Thoughts on "Liz and the Blue Bird"
"The blue bird wishes nothing but happiness for Liz -- this I am sure."
Although featured rather prominently in the beginning of season two of Hibike! Euphonium, their characters always felt rather weak. It feels that their arc is resolved through a simple misunderstanding. Mizore has always had her eyes on Nozomi, and Nozomi alone. It seems that they are now able to happily live ever after, is that the ending that we should expect? Is Mizore able to to hang onto Nozomi forever?
Liz and the Blue Bird takes a noticeably different style to the main series. The change in visuals is a clear clue to this, but the whole story is also told in a substantially different manner. In the main series, Kumiko, initially keeping to herself, slowly engages with the orchestra as a whole, as we see the team get together, resolve their differences and fight in high spirits towards the national championship. However, this film is a story told from Mizore's perspective. It is slow, pensive and personal, told in parallel with the story of Liz and the Blue Bird in a fairy tale setting. In Mizore's arc in H! E S2, we along with Kumiko attempt to decipher Mizore's actions from a third person point of view. In this film, this sort of competitive spirit is no longer present.
"If I were Liz, I would keep the bird in the cage forever."
The blue bird loves Liz, and turns into a human to be with her -- Yet, she is a bird, and has to migrate for the winter. How could Liz deny the blue bird of her freedom to soar the skies? Nozomi is much more social and popular than Mizore, so how could Mizore trap Nozomi in a cage? Yet, love is possessive: with the desire to get closer comes the inevitable need for exclusivity. Nozomi is everything to her. If playing the oboe was her destiny, then Nozomi created her destiny single-handedly by a simple, unwitting invitation to join the wind orchestra. This internal conflict drives the majority of the film. The guilt of trapping Nozomi in a cage weighs on her psyche, but without Nozomi, she felt like she would lose everything.
Nozomi does not seem to be able to understand this. She lives a carefree life, perhaps a bit too carefree. Sure, the ending to the fairy tale Liz and the Blue Bird is sad, but can't the blue bird simply go visit Liz every now and then? Seeing Mizore's pamphlet to Ondai (a prestigious music university I assume), she casually decides to apply to there as well.
Mostly narrated from Mizore's perspective, Nozomi initially takes a slightly more distant position, but through some key moments, we foresee that Nozomi takes a role almost as central as Mizore. When she saw Mizore's pamphlet, she fell silent briefly; when Mizore told Nozomi that she wanted to bring Kanzaki to the pool trip, Nozomi fell silent. Though brief, these moments are key: they are the only moments we observe who Nozomi really was, what she was actually thinking. She reinforces an image of cheerfulness in front of Mizore, somehow as a leading role for Mizore. Mizore being so psychologically dependent on Nozomi reinforces this: Nozomi subconsciously has assumed a strictly superior role to Mizore. This feeling is addictive: she wants Mizore to depend on her; she wants to come to her for psychological comfort.
Thus, when she saw Mizore's ability earning respect from Niiyama, when she saw Mizore independently making a friend outside of her circle, and eventually witness the true abilities of Mizore in her performance of the third movement (see below), Nozomi was stunned. In her mind, this should not have been possible. At one point, she started to turn away from Mizore, because she was no longer able to rationalize the situation. In this sense, Nozomi assumes the role of Liz, trapping the blue bird, Mizore, in a cage. Thus, we see a positive feedback cycle, where two hearts intertwine with each other, unable to let go.
At the end, only when Liz musters up the will to release the blue bird, will it be able to fly, to regain its freedom, to realize its potential. In the -- in my opinion -- most beautiful part of the film, this action is encapsulated by the performance of the third movement of the piece (you guessed it) Liz and the Blue Bird. I cannot find a version with the visuals, but in any case let's give the movement itself a listen:
The name of the movement is Determination from Love. At this point, Mizore realizes that she has been wrong about what it means to love. Precisely because of love, Liz must bring up the courage to set the blue bird free. The oboe stands out clearly from the orchestra, and echoes through the music room. It expresses unfettered longing: the parting is immensely painful for Liz, yet there is no uncertainty Through her oboe, she expresses an unequivocal sense of determination, that was never present in the prequel coming from Mizore. It contrasts significantly with her previous It is especially apparent in her second solo part from 4:19 onwards, leading up to the majestic climax. This internal conflict of love is powerfully demonstrated, and not a single word was uttered.
