Hello everyone, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. Today we’ll be reviving a long-dormant article series, as we continue our journey through the fascinating world of Simoun. I didn’t really intend for this gap between entries to get so enormous; I was up to date on articles for quite a while, and by the time a new article was funded, I was far enough removed from the show that it seemed hard to reconnect with. But having read my last few episodic posts to refresh myself, I feel more or less reattuned to the trials of Chor Tempest, and ready to see this journey through to the end.
When last we left off, Chor Tempest had struck a crucial victory, having won the battle for the capital so decisely that their enemies were forced to accept a peace treaty. But given the rapid advancements of their foes in the wake of acquiring their own Simouns, as well as the plain fact that Simulacrum’s continued existence serves as a foot on the neck of all poorer nations, I can’t imagine that peace will be a lasting one. Fortunately, outside of the members that are either dead or flung into the distant past, Chor Tempest has never been more unified. Let’s see how they weather the potential end of Simulacrum society!
Episode 23
Ah, this opening song, these lovely pencil-sketched backgrounds. It’s wonderful to return to this world
Returning to Simoun, I feel even more acutely the dire state of modern anime production. Bold, creator-driven two-cour originals like this were actually pretty common twenty years ago, but at this point, major directors have to fight hard and gain substantial pull to justify even a one-cour passion project. Adaptations of manga or light novels are more guaranteed sellers, so the wildly overbooked industry is generally just sticking to those – and since the popular entries in those fields are formulaic and designed for young otaku audiences, that’s all that gets translated into animation. The very idea of an anime primarily intended for mature audiences, based on a concept developed by directors and writers for the screen directly, is a near impossibility in the modern industry model
Anubituf darkly frames their prior battles as merely an “expression of force,” proving the enemy can violate the capital whenever they choose
And from that line, we transition directly to the episode title, “The Eternal Maiden.” This juxtaposition seems intended to emphasize one of the implicit parallels of Simulacrum society, where the society as a whole and capitol in particular are all representations of Onashia herself. With sexuality and secondary gender characteristics here framed as results of a transformative ritual, conservative ideals like the “purity of a maiden” are inherently baked into the mechanical process of growing up in this society. Adulthood is seen as a loss of innocence, and Onashia, the “Eternal Maiden,” is thus a figure to be worshiped and protected – just like the pristine city that represents her power
Chor Tempest gather for the peace ceremony. Count on Floe to ask “why does everything feel so bleh,” voicing the discontent the others are too polite to mention
Actually a pretty effective composition contrasting the Primus in the background against birds rising in the foreground. The addition of a glare effect from the sun in the foreground helps merge the different layers of the composition, softening the contrast of the traditionally animated birds against the hard geometry of the Primus. Additionally, the Primus itself looks less out of place when it fully dominates a background, with no traditionally sketched elements to clash against it
The birds gracefully lead our eyes to the atrium, where Aaeru still seems a little lost. With the war apparently over, she’s now preoccupied with the “other world” her grandfather dreamed of
Of course, her feelings are conflicted by Neviril’s hope that Amuria might still exist in this other world. Good pouts as she reflects on that memory
After Aaeru tosses aside a flower, Neviril’s father picks it up, saying that “at least it can still comfort someone.” A hope that this old soldier, now no longer the vice-chairman, can obviously relate to
The peace treaty apparently comes with some painful conditions. The show draws out their reveal, letting the pensive piano melody and discordant canted angles build up our sense of unease
The sense of a sacred geography being violated is further emphasized in the next scene, when we see the usually spotless cafeteria now littered with empty beer bottles and boisterous foreign soldiers
Rea sympathizes with the opposition, while Floe immediately starts some shit. I love you, Floe
Foreign priestesses and Neviril both arrive at the scene, and then Neviril recognizes one of the priestesses as part of the group that killed Mamiina. They ask Neviril’s forgiveness for their “terrible sin,” and she grants it to them. The scene serves as an emphatic declaration of Neviril’s dedication to peace and willingness to lead by example, as she forgives the person she has the most reason not to
