[Anime] Gunslinger Girl Meditation

On first viewing Gunslinger Girl six years ago I was profoundly affected.  I knew I had experienced something different from what I had encountered before, but how I could not say.  Since then my endeavor has been to capture that insight in my reviews.  I have been dissatisfied with them all; what they say is true, and yet never enough.  Sincere expressions of my love for the series, they fail to explain why it is deserving of such admiration, as I was unable to elucidate what lay at its heart.

Gunslinger Girl is a religious piece of art.  When I say “religious” I do not invoke a particular system of belief, but rather that like all great religion it is engaged with a topic that words alone cannot reach.  The paradox it embraces is the simultaneous affirmation of suffering and divinity, a view of both that negates neither.  It is a task both subtle and demanding.  Its accomplishment in doing so is what makes it art.

For many my claims above may sound dubious.  At what point did Gunslinger Girl become about religion?  Always.  Where did it explain that such was its purpose?  Nowhere.  The message is there, but it is never directly espoused or discussed.  If it’s never delineated, what grants me such certitude?  Am I not just reading too much into it?  These are difficult to answer.  This ethos was self-evident from the first time I viewed it.  In agonizing over this analysis, I sought to answer these criticisms through justification, citing examples from the series.  This amounted to a disaster.  It was like attempting to “prove” a puzzle represented a flower since an individual piece was red, or establish that the tenor of a song was sad because it contained flat notes.  For this reason, I have settled on a top-down approach, one which presupposes my thesis and explains the series on its own terms.  This may not satisfy the skeptic, but after many drafts it felt the most appropriate.

My goal, then, is to offer a suitable codex for those who found Gunslinger Girl lacking.  To explicate its ethos and how it relates to the details of the series.  To invite people to this vision rather than erroneously attempt to batter the reader into submission.  I recognize that in some areas I will inevitably fall short.  However, I hope that through my efforts some understanding will be gained, and perhaps yield for the reader a moment’s pause in the day.

Suffering

The world contains a vast amount of suffering.  When as humans we are faced with suffering, we instinctively ask ourselves two questions: why is this person suffering and who is at fault?  We are satisfied when we receive answers to these questions; it reassures us that the world follows reason, is comprehensible, is just.  It is deeply comforting to know somebody else’s suffering is explicable and well-deserved, for it frees us from the fear of a shared fate.

What, then, to do with the suffering that does not fit this mold?  This is where Gunslinger Girl begins.  It seeks to corner us in our rationalizations by demonstrating beyond doubt that what these girls have been subjected to is grotesque, and that there is no narrative which justifies such despoiling of innocence.

First there is the why of the suffering.  The message is simple yet devastating: they are suffering for want of affection.  Such a fundamental lack has distorted their psyche, for there is nothing so desperate as an unloved child.  Each girl is driven by a frantic longing, a compulsion to be recognized and accepted by her partner.  They will stand in freezing rain through the night, undergo painful operations, and keep trying even as their bodies and minds give out.  Their need, our need, for acceptance is just that crucial.  Horrifically channeled by the Social Welfare Agency, an organization made all the more rank by its pretense at compassion, the method is terrible in its effectiveness.  I have never forgotten the scene in which Angelica is on her first mission: moving through her targets, she dispatches them with ruthless efficiency, only to turn to the camera with an innocent smile, as if to ask, “Did I do a good job?”

This mental structure explains many of the decisions in the series.  Why is the brainwashing most effective on children?  Because they are most vulnerable to this manipulation of their needs.  This also supports another observation of the series, that Triela as the oldest is apparently the least affected.  She retains an adolescent air of defiance in her behavior, even as she still submits to her conditioning.  When the girls learned of Elsa’s death they all knew why she had died.  This wasn’t a case of the conditioning gone wrong, as the handlers assumed.  This was the conditioning coming to its logical conclusion, understood intuitively by the other children.  The opposite of love is not hatred but indifference.  Even Rico, who is treated so poorly by Jean, still receives his attention.  Lauro did not even deign to grant Elsa that “kindness.”  When she tried to talk he turned on the radio, when she followed after he never turned around.

