Trimax #1: Early Maximum & Madhouse

Pre-post disclaimer for Trigun spoilers! If you're interested in the series at all put this down, go read/watch it, and talk to me about it after. It feels reasonable to tack on that these are all analyses from the canon that lives in my mind and I'm playing with the characters like Polly Pockets. A lot has been said about this story over the years and a fair bit of this is going to be me reiterating or grazing the surface of those writings. I hope you join me in bible study anyways.

I talked a big game about wanting to finish Trigun: Maximum and write this long response to Stampede and Stargaze having read through the original, but it's occurred to me in the time since that if I read Maximum, I'll have so little of the story left. It's always bittersweet to finish a piece of media, because for all that fans are capable of, the "real" content feels over when the author is done. I might circle back around, and have before with Trigun, but it's difficult to keep the interest alive once I've turned it all over in my mind so completely. I jump from title to title by nature, so it's doubly unavoidable but it would be nice, I think, to have something you enjoy in the long-term. I'm trying to tell myself that Maximum could still have it's day on screen, so I better hurry up and work if I ever want to be skilled enough for a project like that. It's a bit of a pipe dream and I'm not sure how long that wind is going to last anyways.

As for my engagement with the text, I've officially graduated from the original two-volume run into Maximum itself. Highly amusing to see how much of that first bit Madhouse adapted in '98, more still to think of all that they must not have. I'd assumed Little Arcadia was a filler episode on my first watch, but in hindsight, the messaging is relevant. How do we scale the value of human life against that of the land? What space do we owe the principles of our parents in our adult lives? I'm not sure what responses Nightow will have by the end of this, but I do hope the ecological messaging is a bit more condemning than in Stargaze.

I get the sense now that Stampede sought to cover the first two volumes, then tackle Maximum separately, but how they thought to do so in only one more season is beyond me. It's hard to call it an adaptation when so much was shifted to accommodate this. There are some changes I think worked nicely, namely where Rollo is concerned. Though the "Diablo" affair was a bit embarrassing to watch in '98, I maintain that Stargaze lost sight of Vash's competence. He should be an excellent gunman, and his fight with Monev is demonstrative of this, but the text added to his and Wolfwood's characters was more interesting to me than the original shootout against what amounts to some guy. In the original, Monev is the first Gung-Ho Gun to approach Vash, so his character being limited is partially because we're watching baby's first brush with the assassin cult. It's about the steadfastness of Vash's pacifism and affirming that he's not without anger. Stampede does not introduce the Guns to us, so we focus on Monev (here, Rollo) as a victim of Vash's philosophy and a revelatory tool where Wolfwood's backstory is concerned.

Vash asserts that Wolfwood should not choose who lives or dies only to be chastised for failing to protect Rollo in the first place. On a larger scale, the problem becomes that he refuses to kill or allow others to do so after inciting, though accidentally, humanity's crash on Gunsmoke. In the immediate sense, Wolfwood accuses Vash of depending on his principles for moral superiority. To say he might have saved Rollo with only a little more time is sweet, but to condemn Wolfwood for killing when his violence has kept tens more children from being abducted (ostensibly) isn't fair. The kindness of pacifism gives way under the weight of the resulting suffering. Wolfwood's values are consistent with his manga counterpart, but the changes to Rollo's backstory as a so-called "child of blessing" add a kind of self-deprecation to the whole affair. When Wolfwood refers to his fellow assassin as monstrous, he does so to himself. He doesn't argue whether Rollo could be saved, but that he would be unhappy to regain consciousness because he is aware and wholly repulsed by himself. His frustration is made more personal as yet another child that Vash has failed already and won't do so much as the dignity of taking out (though we don't get such a scene here as his call for Vash to shoot him directly).

I like to think that his self-image in conjunction with Rollo is further complicated by their respective aptitudes for the drug given to them. If Rollo, who is fitted with an anger enhancing device, is a monster, Wolfwood must be a kind of devil. Other's minds were torn apart by the experiments he feels made them non-human, but he took to them as if by design. All this to say, some of the story changes shift value laterally from version to version, too.

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In my current read-through, Vash, living as Eriks, has recently reclaimed his identity after rescuing Lina, a young girl with whom he's been living. Her being retconned after appearing in Stampede's post-credit scene is especially astonishing, though I understand why it happened. It was nonetheless refreshing to revisit this arc. I'd almost forgotten it, but I really do love the fight between Vash and the outlaw impersonating him. The set-up is so ridiculous, but well suited to the reboot given its emphasis on identity. I don't despise Stargaze's rewrite, but concluding with Vash miraculously regaining his memories felt like a deus ex machina. The aftermath of July and Hoppered's fucked up relationship with the man responsible was compelling, it just didn't make sense to hinge that conflict on a relationship not present in the show up to now. 

