Finally, part 3 – the last one! As before, I recommend re-reading parts 1 and 2 first.
If there’s one thing which I feel weakens Rurouni Kenshin‘s story in dramatic terms is how the only person with a real grudge against Kenshin for his actions as the Battousai is Enishi, and he’s unequivocally an evil man – just for starters, all his wealth comes from his position as the head of an international arms-dealing organization. Most of the people who refuse to see him as anything other than the Battousai – like Jin-E, or Aoshi in the beginning – are just interested in a fight against the strongest swordsman of the Bakumatsu, they weren’t personally wronged by him. As for the others, their reasons for attacking Kenshin are revealed to be excuses, for the mostly part; for instance, both Banjin Inui and Hyoko Otowa both claim they want to avenge a loved one (Inui’s master and Otowa’s friend, possibly lover), but they actually just want, respectively, to prove they’re the strongest or are sadists who derive some sick pleasure from killing people. The only other person who might have a reasonable claim to attack Kenshin is Hyougo Kujiranami, an ex-samurai who had his right arm chopped off by Kenshin in battle and couldn’t adjust to life in the Meiji Era – but then again, as he comes to realize, it’s pretty much insane to hate Kenshin for not killing him after beating him, warrior ethos or not. On the one hand, this highlights one of the comic’s themes – only insane or maladjusted people dedicate themselves to revenge –, and it’s also justified by Watsuki deliberately making an effort to conform to the molds of a standard shounen story, happy ending and all… But, on the other, I wonder how much more interesting a confrontation between Kenshin and a good person with legitimate reasons for wanting revenge (or, at least, a disturbed person with legitimate reasons for wanting revenge and who also doesn’t slaughter innocents and the like) would be.
Anyway, quick recap: in part 2, I
talked about characters changing on an intra-textual level – that is, in terms
of personality, story role, etc. – giving two characters as examples: Inspector
Javert, from Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables novel, and Kenshin Himura,
from Nobuhiro Watsuki’s Rurouni Kenshin manga. In a way, they’re polar
opposites: Javert is forced by the circumstances to change, refuses, and
commits suicide; Kenshin (formerly Battousai) is forced by others to stay the
same, refuses, and manages to build himself a new life and identity. And
earlier, in part 1, I talked about how meta-textual considerations often limit
characters from changing.
talked about characters changing on an intra-textual level – that is, in terms
of personality, story role, etc. – giving two characters as examples: Inspector
Javert, from Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables novel, and Kenshin Himura,
from Nobuhiro Watsuki’s Rurouni Kenshin manga. In a way, they’re polar
opposites: Javert is forced by the circumstances to change, refuses, and
commits suicide; Kenshin (formerly Battousai) is forced by others to stay the
same, refuses, and manages to build himself a new life and identity. And
earlier, in part 1, I talked about how meta-textual considerations often limit
characters from changing.
Sidenote: I was actually surprised so many of you thought this applied only – or even mostly – to super-hero comic books and TV shows. Audience expectations have been around a lot longer than Modernity: imagine if Chrétien de Troyes had written about Arthur and Guinevere being happily married and Lancelot being cast out of Camelot in disgrace; would his audience – French nobles, the kind of people who turned courtly love from a literary trope into an actual social practice, the game of love – accept it? Or if Sophocles had the people of Mycenae just say “You know, Orestes, Agamemnom was such a swell guy, we don’t mind that you had to kill your own mother to avenge him”, wouldn’t anyone in his own audience complain about how he was butchering their myths? Some particularly famous characters have been adapted many times throughout the ages – like the aforementioned King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table –, but consider that each of those versions had their own audiences and cultural contexts; in other words, the audience for King Arthur’s stories had to change before the stories themselves could. This phenomenon is a lot more noticeable in modern times, when the interaction between artists and the public is stronger than ever before, but make no mistake: for as long as artists have needed to eat, the audience has had a say in art, for better or worse.
A good example for a character that can’t seem to change because of meta-textual reasons is Conan. In Robert E. Howard’s works, he does undergo character development from one story to the next, even though most of it takes place off-screen in between stories; but the image of Conan popularized in the public’s mind is of the wandering barbarian hero always in search of loot and glory, so every new adaptation of the character (not to mention all of the pastiches and “homages”) tends to portray him like that. The only one that managed to break from that mold was the first movie with Schwarzenegger, and in that one, he was Conan in name only (it’s a great movie that deals with themes present in Howard’s works, but Conan was a different character from the short stories and novel).