Alti offers the still-conflicted Para some advice she received from Neviril: “unless both of you are strong, you can’t truly embrace each other.” That’s certainly one of Para’s main problems – she feels such a profound protective instinct towards Neviril that she can’t trust Neviril to be strong as well, smothering her in the process
Meanwhile, Yun is confronting Onashia at the spring, as Onashia once again reveals she’s only lightly tethered to our reality
“This place is extremely unstable. The ruins were the training grounds for Chor Dextra. Many incomplete Emerald Ri Majoons collapsed and exploded here.” Alright, actually a pretty convincing explanation for the ruins’ spatial/temporal vagaries. It’s generally best to limit the number of impossible things you ask your audience to believe, and framing the ruins’ behavior as a consequence of the pre-established Ri Majoons’ behavior is a great way to do that. As a result, instead of the audience thinking “nothing has substance in this world, because the author can introduce new fantastical devices at any time,” the audience instead thinks “aha, this is actually the consequence of something that was already established,” enhancing the world’s sense of solidity and substance. In truth, there’s little logical difference in one choice versus the other, but managing the audience’s expectations and investment is a crucial competency for any writer
“There are not many things a person can believe when they can’t even believe in themselves.” A pointed line, with Onashia echoing Para’s words
Onashia states that, just like Yun, she was afraid of making a true decision, and ran away from that responsibility. “I believe that I’ve been waiting for someone like you”
And at least, we learn the crucial caveat: in order to agree to the peace treaty, the foreign nations demand that Chor Tempest be disbanded
Chor Tempest react to this news by retreating to their bean bag chairs and sulking
“The simple truth is that we are no longer needed.” Chor Tempest are essentially a superweapon, a force of violence that no other nation could ever hope to challenge. The disbandment of Chor Tempest is thus a bit like nuclear disarmament – it’s just, we generally don’t get to hear the nukes’ thoughts on being disarmed
“Even if Chor Tempest ceases to exist, it does not change the fact that we are Simoun sibyllae.” An interesting thought – can they separate their identities as soldiers from their identities as priestesses?
“No one will ever defile our prayers.” Once again, the advance of foreign influences into Simulacrum culture is framed as “defilement of purity,” linking martial aggression to sexual corruption
Neviril actually confronts Aaeru about her dreams of visiting the other world, but Aaeru doesn’t want to hear it
Para asks Neviril to bless her as well. Perhaps this is her way of letting go
And oh my god, it’s Floe who ends up being Aaeru’s confidant, with predictable results. Master of romance Floe has no patience for Aaeru’s dithering, and immediately suggests she shut Neviril up with her mouth
The high priestess greets Neviril and Para in a panic, telling them that they must fly
“We must hurry, or the door will close on us, and it will never open again!”
Onashia reveals she was a member of Chor Dextra as well. Once again, tying the explanation of other fantasy variables to pre-existing fantastical assumptions results in a more cohesive and dramatically satisfying viewer experience
“The Simoun itself is like a maiden. The maiden… wavers. The Simoun gem reflects that wavering heart.” Very much like Madoka Magica’s explanation – the wavering heart of a young maiden is the most powerful force in the universe
An interesting contrast of scenes here – with Onashia’s explanations set against her, the High Priestesses’ desperation feels all the more hopeless. What she is hoping for for Simulacrum is precisely what Onashia is describing – the purity of the “Eternal Maiden,” something that can’t truly exist. Just as maidens must embrace contact with the world, so must Simulacrum embrace contact with its fellow nations
“When you run away from reality, these are the consequences.” Onashia is now a maiden of crystal, disintegrating in the wind. No person or nation can remain apart from the world, or they will inevitably crumble
And Done
Aw, couldn’t we have returned to a fun episode for Chor Tempest? Well, I suppose the days of glory have already ended, as it seems Simoun’s last act will be centered on graduation from the “Eternal Maiden” status of the Simoun sybillae. Just as Simulacrum must sacrifice its lofty self-image and rigid values in order to integrate into global society, so must the pilots of Chor Tempest embrace compromise, or risk casting themselves as stained-glass icons looking down on a society they can never join. Simoun’s political and personal dimensions are weaving and reflecting in wonderful fashion as we soar towards the conclusion!
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