Our re-introduction to Trimax Vash has him threatened by the gang holding the town he's in hostage. The choice between allowing the outlaws to shoot up a saloon or meet their demands (those being to undress and act like a dog in the street) is easy, but one the other bar-goers look down on him for. He is then defended by Wolfwood, who's zeal seems incongruous given their unfamiliarity. It stands to reason that he —who has sold his body and soul to the Eye, who justifies a violence he can hardly stomach though the monetary aide it provides his home— would not argue against debasing oneself for survival's sake. He and Vash remain deeply opposed, but their thinking in this case is much the same. It's a nice tell, if contradictory without knowledge of his past. Wolfwood wouldn't do it for most, even if he can appreciate the kindness it requires. There's a tie between intimacy and violence throughout the story that I think rears its head here.

Since Vash recovers much earlier here than in Stampgaze, we learn that his body is alien to him. We grasp his desire to run away and are met with the reality that he cannot. As a plant, he's not governed by the need for food or water and has never been forced, in that sense, to fight or die as humans have. Lina is as new an addition as Jessica, but her relationship with Vash goes beyond a base care for fellow man. His choice to walk into danger for her in an act of love, highlighted by Sheryl's willingness to do so herself moments prior. It is an action only taken by those Lina considers family, existing in direct opposition to the townsfolk that stand aside, however endearing they find her. It's fair to say Vash has loved humans in a distant, sweeping sense, but it is only in forming close bonds with others that he begins to see the necessity of violence on No Man's Land. Baby steps, but important ones nonetheless.

Wolfwood giving Vash three days to decide if he'll join him is another fun detail, if only for the crumb of Christianity. I keep needing to remind myself that they hardly know each other yet, but Wolfwood is pretty upfront about being kind of cagey.

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Though my sense of the story's timing is disrupted by the other adaptations, I'm really enjoying seeing more of the cast in Maximum. Nothing is lost in the original. There's more time to spend with everyone and no simplification of the worldbuilding, so all I have to hope is that what exists is satisfying to me.

I'm fairly certain she'll cut it by next chapter, but Meryl's hair post Fifth-Moon is so nice. I say let her be a little scene with it. I keep telling myself I won't make this about Stampgaze because I don't want to get too far into that without a fuller understanding of the source material, but one of my many gripes with it is that everyone has a fade. Maybe I'm the problem, but I've never seen a pristinely kept undercut and thought "wow, that guy looks straight out of a harsh, resource strapped environment. I bet he's a Christ figure". Granted, her hair is one of the more inoffensive changes made and I don't dislike her design in the reboot the way I do several others'. The outfit change from season 1 to 2 was cute and nicely reminiscent of one of her later Maximum looks. 

In any case, I can set aside the coming haircut because it's so relieving to have her be part of the actual plot. Like Wolfwood, she takes a more pragmatic, if hopeful stance, and is often well aligned with the audience for it. She becomes one of the main seats through which we experience the story, but her values are distinctly her own and her choices emerge from them, not an inherent desire to support the rest of the cast. While she is initially pursuing Vash per her job, she takes it seriously because she truly wants to reduce the harm he causes. She does come to enjoy his company —which I'm sure plays into her willingness to continue after the time skip— but I'm taking the discussion she has on the subject as a kind of case study into how we must react to suffering and strife (ha). Her co-worker's suggestion that a woman can't be happy in a violent or dangerous setting is a bit of a moot point given everyone is stranded on a hostile planet. It's a confession of misery in it's own right, and maybe a sign that she's a bit delusional too. I'm not totally set on my reading of Meryl yet, but she clearly rejects the notion that an individual deemed helpless ought to make do in their situation, rather than take up arms to achieve a better end. She doesn't see another option but to move through what is challenging into the future. Why do we walk into danger is precisely what Vash is learning in the chapters prior, so it's unsurprising for her to answer now as well. 

I won't claim the female cast is brilliantly written, mind you. I'm told the manga contains a bad depiction of DID, transphobia, and is not likely to deliver an earthshattering take on misogyny. It's fun anyways to think that she experiences connection as a way out from danger, just as it drags Vash in. In any case, I hope she stays more than the kind-hearted caretaker this time.

