Land of the Lustrous’ ninth episode concludes with Phos effortlessly dispatching a Lunarian, and in the process rescuing the twin Amethysts they were previously helpless to assist. Such an accomplishment would have registered as a stunning victory for the Phos of several months ago, an affirmation of the strength they were so desperate to possess, and their suitability for the role they craved above all else. But having lost Antarcticite and acquired the strength to fight, Phos has only found a fresh sense of emptiness on the far shore. Looking down at this fresh kill, Phos simply laments that this Lunarian is one of the old models, and thus cannot help restore their friend.
It is a sobering feeling to achieve your ambitions and realize they don’t actually make you happy. Phos believed their sense of dissatisfaction was because they didn’t fit into gem society, because they were incapable of performing their proper duty. Having gained the strength to perform those duties, Phos has realized the truth is far more harrowing: gem society is itself fundamentally unrewarding to Phos, unable to satisfy their curiosity about the world, unable to validate their concern for their fellow gems.
It was not Phos’ weakness that made them feel disjointed from this world. It was their inquisitiveness, their empathy, their desire for greater meaning and community. And none of those special, irreplaceable qualities have been lost in their transition to a warrior, even if Phos would like to believe they have. Thus we find Phos much as they always were: even in the face of a great martial victory, their principal response is sorrow that this victory cannot bring happiness or relief to the people they care about.
Back at the base, Phos lists off the defining features of the defeated Lunarian to Jade, no trace of pride or really any emotion in their voice. Jade can’t help but remark on this change, noting that “all you ever did before was talk stuff up.” What would have once been a perfect opportunity to brag is now just another chore, the paperwork phase of what Phos has rightly defined as “simply a dangerous job.” Phos once thought the other gems defended this land because they were uniquely brave; having survived the winter performing Antarcticite’s duties, they now know that there are often things we simply must do, because we are the only ones who can. And Phos cannot take pride in doing what is inevitable; after all, what is there that is uniquely Phos in that process?
Reminded of their former self, Phos can only smile in embarrassment, and protest that “Antarcticite was far more brave. Far more kind.” Given their preoccupation with Antarcticite and sense of displacement within their current duties, it seems clear that Phos is no longer striving towards a useful purpose within gem society, but rather towards Antarcticite’s ever-retreating back. Like Cinnabar before them, Antarcticite has become a symbol of wholeness for Phos, a landmark achievement whose fulfillment will surely quell their sense of inherent dissatisfaction with this world. But no external achievements will satisfy Phos’ need for a greater life than fulfilling their mechanical purpose.
Seeing Phos react to such power with lethargic indifference, one gem simply cannot abide it: the straight-laced and stalwart Bort, who asks to team up with Phos in a tone that makes it clear it’s not a request. Bort has long stood as the strongest of the gems, the protector who would save them even if all else fails. And Bort has taken significant pride in that designation, even as it isolates them from their fellows. Finding solace in the importance of their duties, Bort was able to carry on – but now this new Phos seems nearly as strong, and yet clearly finds no satisfaction in that power or purpose, instead treating their sacred duties like tedious, arbitrary chores.
Phos’ dissatisfaction is like a slap in Bort’s face. That Phos, the weakest and most frivolous of the gems, would find Bort’s precious duties unsatisfying is a clear affront. When Phos was weak, it was easy to disregard their complaints – but now that Phos is strong, their continued indifference to duty is unacceptable, casting as it does such doubt on Bort’s own purpose. Rather than lamenting their lack of some vague sense of personal fulfillment, Bort demands Phos prioritize the challenges in front of them, just as Bort has. They are angry, but that anger is tinged with desperation; Phos must return to the binary strictures of gem society, and thereby validate Bort’s own subservience to this structure.
In spite of their strength, Phos is now more alone than ever. Their former friends don’t even really recognize them, and all the gems now want to talk about is their body, a topic that only makes them uncomfortable. Phos’ isolation is conveyed through alienating storyboards that emphasize their school’s vast empty spaces, positioning Phos as either lost in a labyrinth or as one piece of an incomplete pair. So it goes for the symmetrical shot setting up Phos on a bench, alone save for a conspicuous empty space beside them. Though Phos busies themselves with chores and resists sleep as much as possible, they cannot escape that emptiness, the place where Antarcticite now resides.
Staring down at Antarcticite’s imagined, unreachable form, Phos sighs, and admits that “I get it. Being brave means facing your troubles, right?” Left with no other direction after having succeeded in becoming a powerful warrior, Phos can only guide themselves by considering what Antarcticite might do. Phos’ dreams stand too apart from the mechanics of this world to provide much direction; only the stable, immediate need to help or live up to a character like Cinnabar, Ventricosus, or Antarcticite can provide them motivation and a path to follow.
