Tree sap and pine needles, but no cutie mark. (The Show Stoppers)

I like that their singing has the same visual effect
as the cockatrice and Fluttershy’s Stare.

It’s March 4, 2011, and awesome is in the air. For once, however, the pop charts are topped by something that’s actually somewhat provocative, Lady Gaga’s weird and wonderful gay anthem “Born This Way,” which works equally well as an anthem for any group of social outliers and outcasts, plus opens with a unicorn. I’m not surprised a quick search of YouTube has turned up at least six different PMVs for it. In box offices, we have a brief respite from the usual post-holidays, pre-summer slump with Rango, which caught me completely by surprise and ended up being easily the best animated movie all year (though admittedly, its only real competition was Kung-Fu Panda 2, so that’s not saying much).

Ponies, alas, do not particularly share in the awesome this week. Which is not to say we have a bad episode; it is Cindy Morrow, and thus far she has been reliably, solidly mediocre. This week’s “The Show Stoppers” is no different.

Mediocrity is hard to write about. From a critical perspective, it’s much easier to praise a great episode, and easier still to tear apart a bad one–I fully expect next week to be the easiest My Little Po-Mo article I’ve written yet. A mediocre episode, however, gives little to work with; it simply doesn’t do anything interesting, and that makes writing about it hard.

From a creative perspective, mediocrity is again quite difficult to write about. Characters who sort of vaguely muddle through are much harder to write engagingly than characters who fail miserably, triumph masterfully, or barely scrape by. This, alas, is what Morrow finds herself up against in this episode, which is all about the Cutie Mark Crusaders being mediocre.

It makes sense for the CMC to be mediocre, of course: they are three ponies who have yet to discover what they’re good at, and therefore are basically mediocre at everything they do. Even though they do have talents (carpentry and repair for Apple Blossom, singing for Sweetie Belle, and stunts for Scootaloo), they do not recognize them, and thus end up creating a mediocre performance, a song which is entertaining and catchy but falls to pieces at the end. Even then, the CMC do not recognize how badly they are doing until the audience starts laughing at them–and when they win a comedy award, they learn the wrong lesson entirely from their adventure, and conclude they are gifted comedians.

To an extent, this is an attempt to examine and subvert the formula of the show. This is the first episode since the premiere not to end with a friendship lesson. The CMC have not learned anything, not acquired any experience, because (to reference our earlier discussion of von Kleist) they remain in a state of innocence, free of any pain or regret about their foolishness, but equally unable to grow. Only by passing through a painful adolescence will they ever reach a state of grace and self-actualization that makes possible a return to the good parts of childhood while avoiding the danger of stagnating in nostalgia.

There is a warning in this episode’s mediocrity, to beware the trap of nostalgia. There is a dearth of biographical information available on Morrow, but I know she graduated CalArts in 1995 and had her first real credit in 1997, which suggests the bulk of her childhood happened in the late 1970s and early 1980s. This era of cartoons is most likely the one for which she feels nostalgia, which would go a long way to explaining the musical number in this episode, which is a pastiche of the cheesy rock ballads of the 80s, and most particularly recalls Jem‘s evil rivals The Misfits. (It also goes a long way toward explaining the Scooby-Doo/Josie and the Pussycats-esque elements of “One Bad Apple,” but the less said about that abomination the better.)

Therein lies the problem, because everything about Jem was mediocre. It wasn’t alone; the 1970s and 1980s were an era in which English-language short-form animation was defined by mediocrity. Miniscule budgets, an exile of talent, aggressive monitoring by parents’ groups, and in the 1980s toy company sponsorship created a perfect storm that made bland, inoffensive, formulaic, and cheap the order of the day. Herein lies the trap.

Time for a new binary: There are basically two major reasons for bronies to watch My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic. The first is one we’ve been discussing at least since we started talking about alchemy, and is essentially revolutionary. Revolutionary viewers watch the show because they’re bronies; it gives them a way to connect to other bronies, and something to talk about. The core themes of the show are things that we can adopt as we put aside our fear of childish things: In a world dominated by capitalist, statist patriarchies (which is to say, a world dominated by institutionalized greed and violence), embracing and valuing “girly” things like rainbows and friendship and community is a revolutionary act.

