The first image of Princess Tutu’s tenth episode evokes all of its theoretical protagonists, displaying Fakir’s sword, Ahiru’s pendant, and Rue’s black slippers and feather all in a row. With each of their fantasy-identity markers scattered on the stairs like that, the narrator’s retelling of the story of Cinderella feels like it could apply to anyone. All three of our heroes don a heroic mantle and new identity in order to reach out to Mytho, and all three struggle at the distance between their fantasy selves and ordinary lives. Sacrificing of themselves and playing unhappy roles and warring with each other over a goal they seemingly share, they are each haunted by the narrator’s final question: “did the prince really love that maiden named Cinderella?”
Ahiru’s story obviously maps most cleanly to the Cinderella myth, given she’s normally a duck who’s granted a majestic human form by a mysterious benefactor in order to dance with the prince. But that final question seems most relevent to Rue’s story, where both her own and Mytho’s feelings of ostensible love never seem to be reflected in their actual interactions. And then there’s the imagery in the background, crossing swords against thorns – symbols tethered to both Rue and Fakir, here implying a violence inherent in the prince joining with either of them. If loving someone means imprisoning, destroying, or reinventing them, is that really love at all?
That in turn points to another of Princess Tutu’s key refrains: the idea of not loving someone in general, but loving a specific concept or version of that person. Mytho seems to love Princess Tutu, but could he love a Princess Tutu who is also Ahiru the duck? Rue says she loves Mytho, but how can her feelings be called love when she wants him to remain an emotional blank slate? Just as we interpret our own actions and the world around us to construct flattering heroic narratives, so too do we interpret the actions and even fundamental nature of others in such a way as to validate our preexisting feelings towards them. In spite of us all being ever-changing bundles of emotions and values who often contradict ourselves, we work hard to assign a coherency of identity to others that we’ve never suffer to accept for ourselves. And then we find ourselves betrayed by the greater complexity of others’ “true selves,” and ultimately wondering what version of them, what fragment of our own biases, we were ever truly in love with.
And yet, for all this confusion and misunderstanding, this episode ultimately centers on the joy of discovering that you didn’t really know someone. Highlighting Fakir’s shifting feelings as witnessed by Ahiru, this episode demonstrates that the process of discovering another’s own truth is actually a wondrous thing, and ultimately enriches our understanding of the world. After an episode largely centered on Rue’s terrible insecurities and lack of self-image, episode ten finds gallantry in Fakir’s beliefs, and compassion in his heart.
The intensity of Fakir’s feelings is clear from this episode’s first moments, as he angrily asks Tutu if she’d be able to kill him if he stood in her way, and scolds her for her weakness in not attacking the vulnerable Kraehe. As always, Fakir’s feelings come from a place of desperate pragmatism and deep moral concession. Fakir’s starting point seems to be “I’ve already sacrificed everything. There is no action I would not take to protect Mytho, even if it damns me or Mytho hates me for it.” And yet, for all of Fakir’s fatalistic bluster, Mytho’s new sensitivity reveals the uncertainty and human heart beneath. Taking his friend in his arms, Mytho quietly asks “Fakir, are you trembling?”
Fakir’s vulnerability becomes more and more clear across the following scenes, after Ahiru loses her pendant (echoing the Cinderella episode framing) and is forced to try and regain it from Fakir. Fakir being the one to find the pendant is by itself a cute riff on Cinderella’s usual narrative – normally the “prince” in Cinderella wishes to return the slipper, but here, Fakir is actually a “prince” from an entirely different narrative, and his goals directly contradict those of the Cinderella story. And so, instead of actually seeking out Princess Tutu to return her pendant, he simply carries it around while Ahiru quacks up a panic behind him.
The point here isn’t simply revising the Cinderella narrative, though – it’s forcing Ahiru to learn more about Fakir’s truth. Both sides of Fakir seem embodied in lines like “I envy your innocence,” spoken to duck-Ahiru. Fakir seems to believe the relative sensitivity and “softness” of everyone else is a sign of naivety that he wishes he could indulge in, but has too much perspective and responsibility to allow. He is sympathetic to Ahiru’s compassion, but feels his role in the narrative doesn’t allow him to share it. And Fakir really has no reason to doubt this belief – the fact that we in the audience are generally following Ahiru means we’re inherently biased towards her view of this conflict, but Fakir’s instincts aren’t necessarily “wrong” in any way.
It’s hard to entirely sympathize with Fakir, however, when the fruits of Ahiru’s labor have become so clear and so rewarding. Both Ahiru and Cat-sensei note how Mytho’s dancing has become even more beautiful now that it is infused with feeling, and across a scattering of minor scenes, Mytho’s newfound conviction and emotional range serves as an incredibly satisfying payoff for Ahiru’s efforts. Princess Tutu has essentially built Mytho from an object into a person one episode at a time, and seeing him start to become an active player in his own narrative is both emotionally gratifying and also a thematic validation of all of this story’s protagonist-versus-narrative conflicts.
But this is ultimately Fakir’s episode, and so his anxieties about the future eventually bring him, Ahiru, and us along with them back to his old foster home. We meet his adopted father Karon, and learn that it was Karon who first taught Fakir of the prince and his knight. Left alone after his parents died, Fakir was comforted by both Karon and this legend, told that his birthmark signified he was a reincarnation of the brave prince. Fakir found purpose and self-respect in this role, and when Mytho really did ultimately appear, Fakir took equal pride in protecting his new friend. Even before he regained any emotions, Mytho would still act selflessly to save any creature in danger; and having come to understand the consequences of this instinct, Fakir swore to always keep him safe. Summing up his feelings as “I want to protect the pure-hearted Mytho who’s always risking himself for others,” Fakir reveals that he’s far less hard-hearted than he appears. The only reason Fakir has accepted the role of a cold and unfeeling protector is because he wants to protect Mytho’s charitable nature; in truth, he actually greatly admires that spirit of self-sacrifice.
Seeing all these reflections of Fakir’s humanity has a strong effect on the naturally empathetic Ahiru. In perhaps my favorite of this episode’s many great scenes, we see her admitting that “Fakir is the same as me – no, he might love Mytho even more.” While Fakir is granted great strength by his convictions, Ahiru can’t help but assist even those who work against her when they demonstrate that they, too, are just lost and hurt and trying to do right by the people they love. And so Ahiru reaches out to Fakir’s father, helping the two reconnect, and setting the stage for a heroic interruption of Kraehe’s ominous wedding ceremony. Fakir may never know that it was Tutu who enabled his grand horseback entry, and who helped restore both his sword and his certainty. But now that the shoe is on the other foot, I can only hope that he remembers what he loved about Mytho, and offers Tutu that same compassion in turn.
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