Cruel Angel Theses

Oh, Yin, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I guess I could start with the fingersmile tag.

“She Does Not Waver on the Water’s Surface in that Silver Night”

(I used ‘She’ because 心 doesn’t really lend itself to translation here, and it seems more appropriate to use the pronoun since when coupled with ‘waver’ it lends for an accurate connotation of Yin’s entire being.)

The arc is really a paint-by-numbers affair, as evidenced by the masterful dialogue written with so much meaning that you can’t help but feel like you’re watching something on the level of Watchmen, as we’re treated line after line of dialogue that enhances the story and goes a long way toward developing the themes of the arc in a way that kills two birds with one stone.

That being said, the two key motifs here are that of emotions:

And moonlight:

Pretty straightforward, don’t you think? Quite like every arc we’ve had so far, but wait–that’s not all. A bit of Doll mechanics to feed the salivating fans and their annoying thirst for detail: This scene contrasts with that of Huang’s attitude and false dichotomy towards Dolls and Contractors alike.

You could say that Huang sets himself up for this simply because of his simplistic beliefs cemented by past events. Contractors behave a certain way, ergo they are always like that. Ditto the Dolls, whom he regards as mere passive mediums, and nothing else.

A little bit of sleeping, a little bit of dreaming: Why does Yzak say this? Probably to tie in with Kanami’s explanation of the nature of a Doll earlier–”Do Dolls dream?” By stealing her surveillance spectre from her, Yzak’s helped to jog Yin’s memories, and in doing so you could say that he’s the most important character of the arc by the way in which he articulates Yin’s thoughts through his poetry, and set things in motion for her to choose at the end.

The poetry here is pretty straightforward, as far as metafiction goes: It’s noteworthy that every bit of poetry recited here relates to Yin in terms of things like the maiden, the moon, and a silver-coloured night, foreshadowing what is soon to come.

The part about the cosplay here that segues into the famous fingersmile scene leaves a lot to be desired: If Kiko’s fujoshi friend views Yin as doing cosplay, does that mean that she’s merely acting out who she wants to be, as opposed to who she really is?

You could say that what they mean here is more like “Keep up appearances”, which would tie into the minus-one of Blend In playing in this scene. Why is making a pretty face the most important thing? Because you want to look normal. Why would you want to look normal? Because you have to stay as part of the background, and fade into the scenery with your misery. We don’t need you looking sad. Shoo.

But as this arc can attest to, blending in isn’t necessarily the best thing for such a character like Yin. Once upon a time, she smiled and basked in the moonlight.

Then the accident happened, and everything vanished. While it’s true that moonlight here does represent atonement, it’s also a contrast between dark and light, and the implication here’s that Yin’s been living in a world of darkness ever since she ceased to become Kirsi, seeing yet not seeing.

I liked how the three shots of her with her arms open wide gradually grew wider, as if to indicate she was letting herself go.

It was also interesting that each of the characters here performed some sort of art; for Yin, the piano, for Yzak, poetry, and for Bertha, opera. Adopting a role, as it were, while not being themselves at the same time.

Why does Bertha feel compelled to mention this? Again, to draw on contrast from the main character of this arc, Yin, who appears like she has no emotions, but is actually emotional enough to feel emotions at not feeling them:

It can be inferred that as Yin “felt her heart move”, she must have begun feeling emotions again, or at least dredged up memories that she wished she hadn’t, and ran away as a result–she just didn’t want to deal with them.

Like Bertha, she’s atoning for what she did. Assuming that becoming a Doll is a voluntary affair and not the diabolical deed that’s been hinted at so far, then Yin’s Dollification could very well have stemmed from her wanting to atone for what she did.

Bertha herself is an interesting character; it’s been noted that she does not have to chew on and regurgitate cigarettes, of all things. So why does she do that?

Presumably to atone for unwittingly causing her baby’s death by cigarettes–each time she does so she relives the moment of her child’s death, as if to punish herself for her negligence. In the same vein, so does  Yin, a blind girl, see with her surveillance spectre for that one time she could not and caused a loved one’s death.

One angle I never really considered till now was the fact that Yin isn’t emotionless; rather, her glum demeanour is something she’s voluntarily adopted as a result of all those years of mourning for her mother, and she’s not discovering her emotions per se, but instead discovering how to be happy once again.

Gai, of course, agrees with me in his crowning moment of glory, burning in this well-delivered scene with heartfelt emotion.

And how. Funny that you mention people treating her like a doll…

Huang has his reasons for this, as you’ll see. What he’s displaying now isn’t so much his instinct for self-preservation as it is his refusal to see things play out a second time in his head, and no matter how many times he goes through this charade of being peeved and miffed at his teammates, I’ll never be able to get mad at him.