“Etereo” is a song of breaking.  Of things coming apart in a way that can never be fixed.  It is reserved for only two moments in the series: the training of Henrietta and the dismissal of Elsa.  It is the most terrible track of the anime.  As it plays, Elsa realizes she will never be loved.  At this point the title of the episode, “Lycoris radiata herb”, is realized, for in Japanese folklore these flowers bloom along the path of someone whom you will never meet again.

Now comes the more troublesome question of fault.  Who is truly the cause for all of this?  The immediate suspects would be the handlers or fratello, for it is their want of compassion that causes the girls to suffer.  However, this answer is insufficient.  While being most immediately connected, the final blame cannot be placed squarely on their shoulders.  The Social Welfare Agency?  After all, it is this horrid institution that stole these girls’ futures, modifying them into weapons with an expiration date.  This answer is also incomplete.  While the SWA’s actions were abominable, these girls were delivered to them.  The SWA is a disgusting organization, but it didn’t enable a world in which there were broken and unwanted girls to be had.

Pursuing the next logical step, it must be the fault of those who made the girls available in the first place.  But here we come to a problem: no one person did.  The girls trace their roots back to murder and rape (Henrietta), human trafficking (Triela), disease (Rico), and parental greed (Angelica).  Human depravity and weakness, along with the pressure of inhuman powers, combine to yield this crop.  This begins to give us the shape of Gunslinger Girl’s answer: this situation is not the result of any one failing, but in essence a failing of the world itself.  We will not find any satisfying answer to the question of fault no matter how deeply we pursue it.

"We're going to die.  We're going to die not knowing anything!"

This absence of identifiable fault finds further expression in the lack of antagonists in the series.  While there are certainly characters who are abusive, thoughtless, and shameless, there are none who can be called on for responsibility.  No one whom we can say, "If this person were held accountable, this sort of problem would not exist."  We innately desire there to be a focus for our cathartic anger, somebody whom we can confidently proclaim the world would be better off without.  In its absence, we are left with an abiding sorrow that remains uncatalyzed.  Without cause it vaporizes, until it is part of the atmosphere itself.  It ceases to be a case of singular grief, but a penetrating melancholy from which there is no escape.

The distributed nature of the sorrow explains one of the common reactions to the series, and that is to experience it as sad, but not brought-to-tears-bawling depressing.  The natural conclusion is that Gunslinger Girl is deficient in emotion.  However, this is not what the series is designed to achieve.  It seeks to bring the viewer to a world where the colors are muted, the sounds not as bright, and the joy fleeting.  To feel extreme sentiment throughout the series is to have misunderstood.  Enduring melancholy, not bereavement, is the destination.  To this end, the closing scene of the series mirrors the beginning, as if to say, “And yet, it continues.”

To complete its survey of suffering, there is one more issue which Gunslinger Girl must refute: that of purpose.  If nobody is at fault, then maybe, we want to think, there is no “true” suffering, but instead just one great misunderstanding.  For this we return to the why, but now with the ultimate rather than the proximate sense in mind.  This suffering must serve a higher purpose.

To this Gunslinger Girl replies, "no."  It does not utilize a theological argument, but the inescapability of the situation it has created acts in its stead, putting the onus on the viewer to defend an explanation.  For the betterment of society?  No, it is abundantly clear that all those in contact with the SWA are infected by a sort of mental malaise, from which they either must hide or numb themselves.  Part of a grand historical plan?  The functioning of karma?  The holistic goodness of both pain and pleasure?  None of these answers, when confronted with the situation at hand, is sufficient.  To imagine using any of them to console the girls is repugnant.