Escapist viewing, on the other hand, watches the show because it allows one to forget, for a few minutes, that the world is dominated by greed and violence. It is a method of temporary escape, which is not at all a bad thing; to quote J.R.R. Tolkien, who I should think knows rather a lot on the topic of escapist fantasy, “Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls?” Escapist viewing seeks to return to a childlike state of innocence, and escape our responsibilities in this world.
Of course, the binary comes already subverted, courtesy of von Kleist. The revolutionary requires the escapist; to seek a better world we first must dream it. Unfortunately, it is very easy to get caught in that dream, to get swept up in nostalgia and forget what we have learned since. Just as the Cutie Mark Crusaders don’t know how bad their performance really was, it’s easy to forget that the innocence of childhood makes accurate self-evaluation impossible. For example, nostalgia can lead someone to make a pastiche of art that was bad to begin with, creating this episode’s musical number or (*shudder*) the entirety “One Bad Apple.”
If, as seems plausible, MLP is able to transmute geek masculinity into something new, it can only do so if we avoid that trap, and consciously bring the Fruit of Life it offers back with us into the real world. It is not enough to play in Eden/Equestria, then go back to a world of violence and greed and emotional isolation; if we are to build an Equestria on Earth, we can only do so by practicing the magic of friendship in our day-to-day lives.
Happily, most bronies seem to get this, at least judging by the general friendliness of every brony gathering (online and meatspace) I’ve been to and the existence of thriving brony charities.
Next week: Amy Keating Rogers rewrites O. Henry’s worst story with Rarity playing the role of the little brat, and it manages to be even worse than you’d expect.

(ETA: Boy, did I mess up. The version which initially went live had neither the correct article title nor the picture. Sorry about that; it’s fixed now.)

Not at all! I *am* weak and helpless, and I appreciate their understanding. (Stare Master)

Fluttershy’s rock-hard… chicken.
What? What did you think I was going to say?

Apologies for the lateness of this post. This past week has been a series of nasty RL events I won’t get into, but things will hopefully be better from here out.

It’s February 25, 2011. The top song this week is Wiz Khalifa’s “Black and Yellow,” a painfully repetitive rap song about a car painted in Packers colors and great Ghu I care not a whit about any of those things. The top movie is Hall Pass, a comedy involving Owen Wilson and the Farrelly brothers, and is by all accounts precisely as good as you’d expect from that combination (hint: it’s terrible). Over in consensus reality, the worldwide wave of Internet-organized protests and civil unrest continues in Libya (where the government continues to respond with bloody violence), Bahrain, Yemen, Iran, China, and Wisconsin, among others, while the new Prime Minister of Egypt announces the release of hundreds of political prisoners. Matteo Renzi, the young and popular mayor of Florence, Italy, calls for the retirement of the Baby Boomer-equivalent generation of politicians on the grounds that they’re really, really old. Lastly, the Space Shuttle Discovery launches for its final mission.

In Equestreality, Chris Savino’s second episode, “Stare Master,” airs. Structurally, it’s an interesting episode: It starts as a typical sitcom plot: Fluttershy takes on a sitting job without fully understanding the challenge, is overwhelmed, but then finds a way to earn the respect and cooperation of her temporary charges. It’s a plot that the show will use again (and, frankly, use better) in season two’s “Baby Cakes” and three’s “Just for Sidekicks.” “Stare Master” mixes it up with a fun genre collision in the last act, however: after the Cutie Mark Crusaders run out into the forest, the genre shifts suddenly into horror movie, with an initially oblivious CMC and frightened Fluttershy stalked by a monster and stumbling onto the (stone, rather than dead, because this is still a kid’s show) bodies of its victims. Again, “Baby Cakes” blends genres more skillfully; instead of replacing the third act with horror tropes, the latter episode uses horror-move angles, musical cues, and cliches for the titular babies themselves, using horror elements to add more humor to the rather tired sitcom plot.

What “Stare Master” does do well, however, is how it resolves its two plot strands. It establishes Fluttershy’s power of “the Stare,” an intense gaze that causes the misbehaving target to sheepishly back down and submit to her will. The name is a reference to another sitcom cliche, in which a wife/mother (the two roles are generally interchangeable in sitcom plots) has a silent glare that terrifies her husband/child (again, generally interchangeable in sitcoms) into obedience. Savino, knowing the audience is familiar with Chekhov’s gun, thus sets up the viewer to expect Fluttershy to eventually cow the CMC with the Stare, earning their obedience, fear, and eventually respect.