This scene where Hei delivers an ice-burn to Huang is golden, though.

I can’t really go into detail about the significance of this particular exchange between Hei and Yin, but let’s just say that it’s significant enough to bear in mind when watching the grand finale some arcs down the road.

Otherwise Yin’s last spoken line in the finale won’t really make a whole lot of sense, mark my words.

I mean, why the dichotomy once again? Why not… both?

A perfect end to cap it all off as Yin tries to smile, and fails: She knows that she’s supposed to be happy at a time like this, and struggles to do so, in turn affirming what we’ve known all throughout this arc–that she has emotions, even if she’s only just coming to terms with them.

I’d like to add on to what Hige says below by noting that DtB doesn’t have what you’d call character development–it’s character revelation that we’re seeing here. Each and every one of the main cast arrive fully formed, and the task of the 25 episodes is to show us, the audience, how exactly did said characters become what they are today.

The term “character development” entails “growth”, but what kind of growth is there for the viewer if the characters are their own people and have grown as much as they possibly can? That leaves only one other alternative, that of gradual revelation that shows us how such a character came to be.

This could be another reason why the general attitude towards this show was that of tragic misunderstanding as they expected development when there was no room for it, but shouldn’t it have been obvious that if characters start out weak and gradually grow in tandem with their fighting skills, then Hei was more than adequately developed, and that we had to find out how he arrived at said development?

This arc served to confirm my suspicion that it’s best watched twice–the first time to absorb everything, and the second time to connect everything. There’s no substitute for it, really.

~

Hige says:

I remember noting that this arc was the first in DtB to finally give Yoko Kanno, composer extraordinaire, some much needed attention. Her work up to this point had been very understated; impeccably suited to the tone and mood of the scene but very easy to ignore. With music playing such a functional role this time around, triggering memories of dark pasts and difficult emotions, Yoko gets a chance to shine with some beautiful piano pieces. It’s not the Bebop-styled bombast people love her for, but it’s as evocative and moving as anything she’s turned out.

This arc was one of my favourites back in the day. It incorporates two major priorities – music and characterisation – so it makes sense that I would enjoy such an emotive set of episodes. Having rewatched them with leveller head this time, not as thirsty for the next dramatic hit, my experience of this arc wasn’t as acute. When I did react it was for different reasons and different characters. Bertha, for instance, really gut-punched me this time around. Her story of tragedy, something she continued to atone for even as an impassive Contractor, subtly paralleled the arc’s star Yin and her personal history. It tied the two opposing sides with a mutual pathos and complicated how we related to each. Darker than Black has always mired the issue of who is bad and who is good with shades of grey. Those that pursue Hei and his group are often no less immoral or malicious than the main cast themselves – our focus simply isn’t on them so our sympathies directed elsewhere. This arc, with these two Contractors, it seemed quite different.

It was surprising how sympathetically the ‘bad guys’ were depicted. Poets, singers, people with pasts that still haunt them. It made quite a change from the usual two-dimensional aggressors we’ve had up to this point. Bertha’s obeisance particularly caught my eye. Was I the only one that thought it resembled bulimia? None of the obeisances have stuck out as tailored to the individual, with Bertha curiously making hers personal by eating cigarettes, but I drew a connection to her obvious obesity and the eating-related punishment. Maybe it was just a broader aesthetic decision (like the Brits and their fags/booze) but there seemed to be an analogy in there somewhere. It also didn’t seem very logical for a Contractor to make her obeisance harder for reasons she’s supposedly unable to care about.

But then DtB constantly challenges the notion that Contractors and Dolls don’t care or can’t feel anything.  Initially I thought it was lax just so we could appreciate the characters more, it being pretty tedious if every antagonist was a soulless robot, but I think there’s a broader intention behind it. The best way I can describe it is ‘learned humanity’- the idea that even those who are wiped clean of their humanity can learn it again by interacting normal people. Yin is the perfect example of this. A Doll, an impassive medium, who temporarily loses her powers and has to confront the memories of her past. You can’t deny that Yin demonstrates very human characteristics in this arc – fear of emotional pain, affection towards Hei – and it seems like BONES wants us to acknowledge this possibility and ask why and how. Hei is the key figure in explaining Yin’s behaviour, I think. His moments of compassion have affected her and slowly caused her to regain her emtions. It’s been alluded to in previous episodes and now Yin is the focus we get a chance to understand it properly. I do wonder if, after the events of this arc, Yin will keep her newly developed emotional self even though her spectre returned? Another wee plot development to keep an eye on, me thinks.