At this point, Nozomi clearly sees where both of them stand, and how she has been imprisoning Mizore for the entire time. Witnessing Mizore's abilities and her resounding determination moves her to tears. Explaining her breakdown as simply realization that she cannot match Mizore's skills is plausible, but misses the point. Clearly hearing Mizore's call to farewell, Nozomi has no other choice but take flight, while simultaneously letting go of Mizore. Thus, the two blue birds take flight, regaining their freedom.
Finally, two brief general comments:
Use of Fairy Tales
I have always liked it when fairy tales are used as plot devices [1]. They usually describe a fictional situation, so far from reality that it doesn't take an adult to tell that it is imaginary. They are simple and deliver a clear moral. However, deeper pondering into why they are classics will reveal a much deeper trove of knowledge than being simple didactic vessels, and a large degree of freedom in spinning a twist into these tales. In anime, some examples include Princess Tutu, Darling in the FranXX, and of course the present consideration. In my brief journey into literature in my high school years, I have also come across Angela Carter's works (The Bloody Chamber etc.). In some works, the fairy tale is treated as tragic destiny for the characters in the greater work, and eventually they will come to fight against this fate, a heroic act of subversion. Darling in the FranXX is an example of this, and so is Princess Tutu, but that is an oversimplification considering that the whole theme revolves around thinking about the nature of storytelling.
Liz and the Blue Bird takes a more interesting point of view. The characters fulfill their roles in the story, and eventually set the blue bird free, but the twist comes in when we see that both of them assume each other's role. Both of them adopt a version of the story, and eventually, through the climax unite back together. Indeed, the power of a good story comes in the ability to leave enough space for the reader to fill the rest in, adopting the story to their own version, learning their own lesson from it which is distinct across every person. The proper way to approach a story is therefore not to fixate on a particular "correct" interpretation, but to step back and reflect -- personally and intimately -- like Mizore and Nozomi did. Perhaps you were the blue bird all along.
Distance
Another thing I always liked is the discussion of distance between people. It was why I liked 5 Centimetres per Second and White Album so much. Rather than lamenting on the inevitable drifting apart of lovers, Liz and the Blue Bird asserts that we should respect this distance. Somehow like the hedgehog's dilemma, Mizore and Nozomi cannot coexist intimately without mutual hurting. While trying to get close to each other, they subconsciously recognize this inherent barrier, which distanced them.
"Even to the closest, we cannot speak freely."
This feature is so intimate to the properties of being a human that to break this means that we give up humanity all in itself. I have repeatedly heard that some define love as the desire to know more about the other. If the highest form of love then therefore imply the complete breakdown of this inter-personal barrier, to absolutely fuse into one mentally, is it even possible to find such a thing in this world?
Conclusion
I had high hopes for this film to fill in the weakness in the main TV series, and it does so beyond my expectations. It does not trivialize the conflict between the main characters, yet convincingly tell us it is a matter of the state of mind: to psychologically prepare to release the vice-like grip on people we treasure is not a trivial task, but it must be done, because as this film argues, this is the definition of love.
The blue bird loves Liz, and turns into a human to be with her -- Yet, she is a bird, and has to migrate for the winter. How could Liz deny the blue bird of her freedom to soar the skies? Nozomi is much more social and popular than Mizore, so how could Mizore trap Nozomi in a cage? Yet, love is possessive: with the desire to get closer comes the inevitable need for exclusivity. Nozomi is everything to her. If playing the oboe was her destiny, then Nozomi created her destiny single-handedly by a simple, unwitting invitation to join the wind orchestra. This internal conflict drives the majority of the film. The guilt of trapping Nozomi in a cage weighs on her psyche, but without Nozomi, she felt like she would lose everything.
Nozomi does not seem to be able to understand this. She lives a carefree life, perhaps a bit too carefree. Sure, the ending to the fairy tale Liz and the Blue Bird is sad, but can't the blue bird simply go visit Liz every now and then? Seeing Mizore's pamphlet to Ondai (a prestigious music university I assume), she casually decides to apply to there as well.