Savino does something rather more clever with the episode, however. First, instead of an angry mom-glare rooted in sexist sitcom stereotypes, Fluttershy’s Stare functions as an expansion of her skill at using body language and knowledge of animal behavior demonstrated in “Dragonshy”: many animals react to direct eye contact as a threat, so Fluttershy makes eye contact (with her eyes as wide as possible, both to maximize the threat and make herself seem bigger) and holds it, refusing to back down no matter how the animal responds. Faced with a creature that maintains a threatening posture and is unfazed by the animal’s own responses, the animal concludes it is dealing with an overwhelming threat and caves. It’s a trick that probably wouldn’t work on a human or pony, since they’d be able to reason out what she’s doing, but on the other hand it probably would be pretty creepy to have someone just stare like that, right in your face, no matter what you did to try to get away or make them back down.

Second, although the sitcom-horror transition is rather too clean, occurring more or less on an act break, the end of the episode uses the two genres to resolve one another, which is a neat and (dare I say it) rather postmodern little trick. Specifically, Fluttershy’s Stare, which we expect to be used to resolve the sitcom plot, is instead used to defeat the cockatrice and rescue its victims. By defeating the monster and resolving the horror plot, Fluttershy earns the respect and obedience of the CMC, which in turn resolves the sitcom plot. In other words, the two genres solve each other; horror is overcome by sitcom cliche, and sitcom cliche is resolved by the defeat of the monster.

What’s possibly most interesting in this episode, at least for this Fluttershy fanboy, is the insight the combination of the two plots gives into Fluttershy’s character. The monster represents barely a challenge to her at all; once she confronts it, she defeats it in seconds. People, however–in this case, the CMC–are an overwhelming obstacle. There seems to be a contradiction, here, and to resolve it, I’m going to take a page from Savino’s book and introduce a third-act genre shift, from overly analytical fan blog to TMI-laden personal blog.

I suffer from an uncommon (about 1 percent of the population) psychological condition called Avoidant Personality Disorder, which is characterized by feelings of shyness and social inadequacy. Sufferers of AvPD tend to be easily hurt by criticism or the disapproval of others; fear rejection; hold back in intimate relationships; avoid jobs or other activities that force contact with others; be extremely shy in social situations because they fear doing something wrong or making a mistake; hold the view that they are not “good” socially, inferior to others, or unappealing. Left untreated, sufferers often end up in total or near-total social isolation, and may develop mood disorders or substance abuse problems as a result. Happily (and unlike most personality disorders), it is generally highly responsive to talk therapy.

While the cause is unknown, sufferers of AvPD tend to monitor their own behavior and the behavior of others around them consistently, maintaining a state of hyper-vigilance as they watch body language and other nonverbal cues for the slightest hint of disapproval or dislike. It’s a bit of a chicken-egg question: do AvPD sufferers monitor so intensely because they’re afraid of causing anger or disapproval, or are they hypersensitive to disapproval because they monitor so intensely?

I know in my own case I am frequently terrified at the prospect that someone might get angry at me or disapprove of what I’m doing, so I (partially consciously, but mostly automatically) try to keep my own behavior as mollifying and conciliatory as possible, and fine-tuning continually as the other person responds. As you might imagine, this occupies a lot of brainspace and energy, so I tend to speak hesitantly; sometimes I even get “stuck” in the middle of a sentence, because my brain is devoting so much of my resources to processing nonverbal stimuli that I briefly lose my capacity for speech. My symptoms are most pronounced when meeting strangers (because I don’t have any prior knowledge to fall back on, and need to fine-tune constantly) and when dealing with multiple people at once (because I can’t fine-tune my responses to any one person, and have to try to avoid anything that any of them would have a problem with). A party, even a small one attended by people I know well and love, can leave me drained and unable to cope with people for days.

However, like most people, my inhibitions are reduced when I’m tired, so my symptoms are less pronounced if I’m up late. Also like most people, my inhibitions are reduced when I’m wearing a mask (literally or metaphorically), so I have little trouble at work (where I’m playing the role of employee, not being myself), presenting panels at anime, gaming, and SF conventions (where I’m playing the role of panelist and also generally extremely short on sleep), or playing role-playing games. Finally, since it’s the nonverbal elements of anger and disapproval that trigger me, I have no problem with written communication.

