September 15th
Update
- Jay Navok
Animated Ramblings:
Point of Contention
At the heart of any work, be it fiction or non-fiction,
is a conflict. No matter what you’re reading or viewing, be it Captain Ahab
trying to get revenge in Moby Dick or Rachel Ray trying to stay
within budget on $40 a Day, (the latter certainly more
nerve-wracking) to have a narrative there must be some sort of introduction
and resolution to a conflict.
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One of the many conflicts in Sailor Moon. |
In each of the five seasons of the Sailor Moon
anime, there was generally one over-arching conflict (who will win in the
battle for peace in the galaxy, Sailor Moon or Galaxia?), and myriad smaller
ones, from ‘arc’ conflicts that stretched across episodes (could Chibiusa
trust Pegasus without him revealing to her more about himself?) to the
individual episode conflict (does Minako have a pure heart?)
One of the more powerful weapons used by the writers in
their conflict toolbox was separation of the series’ protagonist from her
lover. It was used skillfully in the latter part of the first season, when
Mamoru turns evil, as well as two different times in season two, when Mamoru
has no memories of the past in part one and when Mamoru breaks up with Usagi
in part two, and finally in Stars when Mamoru is entirely absent.
Three seasons of the show, then, have an underlying
conflict that is highlighted by the loneliness of the main character. (Since
Usagi is the character we’re following in the show, we get only rare
glimpses into Mamoru’s feelings on the separation, although we know
that—except for when he’s evil, forgetful, or dead (admittedly most
of the time)—it’s hurting him as much as it’s hurting her.) Indeed, in
Stars, when their future is secure, and the two are reunited, their
loneliness, and the series, effectively ends.
Such tends to be the case with most romance-driven
anime, from Maison Ikkoku to Marmalade Boy. (As it does for
soap-operas, and effectively any romantic fiction, but I’m going to focus on
anime here.) There are non-shoujo series that take advantage of
romantic loneliness to engage viewers, too. Consider Initial D, where
the lesson seems to be that you can’t be a street racer and a lover at the
same time. None of the characters, at least in the three anime TV series
that I’ve seen of it, are able to have success in romance. Things work out
between protagonist Takumi and the girl he’d been going out with, Natsuki
in the film, but as soon as they do, she leaves him to attend university in
Tokyo. There’s also a particularly brutal scene in the third TV series where
Takumi’s friend Itsuki loses the girl he’d been dating for a few weeks in a matter of
minutes, and then has to watch her making out with her (formerly-ex)
boyfriend. Lonely driver Itsuki indeed.
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Heartbreak is frequent in the Sailor Moon anime. |
Initial D has a ways to go before it ties up its
conflicts, and perhaps Itsuki and the others won’t be so forlorn by the end.
But man, the author really likes twisting the knife into his characters.
Lessons of love differ. In Maison Ikkoku, the
widow, Kyoko, believes that if she marries protagonist Godai, the love she
had for her dead husband was false. She has to get over the fact that love
isn’t a one shot deal; that true love doesn’t mean there’s only one person
in the world she can care for. In contrast, in Chobits, Chii is
looking for the “person just for me.”
Marmalade Boy also takes a different direction;
there is focus on how feelings between two people affect those around them.
Protagonists Miki and Yuu couldn’t be together without hurting other people
that had affections for them as well. Yet, the dynamic of the series is
driven by the separation of the two characters. When they finally trust each
other and their future is set, the curtains close.
I see things in Sailor Moon as often being
closer to Initial D in that there’s consistent focus on human
loneliness as a result of romantic encounters. (Indeed, loneliness is one of
the primary themes of the SM series, be it romantic or otherwise, but that is
perhaps an update for another time.) When Mamoru turns evil, he haunts Usagi’s nightmares. She barely knew Mamoru in 20th Century Tokyo
but after her memories awaken his absence stalks her thoughts and clouds her
judgment. In Sailor Moon R, she is obsessed with reawakening him, or
trying to change his mind on their breakup.
Perhaps most poignant is the conflict as it exists in
Sailor Stars, where it shapes the entirety of the season. The
first stanza of the opening theme begins with, “From the time you
disappeared…” The closing theme, “The
Wind and the Sky, Surely” encapsulates the theme of loneliness in the
season rather perfectly. And one of the most powerful moments in the
season comes when Usagi admits to Rei that she’s not heard back from Mamoru
once since he left, and Rei is furious that Usagi has kept this secret the
entire time, bottling up her loneliness.
Conflict is separation, loneliness, heartbreak; that’s
what we find interesting, for some, that’s what brings them back each week. Isn’t ironic
that the one thing we want the most—to see the characters together—is the
one thing that we can’t ask for? That’s when the story ends.
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