So, why am I talking about fiction and how it deals with the subject of personal growth? Because, when I look at what is a large part (possibly the majority?) of the cultural production in the Western hemisphere – movies, comic books, plain old books, and video games – and how the audience consumes it, I see a lot of resistance to changes, both from fans and from creators: it seems we, the audience, can’t ever let a work stand on its own, we must have MORE of it, and it must be EXACTLY the same, only BETTER!; and the creators, either because they’re also too enamored with their creations, or because they’re afraid of upsetting the status quo, try to tell a story that will please us, instead of focusing on telling only a good story.It’s not that being different is automatically better; sometimes, experimenting too much with the formula can lead to disaster. But it seems that both audience and creators forgot that how you tell a story is actually more important than what story you tell. Oh, you don’t believe me? Then check out Rudyard Kipling’s Jungle Book and Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book. Gaiman’s book is basically a retelling of Kipling’s in a different setting, hitting pretty much all of the same plot points, and yet it still manages to be an entirely different reading experience. (Seriously, though, check out both of them, they’re very good.)
But why is that worrisome? Well, art isn’t created in a vaccuum. That usually means that artists are influenced, consciously or not, by their social contexts, but it also means that art, in turn, influences the context in which it’s created. What does it say about the socio-cultural context of the modern Western world (and possibly others) when it seems like a large part (the majority?) of its cultural production refuses to grow, to change, to experiment… In short, to challenge itself?No single, all-encompassing definition of “art” can be given by anyone, and there are no clear-cut boundaries between “work of art” and “work of entertainment”, but if I were asked for MY definition (one which I acknowledge to be limited), I’d say that works of art are meant to question, to provoke thought, while works of entertainment provide comfort and enjoyment. There’s no judgement of quality inherent to either of those, though – there is bad art just like there’s good entertainment –, and like I said, the boundaries aren’t clear-cut – a work of art can be just as enjoyable as any work of entertainment, and a work meant only for entertainment can still rise to become art (see some of the late, great Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels, or many of Shakespeare’s plays); but, looking at current artistic trends, it seems we – both creators and audience – have been favouring “comfort works” ever more. Just look at the latest mega-hit series of YA literature: Harry Potter, Twilight, The Hunger Games, The Mortal Instruments…
“But Spoony, that’s just YA literature, which isn’t relevant by itself and doesn’t reflect other, more serious works of art!” Really? Consider, though, that The Chronicles of Prydain was basically YA literature, and yet it managed to be an innovative and thought-provoking series which overturned many tropes and clichés on their head. Heck, even The Hobbit; it’s a simple fantasy novel, but can you imagine a successful fantasy novel nowadays in which the main character doesn’t kill the dragon and doesn’t take part in the climactic battle, and even misses it entirely?
Also, where is it written that popular works must also be “dumb”? Consider that Shakespeare’s plays weren’t written to challenge the status quo or anything, they were written because that was his job, but hundreds of years later, we’re still finding new ways to look at them because they’re just that rich (well, most of them, at least), even though he worked with previously existing stories and plots which were mostly simple and one-dimensional stories.Drat, this is running too long again!… …nah, I’m just joking. This time, everything is fine (although it would probably have been better if I had left that first paragraph at the end of the previous part. Ah, well). So, before I’m done here, I’d just like to point out one last thing: while audience expectations (and even participation) is a lot older than it might seem, it’s undeniable that, at least for some forms of cultural media, our influence with creators is stronger than ever (remember how so many fans complained about Mass Effect 3‘s ending, and how later BioWare released new endings as downloadable content?). Consider, also, that even the greediest executive producer (or most timid editor) imposes crappy changes (or refuses to impose necessary ones) because they think they’re giving us what we want. Perhaps, then, it’s high time we started exercising our influence (or, perhaps, refusing to exercise it at all) with more responsibility. After all, what would you prefer: a dynamic cultural environment full of offerings, or a stagnant one where we get exactly what we want and are still left unsatisfied?