just makes it your run-of-the-mill bad game, not the worst game of 2010. What propels this game that extra, special mile is a factor that is, perhaps, rather subjective, but overwhelming nonetheless: disappointment. Sands of Destruction is a game that I was rather anticipating. You see, way back in the yonder days of 2008, it was announced across the Webisphere that a new game was in development for the DS that would reunite several veteran production staff of such games as Chrono Cross and Xenogears – games which, despite being admittedly messy, bloated and sophomoric in ways that I can better appreciate as an angry, jaded quasi-adult than as a starry-eyed autistic middle-schooler, were influential and irreplaceable experiences of my youth whose creators had, rightfully, earned a lifetime pass to my heart. From the day Sands of Destruction was announced I spent the better part of two years anticipating it with bated breath, first forsaking my agnostic background to pray to God, Jesus and the Aztec deity Huitzilopochtli for the game to be brought over to America from the magical mystery land of Japan, then after recovering from the aneurysm I experienced when it was announced, feverishly crossing off days on my calendar towards the game’s release – and eventual delay – and, finally, driving out to the store on the day it hit shelves and bringing it home for a ritualistic unwrapping ceremony, the nature of which I will not disclose in the interest of procuring this job. When I finally squeezed the game into my eagerly anticipating DS and began to play, at first I waded through its less desirable aspects, confident that, surely, it would soon “get good”. Then I started to become somewhat impatient, as the battles started to become tedious and the cutscenes began to grate. And then, eventually, I realized that this was all there was. The creators I had so looked up to, whose work I had devoted so much mental capacity and so many hours to anticipating and evangelizing, had let me down. What I held before me was not a masterpiece, but an overwhelmingly lame pile of bland lame lameness. I was shattered, betrayed, left with a gaping wound in my heart that I am still today trying to fill. So, for me, Sands of Destruction was the most important game of 2010, because it taught me that just because some people made something you loved when you were a kid, doesn’t mean they can’t get back together years later and give you a steaming sack of shit.
I gave a lot of thought to what game I would pick for the best game of 2010. Really, I did. There certainly were a lot of games that came out in 2010, and people sure were talking about them a lot on the Internets. But when I stopped and thought about it, I realized that as of now I have in fact played very few games that were released in 2010. I spent most of my gaming time in 2010 playing games that were released in 2009, if not earlier, and thus far I’ve spent most of my gaming time in 2011 playing games that were released in 2011… or before 2010. The few 2010 games I did play I enjoyed, but none felt as if I could adequately pass them off as Game of the Year material. After giving it a lot of thought – including entertaining the possibility of writing about games I haven’t even played, and dismissing that possibility on the grounds that it just wasn’t journalistic – I decided instead to flout expectations, just a little, and write instead about what was, for me, the worst game of 2010. That game is Sands of Destruction, a title published by Sega for the Nintendo DS at the very beginning of the year. By all accounts, it is a blindingly mediocre Japanese RPG, featuring a poorly-explained, horribly-balanced and strategically lightweight battle system, a maddening overabundance of random encounters, and an oppressively linear, milquetoast storyline populated by a cast of lame, obnoxious JRPG clichés given exasperatingly over-the-top voices in sluggish, unskippable cutscenes. It’s not an unmitigated disaster of game design, but it sure is a long way from being fun. But all of this just makes it your run-of-the-mill bad game, not the worst game of 2010. What propels this game that extra, special mile is a factor that is, perhaps, rather subjective, but overwhelming nonetheless: disappointment. Sands of Destruction is a game that I was rather anticipating. You see, way back in the yonder days of 2008, it was announced across the Webisphere that a new game was in development for the DS that would reunite several veteran production staff of such games as Chrono Cross and Xenogears – games which, despite being admittedly messy, bloated and sophomoric in ways that I can better appreciate as an angry, jaded quasi-adult than as a starry-eyed autistic middle-schooler, were influential and irreplaceable experiences of my youth whose creators had, rightfully, earned a lifetime pass to my heart. From the day Sands of Destruction was announced I spent the better part of two years anticipating it with bated breath, first forsaking my agnostic background to pray to God, Jesus and the Aztec deity Huitzilopochtli for the game to be brought over to America from the magical mystery land of Japan, then after recovering from the aneurysm I experienced when it was announced, feverishly crossing off days on my calendar towards the game’s release – and eventual delay – and, finally, driving out to the store on the day it hit shelves and bringing it home for a ritualistic unwrapping ceremony, the nature of which I will not disclose in the interest of procuring this job. When I finally squeezed the game into my eagerly anticipating DS and began to play, at first I waded through its less desirable aspects, confident that, surely, it would soon “get good”. Then I started to become somewhat impatient, as the battles started to become tedious and the cutscenes began to grate. And then, eventually, I realized that this was all there was. The creators I had so looked up to, whose work I had devoted so much mental capacity and so many hours to anticipating and evangelizing, had let me down. What I held before me was not a masterpiece, but an overwhelmingly lame pile of bland lame lameness. I was shattered, betrayed, left with a gaping wound in my heart that I am still today trying to fill. So, for me, Sands of Destruction was the most important game of 2010, because it taught me that just because some people made something you loved when you were a kid, doesn’t mean they can’t get back together years later and give you a steaming sack of shit.
Posted by Ni_Go_Zero_Ichi | Jun 8, 2011 11:43 AM | 0 comments
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