YoYourMessageHere
July 20, 2010
Mixed Feelings
Watching Simoun seems like an exercise in how to discover and enjoy the latent sadist in yourself. You know that bit in the Shawshank Redemption where the old lags are betting on which of the new inmates will break down first, and the way Morgan Freeman says it, you totally get what he's talking about, even though you know it's horrible behaviour? This is kind of like that, but with gigantic eyes, inexplicably revealing pastel uniforms, unbelievably daft mecha and technicolour hair. To explain (and there will be spoilers throughout this review, just so you know): we have this premise -that everyone is born female and can choose to become male at 17 - which is so outlandish that it's completely impossible to take seriously, but well realised enough to be a genuinely hook all by itself. Then we have the cast, who are a grab-bag of stock archetypes, and a plot which is also awfully familiar. And we have the characterisation, including the art, which by being almost aggressively shoujo seems entirely at odds with the action-ish setting, and the script and voice acting, which practically redefine "wet" in most cases. And the production design, a highly camp take on art deco which resembles the result of a collision between Last Exile and Escaflowne, particularly the made-of-spare-parts Simouns themselves. We have, in short, a show entirely built around an idea and a formula.
A Simoun is an aircraft of sorts. Its purpose is primarily religious, to draw geometric patterns in the sky which form complex prayers to the god Tempus Spatium, and it is piloted by two priestesses who have not yet made The Choice. Perhaps coincidentally, these prayers, called Ri Maajons, also act as a weapon; in fact they form the only real weapon the theocracy of Simulacrum has against invaders (apart from the army, who for unknown reasons are largely ineffectual). The invasion is due to other countries craving for the drive systems Simouns use, while they are forced to rely on polluting alternatives that poison their land and air. The practical upshot: naive, pampered, sanctimonious and hormonal young priestesses are the primary defenders of their country against devious and desperate, yet not entirely unjustified enemies, and experience the general destruction of their innocence as their friends, relationships, worldviews and lifestyles are placed under gigantic stress.
Basically, while the thing is wrapped in sci-fantasy window dressing it's a story of spoiled, obsequiously devout snobby teenagers getting what's coming to them, which in this case is a rude awakening. I couldn't help cackling with glee as one or other of the ensemble cast first sets themselves up and then gets knocked down a peg. This is where the audience sadism comes in; the story cannot truthfully be called one that easily permits suspension of disbelief, so since I can't quite take it seriously, I nonetheless rather enjoyed a lot of the series precisely because of the carnival of ghastly people suffering for my amusement.
But while this does have a fair amount of mileage due to the large cast composed of people whose suffering is highly amusing, it's far from enough to carry the series - and nor should it be. Once I came to terms with my newly-awakened sadistic side, I tried to take the story more seriously, but ran into trouble. For a start, this is supposed to be a war, and while there are odd interludes of capture by blood-vomiting enemy saboteurs among the snide carping about who's allowed to hang out in the ballroom, the whole thing tends to happen at this weirdly unworldly remove from the devastating war that appears to be happening. The use of religion, whether it's supposed to be or not, is a perfect cypher for the problems that hardcore religious attitudes create in reality; yes, people are dying in their thousands, but what about our rightful priveliges as members of the clergy? It's as if people out there on the front line didn't realise that prayers and love of god are much more important than their continued existence!! On numerous occasions, I started to get cross about the fact that people were being totally irrational, but then I realised that this series' depiction of religion correctly conveys that it is the most widespread form of irrational behaviour known anywhere. This is something which Studio Deen do deserve credit for, not least in that Japan is by and large not a devout country in any sense, and imparting to people raised in an atheist environment the sheer irrationality of religions in general is not easy.
Among the 12-strong main cast there are just three people I actually like, one whose pleasing "I'm not sure what's going on but let's do our damnedest to have fun with it" attitude exists because she's voiced by Mizuki Nana, and another who's interesting mostly because she appears to have wandered in from a role as manipulative femme fatale with a slight S&M twist in an H-game (not least because she's called Dominura; you can also see the S&M in the fact that among all the completely non-uniform variations of skimpy pseudo-lingerie that purport to be uniforms, hers is the only one to incorporate fishnet stockings). The other likeable character, thankfully, is one of the main protagonists, Aaeru, because she's the only person on the whole ship with real drive, who actually seems to have any idea what she is doing, what she wants and when to stop tutting and gasping and wringing her hands in ecclesiastical angst and take action; the fact she's not bothered in the slightest about religion and just wants to fly helps hugely here. The remainder of the ensemble cast are similarly familiar character archetypes, but less pleasing: several are neither objectionable, nor particularly appealing, but specially aggravating characters include a gossipy airhead called Floe, the sergeant-like Paraietta who is bossy, curt, indecisive and basically totally rubbish, and the sisters Kaimu and Alti, who are singularly annoying because of their insistence on not getting on with each other for totally absurd reasons.