I identify very strongly with Fluttershy; more, I think, than with any other fictional character I’ve encountered. She even shares my near-total inability to get angry on my own account, even though I can (on rare occasions, when pushed very hard), become very, very fierce in defense of of the people I care about. It’s not even that I suppress the anger; I just don’t feel it.

Understanding Fluttershy as being basically like myself, I can recognize that she feels deeply inadequate and shy around others. Even though she knows her friends like her, she has difficulty understanding why, because she monitors them intensely enough to know when they’re less than enthused with her but hiding it for her sake, and can’t understand why she bothers. Like me, she prefers the company of blunt or very open people to people who are good at hiding their feelings or socially adept, because blunt and open people take less effort to monitor–note that her only friends prior to the first episode appear to be the very blunt Rainbow Dash and the completely unfiltered Pinkie Pie. Years of constant, intense conscious and subconscious monitoring of nonverbal cues are also the source of her expertise with animals, and in turn they provide her companionship without fear of messing up and receiving a pony’s disapproval. (I myself am not as fond of animals, but I basically use the Internet for the same purpose).

Understanding Fluttershy as a fictionalization of a real disorder also makes sense of the contradiction which started us down the TMI path. Fluttershy is aware and afraid of physical danger, yes, but not in a pathological way. As such, she is usually able to overcome her fears and use her skills to defeat (or, in the case of the first episode, befriend) monsters. Her fears of social and emotional dangers, however, are pathological. She cannot overcome them, only learn to live with their constant presence, and as such she cannot establish dominance over a pony the way she does animals. Her own fears make that kind of direct challenge impossible for her.

Happily, in both real life and Ponyville, there are ways. Fluttershy, with the support of her friends, is able to slowly inch out of her shell, engage in social activies she feels comfortable with, and escape isolation. I’ve got friends, the convention scene, the Internet, and most recently, the friendliest and most welcoming fandom I’ve ever encountered, bronies. Things could be a heck of a lot worse.

Next week: More CMC, more 80s pop-culture references, and more Morrow.

I’m an egghead (Sonic Rainboom)

Rarity may have lost the Best Young Flyer competition,
but just wait until she goes to Neigh Orleans next Mardi Gras.

It’s February 18, 2011. The top song is still Bruno Mars’ execrable “Grenade,” but he pleaded guilty to cocaine possession a few days ago, so hopefully that won’t last much longer. The top movie this weekend is Unknown, because we’re living in an Abbot and Costello routine. I’ve never seen it and have no idea what it is, so I think we can safely assume it didn’t make much of a splash.

In real news, the “Arab Spring” protests continue, especially in Algeria, Iran, Bahrain, and Wisconsin, while Libya is in full-blown civil war; the IBM-built AI Watson wins Jeopardy! in a special competition against Brad Rutter and Ken Jennings, the two most successful players in the show’s history to that point; and Facebook adds civil unions and domestic partnerships to the list of available relationship statuses.

In ponies, we have “Sonic Rainboom” by M.A. Larson.  The last time Larson wrote for the show, the resulting transformation of the canon led to the show’s near-destruction and forced evolution. The show now exists on two levels, as a children’s show to teach youngsters about friendship and sell toys, and as a philosopher’s stone capable of transforming online communities. Larson has already emerged as the most fan-friendly writer, so he is very much up to the challenge here. On the level of children’s show, this episode is about Rainbow Dash nervous about winning a contest, but then her friends are in danger and she saves the day, pretty rainbows, Rarity learns not to be so vain, a fun time is had by all. I’m being a bit glib here, but this is good work–quality children’s television is hard work. If Season Three has proven anything so far, it’s that it’s very, very easy to write a pony episode that contains actively toxic elements.

At the more adult level, this episode is about Rainbow Dash seeking to recover something she did in her youth. Specifically, it is something that she was once able to do without knowing how she did it; when she tries to recover it intentionally after years of training as a flyer, she is unable to do so. This recalls Heinrich von Kleist’s “On the Marionette Theater,” in which he discusses and contrasts the innocent, unconscious grace of childhood with the conscious effort of adulthood, and argues that the former is in many ways superior. Near the end of the essay, however, he suggests that it is possible to eventually acquire a grace superior to the innocence of childhood, one born of so much experience that it effectively wraps back around, alluding to the story of Eden from the Bible and the two Fruits of Life and Knowledge.