Phos is the one who breaks the news to Dia that Bort wants to team up. Someone who shined so brilliantly, someone who was a friend and confidant in Phos’ world, is now suffering a key displacement because of Phos’ new abilities. So did becoming a great warrior only muck things up for the others? Was Dia and the other gems’ happiness contingent on Phos’ lowly position, or was Dia only ever putting on a brave face in the first place, secretly fearing the day they’d be replaced? If finding purpose means robbing that purpose from Dia, and the result doesn’t even make Phos happy, what are they really accomplishing? In Dia’s defense of Bort’s personality, we see precisely how much these gems care about each other – and now it is Phos who is trampling over that concern, led by Bort into a purely utilitarian purpose.
As the new partners head off on their first patrol, Dia lingers behind, picking flowers and staring towards their retreating backs. The bond that Bort and Dia had cultivated was worth nothing to gem society, and as the gem most symbolically essential to upholding that society, it fell to Bort to calculate with that fact in mind. Dia sums it up bitterly, stating that “Bort is never wrong, and always makes the right choice. Sometimes I almost hate it.” Dia’s sensitive nature was what made them such a close friend to Phos in the first place. Now, feeling betrayed by the person they cared about most, they cannot conceal how much Bort has hurt them. And to their credit, Bort knows well what they have done; as Phos acknowledges their cunning mind, Bort can only reply that “Dia despised me for this.”
Suddenly a massive Lunarian pierces the sky, and Land of the Lustrous takes flight. There is an incredible sense of depth and scale in the composition as Bort and Phos are flung around by this many-armed creature, a remarkable demonstration of this CG production’s unique strengths. It is extremely difficult to maintain a sense of coherent scale and place when articulating a fight against a much larger opponent, particularly with this much visual noise in terms of its shape and limbs. And yet Studio Orange manages it with ease, evoking a uniquely thrilling immediacy through the clarity of space and coherent flow of movement.
One absurd sequence follows another as Bort dances around the creature, their opponent essentially becoming the background against which they run and strike. Perpetually shifting backgrounds are close to impossible in animation, demanding constant redraws that only the most sumptuous of film production schedules (or a generational talent like Vincent Chansard) can allow. But because the background here is another freely posable object, Land of the Lustrous is able to gracefully convey the sense of attacking a mountainous monster. And of course, this comes down to more than simply the CG objects – maintaining clarity of movement while swooping the camera across such shifting terrain is another challenge entirely, one this production only overcomes through careful attention paid to both Bort and the creature’s shifting momentum.
Back at the school, Dia is swift to realize that something is very, very wrong. In an episode overflowing with creative compositions and ambitious tricks of camera movement, Dia’s faceoff with the Lunarian feels almost like a deliberate tribute to the action cinema of Stephen Spielberg. First, that trembling glass of water (or vase, as the case may be), an unmistakable signal of approaching danger. Then a dolly zoom, alerting Dia to the threat as clearly as it did Roy Scheider. And then back to Jurassic Park, for a sequence powerfully evoking the kitchen raptor chase, with the layouts even occasionally simulating the shuffling frame of a cameraman chasing our target. Focus racks consistently between Dia and the beast, intermingling with split diopter shots following both at once. Through this combination of free CG movement and familiar cinematic techniques, Orange ensures this sequence feels authentic and grounded, rather than weightless displays of game characters exchanging blows while cameras swoop around them. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to make a sequence like this feel desperate or impactful, and Lustrous’ team achieves it masterfully.
Desperate to prove they are worthy of Bort’s companionship, Dia throws themself at the Lunarian, fighting and crashing and retaliating even as their limbs shatter around them. Both their legs, both their arms, as much of their face as can be spared – is this enough to prove their worth? What tragedies this world inflicts on its inhabitants, simply because it refuses to allow them the privilege of true personal identity, and the community that would engender. Instead, they can only prove their feelings through the one vehicle they are allowed: their effectiveness as warriors. And so Dia makes their desperate speech, communicating their love and passion, their jealousy and regret through the destruction of their body.
“I’m glad we split up,” Dia haltingly confesses, their body too damaged for easy speech. “From afar, I see just how much you mean to me.” Looking down at their broken friend, even Bort cannot deny the truth of this moment, or the depth of their own feelings. “I do, too” they reply, reaching out not with confidence or command, but with uncertain tenderness. Even in this cruel utilitarian world, even between these icons who are meant to serve as its exemplars, there is a love that cannot be measured by strength or skill. Dia and Bort hold a meaning for each other that this world could never hope to understand.
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