These are however secondary annoyances beside the other main protagonist, Neviril. Being unnaturally talented at Simoun flying and thus particularly holy, everyone instantly forgives her inability to cope with stress, or in other words, her extended bouts of sulking. Adored by all, she is blessed with a life normally free from insight into anything
(allowing her poorly-written comrades to provide it to her, and simultaneously to viewers) and avoids the curse of complex sentences or outward displays of emotion that might make people think she's normal; nonetheless, she manages to come to some highly generic and familiar conclusions about
being true to her own feelings and so on and so forth. A poker-faced, monosyllabic protagonist almost never works, and this is no exception. However, while I generally found her bothersome, there's a certain amusement to be gained from how unrealistic a character she really is, for example a perfect moment of unintended comedy about halfway in, when Aaeru mentions the death of her former pair in characteristically down-to-earth terms, prompting a lollercaust of gasps, horror-stricken looks and emotional overload.
Her look is part of it. Character design varies massively across the series, with other primary heroine Aaeru for some reason resembling a manic Kyoto Animation character, to me at least, Floe looking like a castoff from Sailor Moon, many others looking like off-the-peg Gonzo characters. Against all this, Neviril seems inappropriately ultra-shoujo in style, her perpetually waving pink hair, pink lipstick and unusually round eyes putting me in mind of Nana (note: I've nothing against Nana, it's just a very distinct style that, to me, clashes in this context with the others around it). Moreover, relative to others, her undemonstrative demeanor is seemingly at odds with her supposedly emotional temperament - the above-mentioned unintended comedy moment is partly as funny as it is because by this point it's by far the largest display of emotion she has exhibited for something like a dozen episodes, and it just shows up how little she seems to actually emote most of the time. This lack of theme is beneficial in that it makes the whole cast easily recognisable, but it does nothing to make the series as a whole look coherent. This is also severely hampered by the inconsistency of the art; I suspect an in-betweener had some out of date reference materials, as in once instance the entire cast gain enormous noses for an entire half an episode, and in certain shots thereafter. This is the worst problem, but not the only one; at times the animation gets very cheap and undetailed as well.
A thing or two must be said regarding Simouns themselves, which sound like TIE fighters and move with the total disregard for G-forces that only CG can actualise. They are desperately silly things; imagine a cross between Escaflowne, an Mi-24 gunship and a flying snail, complete with incongruous gold ornamentation, twin bubble cockpits, chin cannons and silvery trail. Then there's the fact that they are variable geometry craft without reference to actual geometry at all, which is to say the pieces stay together and rearrange themselves without actually being connected together in the first place. And those chin cannons? They get used about once ever; I suspect they're a leftover from an earlier design stage where the concept still retained some plausibility. The silvery trail is the only true weapon, and it seems to work by producing blue light that makes enemies spontaneously explode. Oh, and they seem to be powered by kisses.
Music is a mixed bag. The opening theme is by Ishikawa Chiaki, and as such is predictably excellent; the ending is too anodyne and mediocre for me to have watched enough of it to catch who sung it. This excellent/mediocre disparity continues through the BGM, some of which approaches excellence while other parts reach annoying territory. Also predictably, there's no real consistency, flavour or theme to the music, mixing electronic pieces, orchestral pieces and things of many other stripes in a way that seems to want to be Kajiura Yuki and clearly isn't managing to be.
The central gender-choosing premise is, as I say, a major hook into watching; but it's mostly wasted, with the series becoming a sort of soup of mixed sexualities. There's a theme of putting off choice running through the series, as the protagonists are basically allowed to indefinitely postpone the normal gender choice if they'll continue flying a Simoun - but have to make the choice if they want to quit. Obviously, the gender choice is a half-allegorical single focus for all the changes in sexuality/loss of innocence/responsibility that adulthood represents. Credit is due for adhering to and emphasising the idea that, in serious relationships, people are naturally attracted to characters rather than to gender per se; however, on one level, all it really does is introduce an air of sexual ambiguity, making it an exercise in tame, vague sexually suggestive behaviour. It all appears aimed at the tastes of young adolescents who find themselves turned on by women kissing women, something that just doesn't match the seriousness with which the series takes this theme of taking choices seriously. On another level, it does tend to suggest that the gender a person finds attractive is your own free choice. Conversely, all of the gay people I know have never seen their sexuality as a matter of choice, any more than I can say I chose to be straight - they see themselves as having been born gay. I mean, I dare say some might disagree with this, but the point is, Simoun seems fairly invested in painting sexuality as a subjective choice, which seems a bit out of order to me.