In the European occult tradition of which alchemy is a part, the Fruit of Life represents the primordial state of spiritual perfection, revelation, and enlightenment, while the Fruit of Knowledge represents civilization and learning. Alchemy is a matter of using knowledge and formulae to attain the Fruit of Life, the philosopher’s stone–it is precisely what Kleist is talking about when he refers to eating the Fruit of Life twice.

As I said, Rainbow Dash’s quest in this episode mimics the path Kleist describes. In her initial state of childish innocence (which we will see later this season, in “The Cutie Mark Chronicles”) she is able to do things without understanding how she does them, the way a small child learns a new language. By the time of this episode, however, she can no longer do it. She struggles and strains to recover that ability, just as an adult struggles to acquire a second language. In the end, however, she finds a way to do it, and we will see later she can now do sonic rainbooms and variations thereof at will: she has passed from sweet innocence, through corrupt experience, to perfect mastery.

Much of the appeal of the show is its sincerity, its depiction of a world where people get along and care about one another without needing to hide behind cynicism and irony and all the other armors with which we guard ourselves from emotional harm. Many of us have lost the ability to trust easily, to empathize openly, to care about strangers. We’ve learned that this hurts, and this experience has led us to abandon the free and easy socializing of children in favor of emotional isolation, practiced coolness or detached cynicism. The popularity of My Little Pony proves that many of us ache for what seems a simpler, more innocent time, but we seemingly cannot recover it. We have passed from sweet innocence to corrupt experience, but mastery appears out of reach.

But there is a way, and the key is this episode’s rainbow iconography. Throughout the series, starting back in the first story, rainbows exemplify the magic of friendship, most obviously in the visual effect generated by the Elements of Harmony. The sonic rainboom is no different, as “The Cutie Mark Chronicles” will make emphatically clear; even in this episode, Rainbow Dash is only able to do it when she stops worrying about winning the contest, and instead acts for the benefit of others in her desperate dive to save Rarity and the Wonderbolts.

So it is with our lost access to the magic of friendship. We live in a cynical world because so many of us are cynics; the cure is for more of us to refuse to be cynics. We can pass through cynicism and realize the limits and costs of cynicism itself; eating the Fruit of Knowledge a second time, we can pass through experience to mastery. The secret is astonishingly simple: Help one another. Help strangers. Reach out and do good. Prove that cynicism is wrong, that some people can be trusted, by becoming one of those people. Dive to save someone who is falling, and you will find the magic of friendship exploding once more. The emergence of Bronies for Good (the first of several brony charities) a few months after this episode suggests that the transformation has begun; bronies are beginning to change, to become something different than your run-of-the-mill geek fandom.

It’s fitting (to the point of being, in hindsight, perhaps inevitable) that a glorified toy commercial would show us the way. Of course the ultimate expression of commercialized cynicism, a merchandise-driven children’s show, would eventually pass through to a new sincerity on the other side. How else could it show us the way to do the same?

Next week: Fluttershy and the CMC. In one episode. I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop squeeing long enough to actually do any analysis…

It’s not scientifically possible. *You* are not scientifically possible! (Feeling Pinkie Keen)

[Insert Lord of the Rings “walking
around Middle-Earth” music here.]

It’s February 11, 2011. Bruno Mars’ Grenade is back on top song duty, and I think I already said everything I have to say about it. The top movie this weekend is Just Go With It, a romantic comedy and remake starring Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston, so that’s four strikes against it out of the gate. I haven’t seen it–hadn’t even heard of it prior to writing this article–and feel absolutely no regret for that.

In real news, social media-organized protests in Tunisia and Egypt lead to the dissolution of the ruling party and resignation of the president, respectively, and a new protest begins in Serbia. Activision Blizzard announces they’re done making Guitar Hero sequels, provoking a resounding cry of “meh,” and George W. Bush cancels a trip to Switzerland amid calls by Swiss and international activists to arrest him for war crimes as soon as he steps off the plane.

On TV we have one of the more controversial episodes, Dave Polsky’s debut effort “Feeling Pinkie Keen.” It’s a fairly straightforward premise: Pinkie Pie is being weird, and Twilight Sparkle puts on her scientist hat to investigate. She is deeply skeptical about Pinkie’s claim to predict the future with various twinges and twitches, and sets out to test it. Her efforts are repeatedly frustrated, however, by successful predictions on Pinkie’s part that seem to inevitably result in Twilight suffering comedic injury, from getting flattened behind doors to taking an anvil to the head.