Mostly narrated from Mizore's perspective, Nozomi initially takes a slightly more distant position, but through some key moments, we foresee that Nozomi takes a role almost as central as Mizore. When she saw Mizore's pamphlet, she fell silent briefly; when Mizore told Nozomi that she wanted to bring Kanzaki to the pool trip, Nozomi fell silent. Though brief, these moments are key: they are the only moments we observe who Nozomi really was, what she was actually thinking. She reinforces an image of cheerfulness in front of Mizore, somehow as a leading role for Mizore. Mizore being so psychologically dependent on Nozomi reinforces this: Nozomi subconsciously has assumed a strictly superior role to Mizore. This feeling is addictive: she wants Mizore to depend on her; she wants to come to her for psychological comfort.
Thus, when she saw Mizore's ability earning respect from Niiyama, when she saw Mizore independently making a friend outside of her circle, and eventually witness the true abilities of Mizore in her performance of the third movement (see below), Nozomi was stunned. In her mind, this should not have been possible. At one point, she started to turn away from Mizore, because she was no longer able to rationalize the situation. In this sense, Nozomi assumes the role of Liz, trapping the blue bird, Mizore, in a cage. Thus, we see a positive feedback cycle, where two hearts intertwine with each other, unable to let go.
At the end, only when Liz musters up the will to release the blue bird, will it be able to fly, to regain its freedom, to realize its potential. In the -- in my opinion -- most beautiful part of the film, this action is encapsulated by the performance of the third movement of the piece (you guessed it) Liz and the Blue Bird. I cannot find a version with the visuals, but in any case let's give the movement itself a listen:
The name of the movement is Determination from Love. At this point, Mizore realizes that she has been wrong about what it means to love. Precisely because of love, Liz must bring up the courage to set the blue bird free. The oboe stands out clearly from the orchestra, and echoes through the music room. It expresses unfettered longing: the parting is immensely painful for Liz, yet there is no uncertainty Through her oboe, she expresses an unequivocal sense of determination, that was never present in the prequel coming from Mizore. It contrasts significantly with her previous It is especially apparent in her second solo part from 4:19 onwards, leading up to the majestic climax. This internal conflict of love is powerfully demonstrated, and not a single word was uttered.
At this point, Nozomi clearly sees where both of them stand, and how she has been imprisoning Mizore for the entire time. Witnessing Mizore's abilities and her resounding determination moves her to tears. Explaining her breakdown as simply realization that she cannot match Mizore's skills is plausible, but misses the point. Clearly hearing Mizore's call to farewell, Nozomi has no other choice but take flight, while simultaneously letting go of Mizore. Thus, the two blue birds take flight, regaining their freedom.
Finally, two brief general comments:
Use of Fairy Tales
I have always liked it when fairy tales are used as plot devices [1]. They usually describe a fictional situation, so far from reality that it doesn't take an adult to tell that it is imaginary. They are simple and deliver a clear moral. However, deeper pondering into why they are classics will reveal a much deeper trove of knowledge than being simple didactic vessels, and a large degree of freedom in spinning a twist into these tales. In anime, some examples include Princess Tutu, Darling in the FranXX, and of course the present consideration. In my brief journey into literature in my high school years, I have also come across Angela Carter's works (The Bloody Chamber etc.). In some works, the fairy tale is treated as tragic destiny for the characters in the greater work, and eventually they will come to fight against this fate, a heroic act of subversion. Darling in the FranXX is an example of this, and so is Princess Tutu, but that is an oversimplification considering that the whole theme revolves around thinking about the nature of storytelling.
Liz and the Blue Bird takes a more interesting point of view. The characters fulfill their roles in the story, and eventually set the blue bird free, but the twist comes in when we see that both of them assume each other's role. Both of them adopt a version of the story, and eventually, through the climax unite back together. Indeed, the power of a good story comes in the ability to leave enough space for the reader to fill the rest in, adopting the story to their own version, learning their own lesson from it which is distinct across every person. The proper way to approach a story is therefore not to fixate on a particular "correct" interpretation, but to step back and reflect -- personally and intimately -- like Mizore and Nozomi did. Perhaps you were the blue bird all along.