To cap it all, there's plenty of unblemished femininity on display, with none of the dozen protagonists appearing at all masculine, even though some profess to have already decided to become male, but nowhere is there a masculine male to be seen - no facial hair, no muscles. All the young males around look highly effeminate, 'bishie' and Ouran-ish, and even the older male characters, who one might expect would be more traditionally masculine, possess some feminine characteristics, a delicate ear-stud or a flick of ornamental hair. Most of the voice actors for male characters seem to my ear to be female, too. Nonetheless, whatever the cause, the effect is of depicting a world in which there's actually only one gender, female, and various degrees of distance from it, the furthest people from female being termed male, without wholly qualifying by what I understand male to mean. It all seems like a careful and deliberat design decision, rather than simply the programme's style, as if there's a standing instruction to make all males slightly feminine, but having never 'got' shoujo, I can't tell if this is trying to make a point about men and women, or whether it's simply the design ethos of a heavily shoujo-minded art director.
The purpose of messing about with the significance of gender in Simoun remains, at least to me, unclear. Thought-provoking though it is, it does not end up explaining itself. Simply having all these priestesses face leaving the priesthood and becoming ordinary women, some gay and others not, if they give up flying Simouns, would surely work just as well. When you just ignore that side of Simoun, though, you start to see a funny thing (spoilers coming, so skip this paragraph if you wish); there's a war over resources, it escalates and the former superpower becomes the underdog when faced with military might, and then there's a highly unfair peace treaty, wherein the Simoun pilots are forcibly demob'd and the country demilitarised. What the gender-choosing thing is actually for, aside of acting as a fairly superficial gimmick, is to disguise the fact that the plot is an allegory of Japan's history, 1930-1945, as written by the ultra-nationalists who are once again on the up in Japan today. Japan, they'd contend, was the major power in East Asia in 1930, but an alliance of China and the US managed through a mix of sheer numbers and military superiority to turn the tables on Japan and force the country to accept a peace treaty that disbanded the Japanese military and demilitarised the country. While there are many inevitable differences, not least because of the difference between settings, the similarities are striking.
And therein, perhaps, lies the meaning of Aaeru and Neviril's superficially baffling disappearance in the last episode, and all the rhetoric about another world actually being the same one in a different time; they are the embodiment of Japan's fighting spirit, a mixture of Aaeru's plucky determination and Neviril's sacred inviolability, shifted through time to where they are needed - presumably, by this rhetoric, in the future. When you take this reading on board, and add in the highly defined and divergant masculine and feminine images and ideals that exist in Japan, one final possible interpretation of the whole gender choice mechanic is that it symbolises the emasculation of Japan, and that people must choose whether to become male and fight for their country or stay female and remain passive non-actors. Perhaps this is how the approaching war at the end of the series should be interpreted. I recall starting to watch Code Geass and being turned off by that series' overt nationalism, a trait that always rings alarm bells for me. This, however, seems like it could be construed as covert nationalism, which to me is a more out-and-out disturbing trend.
But enough politics; Simoun is supposed to be entertainment primarily, and for me, it succeeds in that aim to a limited degree - but not in the ways it originally intended to. It's serious moments are frequently hilarious, and its sense of importance is out of proportion to support its ideas with storytelling skills, but like many things that genuinely are so bad they're good, it tries earnestly. And there's the whole viewer sadism angle, which will doubtless appeal to many. I'm glad I watched it, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed; the expectations I'd formed by the halfway mark were not really satisfied at the end, and the faux-enigmatic ending was neither satisfying nor suitable. I'm not fond of using genre to create expectations, but really, a series that starts out as a story about combat pilots and makes a big deal of aerial sequences surely NEEDS an aerial battle as a finale, rather than four episodes from the actual end. As for the characters, at least none of my favourites ended up annoying me overmuch; the muted tone of the end and the eventual fates of the characters, including their shared lack of certainty about anything, also bothered me. One thing I can definitely say in Simoun's favour is that if, like me, you're given to compulsive analysis of whatever you end up watching, this series will certainly give you plenty to get your teeth into and chew over.