This is unquestionably a deeply flawed episode. Structurally, it suffers from the essentially random hydra attack in the third act. It’s set up in terms of establishing that Fluttershy is in the swamp and that Pinkie Pie has premonitions of “a doozy” happening there, but it doesn’t have any particular resonance with the main conflict of the story; there’s no thematic reason to have a hydra attack as opposed to any other kind of crisis. Twilight is also badly out of character throughout the episode–she has her moments of being Ms. Know-It-All, but nowhere else in the series is she this outright and openly contemptuous of one of her friends. From a story perspective, it’s necessary for her to act this way. Cartoon slapstick only works if the victim is unsympathetic: Wile E. Coyote’s injuries are only funny because he’s an arrogant bully who wants to kill and eat the innocent Road Runner. It’s a general rule, however, that if your story requires a lot of out of character behavior, it’s the story that needs changing.

More to the point, cartoon slapstick falls well on the cynical side of the cynicism-sincerity binary we’ve been developing. It requires that there exist people who deserve to have anvils dropped on their heads, which is quite a bit harsher than most people’s views on real life, let alone the cleaner, brighter world of My Little Pony.

So, given a structurally flawed, out of character, and tonally inappropriate episode, what’s the main complaint in the fandom? Why, that it’s anti-science, of course!

To be fair, that’s a legitimate complaint. Pinkie’s claims have all the trappings of the usual claims of “psychics” in real life–broad, vague terms like “something” and “soon,” “you don’t believe because you don’t understand,” and the way her abilities evaporate the moment she’s put in controlled, laboratory conditions. There’s a spectrum of such claimants, from outright frauds and con artists to people whose need to feel special leads them to mistake everyday coincidences for special powers, but regardless, their claims can and do cause real harm by leading people to base their decisions on unreliable information, because in real life, psychic powers have repeatedly failed to work after repeated attempts (particularly throughout the latter half of the twentieth century) to prove their existence.

Thus, if the episode were honest, well-constructed, and actually trying to make Pinkie Sense an equivalent to real-world psychic claims, it should have ended either with Pinkie learning a lesson about coincidences and Occam’s razor, or ambiguously, with both Pinkie and Twilight satisfied with their position and agreeing to disagree.

The episode can also be read as anti-atheist, both insofar as the atheist and skeptic movements are allied, and also because Twilight’s final embrace of “belief” results in a literal visit from God–Pinkie Pie predicts again that “something” will fall, and Celestia herself descends onto their balcony without explanation to accept Spike’s letter. Given that the episode already quotes the “Derpy Hooves” meme in the form of having a wall-eyed Ditzy Doo working as a clumsy deliverypony, it seems quite likely that this is a deliberate reference to the “Celestia is God” meme. Twilight’s out-of-character depiction is also typical for a fictional atheist: angry, contemptuous of believers, and self-deluding; once she embraces Pinkie’s abilities, she becomes happier, friendlier, and more fun.

This is an obnoxious stereotype, which unfortunately has not been helped by the existence of a minority of atheists who are angry, contemptuous of belief and believers, and motivated by a delusional belief that belief without evidence is inherently harmful and morally wrong (a claim for which they provide no evidence, so we can add hypocrisy to the list, too). Most of us are, of course, no better or worse than anyone else, aware of the fact, and willing to live and let live, but for precisely that reason we’re far less noticeable than the shouty minority. Converting a dogmatist isn’t likely to change them much–they’ll just obnoxiously demand everyone around them conform to their new dogma–so, if it wanted to be critical of specifically the New Atheists or what Philip Sandifer calls Big-Ass Science, as opposed to throwing around tired stereotypes bordering on religious bigotry, the resolution really ought to be either the ambiguous one I described above, or for Twilight to accept that Pinkie Pie is wrong, but having fun and not actually hurting anyone, so why not let her just be weird?

The problem with both reads, and the proposed fixes to the episode that result from them, is that they all require Twilight to be right. Pinkie Sense needs to demonstrably not work, just as psychic powers in the real world don’t work; otherwise, Twilight is a caricature of a skeptic. In the episode, however, Pinkie Sense is real, which results in the episode coming across as a wish-fulfilment fantasy by someone who believes in psychic powers or something similar, and dreams of a world where they actually and obviously work, so all those meanie-pants skeptics and scientists get beaten over the head with anvils because of their unbelief. Read that way–which, again, seems the most natural read–the episode is even more mean-spirited than it already appeared, and even less of a fit for the series as a whole.