Aside from Meryl, whom I'd set out to enjoy more, I've been pleasantly surprised by Legato. I think you'd be hard pressed to find a Stampgaze-only fan that cares for him, because there's very little to feel anything towards. He's a bit freaky in his devotion to Knives, but he mostly seemed to prance around tormenting Vash and Wolfwood. I'd gathered a little understanding of his past through peoples complaints toward the reboot, but it's another thing to see it reflected in his choices or to have him centered for entire chapters. 

If it can be counted in Orange's favour, the time it took me to draft this has allowed me to cool down considerably. I cannot, in good conscience, recommend Stampgaze as a first watch except maybe to minimize its shortcomings as an adaptation, but I'm nonetheless less agitated about that. Small victories.

Concerning Sexuality Choices in Video Games

Life is Strange 2 Episode 3: Wastelands

After finishing the second Life is Strange game, I delved briefly into different playthroughs (I can't totally remember why, maybe to figure out some choice routes, maybe just plain curiosity) and was struck very suddenly with dissatisfaction at how others had approached it all. Obviously, I was always going to favour my choices because they were mine. They reflected my values and preferences and were indicative of the ways I had super-imposed myself onto the main character, but I began to see then just how differently others had done so. 

I started drafting a much more accusatory version of this post some time ago, but the further I dove into things the more I felt my arguments to be unspecific and ill-conceived. It went something like this: a straight man tasked with the choice between a male and female love interest will very often choose the woman, valuing the gender relation between himself  and the NPC over the character's resulting identity.  I still think there's something to this mind you, but that it's better framed differently. A straight man who is generally accepting of queer people is only willing to perform that acceptance in ways that are passably straight. Beneath his display of care is a quiet disgust with the possibility of himself being queer. Re-reading that, it's not news, but it was extraordinarily frustrating to see it manifested again. When the player-character is a woman, he stumbles through a short acknowledgement of how important and sweet it is to see "this kind" of representation, but that same sweetness flies in the face of  a same-sex romance between men.

It's important to note that there are several factors at play here. I've not seen nor played many games wherein a male lead can romance a man, but that's precisely the point. They don't make it because the available audience for such a thing is far smaller. Lesbians are acceptable, of course, because that's twice the women to gawk at and they're kind-of-almost straight men anyways, right? Certainly closer than a queer man could ever be in the eyes of his heterosexual counter-part. In an equally frustrating way, a queer female lead allows straight men to retain a comfortable level of masculinity as the sapphic relationship, however misunderstood by them, is more open in its novelty than the alternative. To play as a woman means he must either accept the woman's role in a straight relationship, which he has been socialised against for its un-manliness, or enter a same-sex relationship wherein he lacks understanding of the dynamic entirely. Without precedent knowledge, he might impose his own experience and construct a reality for himself where he is "the man in the relationship" thereby affirming his identity through the same-sex romance option. We can assume, then, that his trouble is not a dislike of heterosexual dynamics, but the thought of playing a less dominant role within them. To justify this as learned insecurity, while fine for context's sake, is to call internalized homophobia by another name.

What follows is a significant leap in logic, but one I feel important to expressing my vehement distaste for this whole affair.  Enter Leon Kennedy of Resident Evil: Requiem. He's longstanding, held close to the hearts of players by nostalgia, and now, aged into a burlier, weathered version of himself. Almost every youtuber and streamer plays up a reaction to him on first appearance without issue and this is partially because the idea of being attracted to a man as a man is just so terribly funny. The response suggests a separation in comfortability between romantic and sexual attraction that manifests itself in public perception of queer folks on the whole. Same-sex couples are routinely sexualized and in this context, the player delegitimizes their own attraction by framing it as lacking in emotional intimacy. It's unserious and therefore non-threatening in comparison to the choice in love interest, so we get the sense that thought-based attraction is okay, but action is condemning. Something in the realm of catholic school teachings in the 2010's— you cannot change that you're gay, but you can remain righteous if only you do not act like it. Where the player seats themselves is also playing a part here, in that attraction to the player-character might be self-flattery, but the former is not. It's a great deal of deniability for the representation they so love.

All that to say the pattern among streamers sits in the back of my mind. I'm willing to admit my reactions aren't totally fair. I expect people to signal acceptance before baring myself to them, but it's hard to feel happy about it when I so clearly see the limits of their kindness. I do not and will not celebrate the tolerance of straight folks though I recognize my good fortune in receiving it, and the solution is not to simply play games myself because the problem is not that I can't find a playthrough I like. The only conclusion I could come to borders on embarrassing to write. As the invisible man living in your mind, every action towards progress is positioned in relation to a history of inequity. So shame forever dogs the step of my YouTube history and I stay at a gentle simmer.