In the end, we are cornered.  The suffering is real.  We cannot find a source of fault, nor can we explain away its presence.  It simply exists without lesson or moral, a tragedy without recompense.  Once again, I am moved to mention the sound track, with its quiet and unresolved, “Silenzio Prima Della Lotta.”  The notes rise at the end of each stanza, as though a series of questions is being asked, each without an answer, until it fades quietly and the memory of Rico telling herself she is very happy at the Social Welfare Agency is all that is left.

Divinity

What is divinity?  This is a question that has become alien to modern culture; people imagine angels and outdated mythology rather than abiding Mystery.  Answering it properly has been the sole reason for my inability to write a satisfactory review.  Pursuing a definition has led me places I did not anticipate, and the reader will have to forgive me as I wander a bit, for I believe seeing the journey may assist in identifying the issue.

The question rests with the conclusion of the final episode.  At the end, Angelica’s body is failing.  Marco, so long estranged from her, has overcome his own pain to return to her side.  Her affection is not unrequited as she gently slips from the world.  It is there, it is then…it was always there…that something happens.

In my first reaction, I characterized it as beauty.  I expressed how the natural splendor of the meteor shower seemed to merge with the manmade harmony of the symphony.  This is true; I don’t disavow my earlier statements.  But “beauty” didn’t cover it.  It simply wasn’t enough; after all, how does things being beautiful make it better?  Three years later, I expressed it as acceptedness, connectedness.  That Angelica’s experience of connecting with Marco was reflective of the feeling of oneness divinity brings, and that as social beings that was our most natural expression.  This is also true, and I still consider that insight to be crucial to understanding human spirituality.  But it still fell short.  Earlier this year when writing brief epithets for all the series I had seen I described it as, “A reflection on…the centrality of compassion.”  You can anticipate my verdict: true, but yet insufficient.  Shortly later, you can see my articulation beginning to falter: I’m back to “heart-achingly beautiful” with, “the background is…luminous.”  By the end of my post I simply give up.

I had reached an impasse and was beginning to thoroughly doubt myself.  After all, the reasonable answer to the repeated feeling of, "This doesn't quite fit" should simply be, "I'm wrong."  I should regard this entire exercise as a case of misplaced elevationism and wash my hands of it.  And yet, the observation won't leave me; it feels as though it is more important to explain the evidence than to be beholden to my own expectations.  This is when, exhausted of my traditional options, I try to understand why all my efforts have been unfruitful.

I am attempting to describe something that has no like.  This thing, this idea, this divinity stands in a way untouched by the sorrow of the series.  It is beauty and acceptance and compassion, yet none of these things.  In its immaculate nature, it seems to reflect back on everything that has happened and…what?  Make it better?  No.  It doesn’t resolve or fix the situation.  Make it inconsequential?  No.  It doesn’t belittle the suffering.  Then what does it do?  It…changes things.  All I can say at this point is that somehow the series is transformed.  The best analogy I have developed is that of sublimation.  To sublimate is for solid matter to turn directly into a gas; it does not lose its chemical identity, but the new form is not identical to that of the old. 

Here I must emphasize again to prevent misconceptions from arising.  This is not a soft-headed look back, a philosophical rationale for what has happened.  That is the strength of Gunslinger Girl, its refusal to take any of those ways out.  In order to avoid cosmic romanticism, the issue must be real and it must be grave.  This conclusion is not a reversal of previous observations.  The ending is not a happy one in the traditional sense.  The events do not “make it better.”  And yet, somehow (?), that is not the point.

Similarly, I feel it important to emphasize that it isn’t Angelica’s death that consecrates the series.  She didn’t have to die to make things “better” (or not better).  But her passing is used as a window through which something else enters.  Upon realizing it, you see that it was there the whole time.  It was in the wind in the drapes, the light in the colonnade, even as it was in Angelica’s eyes at the end.  The promotional art is consistent in one thing: the light, shining brightly from elsewhere, flooding the scenes.  The opening is explicit in its imagery with Henrietta holding her head in her hands, crying, and then looking up.  She sees the sunlight and then leaps upward, suspended for a moment, before becoming the sky herself.