All of this assumes, however, that we read it as straightforwardly taking one side or the other in a simple, two-sided conflict between Team Skepticism and Team Woo. The episode can be partially redeemed if we consider the possibility of taking an intermediate position–alas, I can do nothing for the characterization, structure, and tone, but perhaps the theme can be salvaged. There’s good reason to try–first, because there’s not enough good or even mediocre art in the world, so any approach that gives us more is a good approach, and second, because Polsky’s next episode is all about finding middle ground in a seemingly polarized, two-sided conflict, so it’s possible there’s grounds for doing so here.

First, if we are going to attempt a redemptive reading we can start by rejecting the assertion that Twilight represents an atheist position. The issue there is simple: all ponies are atheists. There has never been the slightest hint of there being any form of religion in Equestria, fan memes notwithstanding; Celestia and Luna are immensely powerful entities, but they are the physically present heads of state and government, not gods, and the reactions of other ponies toward them are not worship or any kind of spiritual experience, but typical rituals toward a monarch. The key here is their physical presence; you can’t just walk up to a god and say hello. At the very least you need to undertake some arduous quest to reach a remote physical location like Mt. Olympus or Kadath in the Cold Wastes; more often, communication with the gods is only possible by spiritual means.

If all ponies are atheists, then this is really an episode about doubt regarding physical phenomena. The most obvious comparison is of course to psychic powers, but as I said, the single most important fact about real-world psychic powers is that they don’t actually exist. The episode gives us every reason, however, to believe that Pinkie Sense does work. While they do contain a lot of vague terms, Pinkie’s predictions are actually fairly specific in terms of time frame–the events she predicts occur within hours of the prediction, and frequently within seconds. “Something is going to fall in the next day” is a very vague prediction–lots of things fall in a day, so it’s a very safe bet. “Something is going to fall in my presence in the next ten seconds” is a much more specific prediction, and one Pinkie successfully repeats enough times in the course of this episode to suggest that something is going on.

Of course, that something is not necessarily what Pinkie thinks it is. Twilight is right to investigate cautiously, because the fact that Pinkie’s tail-twitches correlate closely with falling objects is not in and of itself proof of anything. However, rejecting outright the possibility of any connection and insisting that it’s all coincidence, repetition after repetition, is neither science nor skepticism. To give a real-world example: Psychic powers don’t exist. You can’t predict the future. On the other hand, it’s fairly well-documented for people to get odd tinges and pains, especially joint pain, shortly before a storm. There’s no magic at work here, simply a physiological response to a change in air pressure, temperature, and moisture, but the only reason we know that is because somebody saw the correlation and looked for a connection, which we now understand well enough that you can get an “aches and pains” forecast at most weather sites. If, however, the response of scientists had been to insist that the correlation must be coincidence and to refuse to look for any kind of connection, we still wouldn’t understand what causes those twinges, and we wouldn’t be able to warn sufferers that there’s probably going to be a storm tomorrow, so they should keep painkillers handy.

In the real world, scientists investigated claims of psychic phenomena. Some of those scientists believed the phenomena were or might be legitimate; others were actively trying to disprove them. The results of their collective effort was that we now know that, for instance, people who claim psychic powers are no better than random chance at guessing symbols on hidden cards or predicting which of several random colors a computer will flash next. Pinkie, on the other hand, repeatedly performs succesfully. A good scientist would respond by noting that something unusual is happening in the data, and seek for a reason why, which Twilight almost spends all of three seconds doing in her basement lab (which lab is, credit where credit is due, completely awesome).

Throughout this episode, Twilight is consistently a terrible scientist and a terrible skeptic, to the point that she really doesn’t qualify as either. She has a strong preference going in for what she wants the outcome to be, and repeatedly ignores or discounts data that doesn’t fit her desired outcome. In short, she behaves less like a skeptic and more like a conspiracy theorist pretending to skepticism, also called a denialist after the most prominent examples in the English-speaking world, who deny the overwhelming evidence for global warming, evolution, or the effectiveness and safety of childhood vaccination. Twilight is a pitch-perfect denialist, ignoring the evidence in front of her face even when it would require absurd amounts of planning and coordination to fake (this particular conspiracy would require, at a minimum, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Ditzy Doo, and a hydra to cooperate), treating everyone who doesn’t share her delusion as a weak-minded fool for buying into the lies of the imaginary conspiracy, and generally being a hostile jerk to everyone around her. Read as a conspiracy theorist, even her out-of-character jerkassery makes sense; a lot of real-life conspiracy theorists are perfectly nice people until you dare to question the Secret Knowledge they have built their identity around. (The similarity to the way geeks respond when you criticize their favorite media is no accident; most people respond with hostility if you challenge a fundamental element of their self-image.)

