Dear Vina Jie-Min Prasad: I
Swear this isn’t Masochistic
By: Elizabeth Tang
Growing up
with Chinese, immigrant parents, means I’ve watched countless Chinese dramas.
This also means I’ve watched every terrible ending imaginable, and when I
thought it couldn’t get worse, it definitely did. Perhaps this means I’m easily
impressed by any semblance of a decent ending which I must admit is partially
true. However, that also means I can fully appreciate and recognize a good
ending when I see one. Even though it’s been over four years, I still remember
the ending to Code Geass, the pinnacle
of all anime. As someone who’s a sucker for total closure and fairytale endings,
it’s strange to say that the ending I’ve enjoyed the most is one that involved
some pain and raised more questions than it answered.
First
addressing my need for pain, I would like to say I am not a masochist. Instead,
the pain that the characters experience make them all the more real for me, and
it makes me emotionally invested in the fantastical world I’ve been immersed
in. Perfect and happy endings that come without a bumpy road make me feel like
the characters didn’t change and makes any change the characters may have gone
through feel superficial. However, whenever the characters experience sacrifice
and failure, they become more complex as they grow and push forward. Their
emotions of sadness, anger, and loss make me wish desperately that they’ll
succeed to experience the sweet taste of happiness. Pain is part of what makes
the story interesting and makes reaping its benefits even more satisfying. In the case of Code Geass, Lelouch chose to sacrifice his identity and the trust
of his closest friends in order to reach his end goal. Along the way, he also
had to face traitors, death, and the world’s strongest army. As a result, when
he successfully liberated Japan from Britannia’s tyrannical rule, middle school
me relished in the satisfaction just as much as he did and enjoyed every moment
of that emotional rollercoaster.
However,
middle school me also experienced to most conflicting combination of emotions
ever. On one hand, Lelouch had successfully lead a rebellion and freed Japan by
sacrificing his life. On the other hand, the series reveals in the last half
minute that Lelouch is, in fact, alive and staged his own death. To this day, I
wonder what Lelouch plans to do in a post-Britannica Japan, if he’ll ever
reveal himself again to his comrades, and a hundred other questions that will
forever go unanswered. Although I dislike endings where there are lose strings
hanging around, in its own way, this open ending tied everything it needed to.
The series’ focus was Lelouch’s leadership and his comrades’ participation in
Japan’s rebellion. Their journey through the rebellion had thoroughly been
developed. By the end, we knew all the sacrifices as rewards that happened as a
direct result of the rebellion. However, we’re only given a snippet of the very
first step of our characters’ beginnings to their new journey. On the other
hand, these first steps are also the final steps to the journey that the series
intended us to follow our characters through. Part of the satisfaction that
comes with this kind of ending is it makes the world feel as if it lives on and
the wonder that comes with not knowing how the characters will live on. In its
own way, the story ended so there were no loose strings or frayed edges left to
the journey that we were meant to follow our characters through.
Everyone
wants happiness, but it’s not just some masochistic desire that makes me enjoy
endings that entail pain. Instead, it’s a need for realism in seeing the
characters grow through their pain so I can emotionally invest myself in their
journey. It’s because of this investment that I require stories to package
themselves without loose strings from our journey but makes me okay if
questions from a new journey arise since I get to wonder the endless
possibilities as the fantastical world lives on.
Elizabeth,
ReplyDeleteI think the word you're working toward in this post is "verisimilitude" -- the quality of something seeming to be real. Audiences might turn up their noses at a so-called "fairy tale" ending but find satisfaction in something more emotionally fraught or even tragic. They might feel that way for lots of reasons, but the fundamental fact that we're suspicious of happiness and positive outcomes (as much as we hope for them) and see pain in varying measures as realistic says a great deal about how human beings define their everyday realities.
Best,
TT