Distance
Another thing I always liked is the discussion of distance between people. It was why I liked 5 Centimetres per Second and White Album so much. Rather than lamenting on the inevitable drifting apart of lovers, Liz and the Blue Bird asserts that we should respect this distance. Somehow like the hedgehog's dilemma, Mizore and Nozomi cannot coexist intimately without mutual hurting. While trying to get close to each other, they subconsciously recognize this inherent barrier, which distanced them.
"Even to the closest, we cannot speak freely."
This feature is so intimate to the properties of being a human that to break this means that we give up humanity all in itself. I have repeatedly heard that some define love as the desire to know more about the other. If the highest form of love then therefore imply the complete breakdown of this inter-personal barrier, to absolutely fuse into one mentally, is it even possible to find such a thing in this world?
Conclusion
I had high hopes for this film to fill in the weakness in the main TV series, and it does so beyond my expectations. It does not trivialize the conflict between the main characters, yet convincingly tell us it is a matter of the state of mind: to psychologically prepare to release the vice-like grip on people we treasure is not a trivial task, but it must be done, because as this film argues, this is the definition of love.
[1]: Even when the fairy tale is made up for the greater story in question.
ED Discussion 26: Darling in the FranXX ED 1: Torikago by XX:me
"Looking absentmindedly outside the classroom window, I asked the sky
for what purpose am I alive?"
This song feels much like Gomenne, Iiko ja irarenai (Kill la Kill ED1) which I reviewed here. Indeed, the two anime appear to be in a similar genre -- young fighters go in power suits and fight to save the day. Both songs describe a dissatisfaction with the world around. There, we see a frustration with the expectation placed on teenagers to grow to be monotonic, prim-and-proper adults; here, we see the longing of freedom from the brainwash-like education, which has stripped off their ability to self-realize. In both cases, it is a crying out against the world of grown-ups.
The 13th Squadron are actually children, in a rather literal sense, even when left the Garden hosting them. Initially, they could not take care of themselves when left to their own devices, and they only know that their purpose is to fight klaxosaurs, with a vague sense of justice gained by defending the "adults". They are innocent, but apart from Hiro and possibly Kokoro, they have little sense of curiosity outside of their duties. What are these klaxosaurs they are fighting? What makes them our enemies? Who is "Papa"? Why do we need to defend the "adults"? Why do they dream of being an "adult"? What is an "adult"?
What is freedom? Compared to the other squadrons, the 13th squadron enjoys more freedom. In the earlier episodes, compared to the other children of the 13th squadron, Zero Two and Hiro are free, because they recognize that there is more to life than "fighting for adults". When the VIRM argue that by freeing the soul from the confines of flesh and becoming integrated as one (like instrumentality in NGE), are they right? Indeed, "freedom" is a matter of perception, or a mental state. This is why I always think that freedom of thought precedes any other type of freedoms: the freedom to decide what you want to wear, the freedom to go wherever we want, the freedom to self-realize. The most oppressive of times often produce the freest thinkers, but when the ability to even retain memories of thoughts is taken away, such as the case of Kokoro and Mitsuru, then freedom is truly taken completely away from them.
What does the future hold for us? Looking from the lens of people living in the present age, we obviously find the treatment of the children in the show to be abhorrent and ironically backwards. In a similar vein, we see the practices of ancient (or not-so-ancient, of the past century) civilizations to be barbaric, inhumane and unacceptable. However, how will the people of the future generation think of our practices? Will there be another "paradigm shift" in our understanding of how a human should achieve maximum satisfaction in the society? With the newfound abilities to pry into every individual's privacy with machine learning and the ability to massively destroy on a whim using nuclear weapons, how will the governance of this world change? Will we be able to use these powers for "good", or is what we think of being "good" merely an artifact to the future generation?
While watching FranXX, I am constantly reminded of the fact that there characters are extremely distant from who we are today; not only in the fact that they live in a completely different physical environment, but also the fact that their minds are shaped so differently than ours. The show makes many stumbles, but at the end perhaps one primary message is that though these children are different to us, and though klaxosaurs are completely alien, perhaps we all are driven by a primal instinct to be human -- to love, to hate, to raise a family, and to be confined in the flesh, because this range of irrational, illogical behaviour is what makes us human, and eventually that is all we really have.