Perhaps we can see it once again in the music.  Revisiting the most poignant of moments, that of Elsa’s body lying in the park, we come upon a singular piece.  It is “Chiesa.”  Church.  It is reserved for only this scene.  Mournful, yet it does not cry.  It is a hymn, reaching upward.  The music is laying her to rest.  Like much of the score, it is subtle.  Terrible is the event yet hopeless is not the conclusion.  How one can maintain this statement appears to be nonsensical.

This is the paradox that I presented in the introduction.  How is it possible for such senseless suffering and transcendent divinity to coexist?  I have tried and tried to give an answer.  Thousands of words written and yet what is left?  It is this realization, that against this problem my battered intellect can find no purchase, that leads me to conclude that it is not that I have failed to find the words, but that there are no words to describe it.  I cannot find any logical structure that contains it.  I must emphasize I do not make this statement lightly, as though it were a proposition I wished to discover.  I find myself on the wrong side of Huston Smith’s statement: “However much the rationalist may begrudge the fact, paradox and the transrational are religion’s life blood, and that of art as well.”  This isn’t a conclusion sought but a case where the truth has been forced to come as a conqueror.

Having left the realm of discourse we enter into that of art.  At this stage, the series ceases to obsess over what is being portrayed.  If the content cannot convey the message, it must be found in the form instead, with the ultimate goal to affect change in the recipient directly.  It is the imparting of a type of knowledge that cannot exist separate from the knower.  How this alchemy is performed I do not know, and am in awe that such things exist.

Tao

When I first began writing the section above I titled it, “Divinity is liminal.”

Liminal (adjective): 1) Relating to a transitional stage of a process.  2) Occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.

Like “sublimation” it is only an approximation, a best guess on my part.  It mirrors a sentiment from Abraham Heschel that, “it is as if things stood with their backs to him, their faces turned to God.”  This concept is illusive.  As a friend of mine remarked when I was trying to explain it: I have hold of a thread of spider silk, one so thin I cannot even feel it, and which is only visible when the light strikes it just right.  It is not possible to convince anybody it is there until they see it too, and yet I am led on with a certitude that is surprises even me with its strength.

However, be that as it may, this is the core ethos of Gunslinger Girl.  A world scarred by suffering.  A world permeated by divinity.  Not the observation that there is good and evil in the world, but that there is something that transcends that good and evil altogether.  It was never hidden.  There is no obscure symbolism or cultural references that must be researched; the most informed critic enjoys no advantage over the thoughtful viewer.  In this analysis I have, truly, uncovered nothing.  I have simply found a strange new path and in my typical fashion am expressing this experience as a lesson to edify others.

Afterword

There are so many more things I wish to say.  I have barely mentioned the details that make the series “real.”  The masterful implementation of the psychological dynamics of the characters, especially between the fratello, gives a tangible grounding.  The attention given to the scenery and locations underline the reality of the setting.  The color pallet is subdued with the melancholy of the atmosphere, the drifting shots aid the contemplative essence, and there remains more of the music I could detail.  The many small scenes, both wonderful and sad, that demonstrate the virtuosity of a series with a full mastery of its outlook.  These will have to await another day.

[Anime] Princess Principal

Princess Principal – 6/10

“PriPri” is a series that has no right working, and yet almost manages to pull it off.  The premise is every bit as ludicrous as anime can muster these days: in an alternate steampunk universe, Victorian England split into two rival countries.  The Commonwealth and Empire have entered into a cold war of espionage with each other, with the Berli….London Wall dividing the capital.  Unfortunately, Sean Connery was late for his audition, and the part of ace spy for the Commonwealth is played by Ange, a petite gray-haired girl with a wholly nonfunctional spy outfit.  Along with her crack team of teenage associates, she conspires with Charlotte, a princess of the Empire, to bridge the two sides.

If the above description does not impress, then one is in good company.  The unorthodox inclusion of young girls into inappropriate roles has long ceased to be novel in anime.  In fact, the habitual reliance on this trope has become tiresome, detrimental to the production of any serious atmosphere.  One is simply overwhelmed by the unintended comedy of having grown men being threatened by such diminutive characters, let alone the obvious inappropriateness in terms of emotional maturity and training.

Yeah, this ain't terrifying.

Yet against my will the first couple of episodes dared me to hope that PriPri might rise above its mediocre origins.  It introduces itself curtly with a bare minimum exposition before diving in.  Initial indications are that the series will explain as it goes, expecting the viewer to keep up; a welcome contrast to having every detail carefully spoon fed to the audience.  The cavorite sphere is a good example of this: by the handling it is clearly valuable, by the reaction of others it is novel, and by the necessity of cooling it there are limitations.  No exposition needed.

The portrayal of the world also imparts a sense of impending depth.  The hospital of the first episode suggests a darker tone, perhaps intimations about exposing the ugliness of the industrial-era society or the drawbacks to Ange’s prolonged exposure to the sphere.  Similarly, the fight at the end was more graphic than one would expect for such a series.  However, it is Ange who steals the show.

Good characters have flaws, and in the first two episodes Ange has flaws aplenty.  Introduced as a pathological liar, she has no trouble telling falsehoods to allies and enemies.  This culminates in the most brutal first episode this season: having taken a traitor to a remote location he turns and asks her whether she intends to kill him.  She coldly answers, “no” and then fires.  “No.”  Another shot.  Half a dozen denied bullets loaded into the man.  This isn’t professionalism, but the sign of a person broken.  The second episode also wastes no time, introducing the driving plot of the series, and ending with all the internet viewers frantically deciphering the handwritten letter to see what comes next.  All in all, one of the strongest starts of the season.

"Please put 50,000 dollars into this bag and apt natural. I am pointing a gub at you."

Unfortunately, this is where my praise will come to a wrenching halt.  There were indications in the first few episodes that PriPri might not live up to its potential, but I selectively paid them no heed.  The blinders could not be maintained as the mediocrity of the series mounted; all the tantalizing indications above come to naught in a collapse toward the black hole of the moe girl standard.  Ange is made relatable and vulnerable, the ambitious princess a bleeding heart.  Secondary characters are squandered as convenient tropes and eye candy, as are the details of their world.  Disconcerting scenes become rare.  Friendship, rather than the necessities of espionage, come to dominate the narrative.

Most frustrating was the consistency with which it marginally fell short.  All episodes Most episodes had within them the spark, the small piece of inspiration that if only executed with more proficiency and less pandering would have born quality.  A brilliantly choreographed fight here, a touching scene of a lost father there…it kept me going every week, hoping that perhaps this was merely the lull in the middle of the series, a doldrums that would escaped from by the end.

So close to being impactful, yet so far.

That, however, was not to be.  Even my damningly faint praise must be reined in for the final episode.  Its eerie ability to anticipate my entire “Please Don’t” checklist was disconcerting:

• Please don’t have Dorothy come back just to help Ange.
• Please don’t let Chise choose her friends over duty.
• Please don’t allow Ange to escape from the airship and ride to the rescue.
• Please don’t involve Beatrice just because she needs air time.
• Please don’t let the entire cast escape the consequences of their actions.
• Please don’t have a dangling end for a second season.

In other words: please don’t be completely cliché in every regard.  My attempts at parody became dismal foreshadowing instead.  After the always-enjoyable opening song played for the last time, it was a disappointing conclusion to what had started with such promise.   It seems on principle that these sorts of series appear at first disguised as princesses only to be revealed as paupers.

Final verdict: First few episodes will be remembered fondly for the energy they provoked while airing.  Not a series I intend to ever rewatch or recommend to others.

Isn't treason fun?