Twilight’s letter at the end, if we read her as a recovering conspiracy theorist, again makes sense. The common element between the conspiracy theorist and the scientist is the need for life to make sense and be understandable, the need for organizing principles under which all knowledge can be filed. Unfortunately, there are limits to this approach. Some things really do have to be believed in, at the very least those things which stop existing if not believed in, like money, laws, and morals. (In the business, we call these social constructs.) Her letter thus does take a stand against an extremist pro-science position that all of everything is most easily understood by means of Science! (this position pretty much always regards science as having both capital S and exclamation point), but it is hardly equivalent to a call to abandon reason and embrace superstition and woo. It is simply acknowledgment that not every phenomenon that occurs is necessarily going to be within her personal scope of understanding, and sometimes she just has to let it go and leave it for other people to study with other tools.

Is this the intended or even the most likely reading of the episode? No. The most likely reading remains the wish-fulfilment fantasy of a frustrated believer in whatever it is that Polsky believes, and a bit of a revenge fantasy directed toward whichever skeptics pointed out that his beliefs aren’t objective facts. But this is ponies, and we’re bronies; it’s worth at least trying to read the episode in a more positive way and get what good out of it we can.

Next week: Pride, performance anxiety, Icarus, and varicolored explosions.

You see? We are apple pie! (Suited for Success)

Pinkie Pie will devour your soul.
And it will be adorable.

Identity Crisis and Transmutation

The crisis ushered in by “Swarm of the Century” is, more or less, resolved. My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic has addressed the question of where it stands between sincere and heartfelt friendship lessons for tots and cynical reference-heavy humor for geeks–halfway between, forever tugged in both directions, taking the best of both while trying to navigate between the pitfalls of either.

It is still not quite deserving of the dedication and devotion that the brony phenomenon represents. Work yet remains to be done; it is still becoming.

The great work concludes…

Rubedo

The final phase of the magnum opus is “reddening,” the creation of the philosopher’s stone. The base materials have become gold in the prior phase,  but now they become that which creates gold; the inner light created by the synthesis of opposites now shines forth strongly as dawn gives way to the bright morning of a brand new day. This phase represents perfection, spiritual enlightenment, and the power of creation; it is the attainment of a new maturity and the fulfillment of potential.

It’s February 4, 2011. Top of the charts is Britney Spears’ “Hold It Against Me,” a song unironically based entirely around a standard-issue cheesy pickup line and one of the best arguments in history for just giving up on this whole “civilization” thing and embracing extinction. Tops at the box office is The Roommate, which BoxOfficeMojo.com helpfully and hilariously categorizes as a “Blank From Hell” thriller. No help there as far as arguments for humanity’s worth as a species go.

Since last episode, the protests in Egypt have dominated the news, with similarly organized protests going on in Tunisia, Yemen, Syria, the Sudan, and England, among other places. World food prices hit a record high, which is hardly mentioned as a possible cause for the widespread protests. Wikileaks continues to expose government and corporate malfeasance around the world, but this barely registers as news anymore. 

Meanwhile, on TV, we have My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic‘s first truly flawless (which is not necessarily the same as best) episode, Charlotte Fullerton’s “Suited for Success.” For the first time, the show is absolutely hitting on all cylinders: every one of the Mane Six has a part to play, and every one of them is completely in character. It’s a perfect hybrid of the Rainbow Dash and Applejack approaches we identified in the last two articles: it’s got a big fat Sondheim reference in the form of Rarity’s song and reprise, and generates a couple of the show’s most enduring memes, especially “twenty percent cooler.” It’s got great humor, but it’s all thoroughly character-based, and the ponies are all good and well-meaning people with less than perfect social skills: the conflict feels real and there are genuine stakes for Rarity in the form of business success and professional pride, but nobody’s the bad guy, nobody’s a jerk, a lesson is learned and everything works out in the end.

Like “Swarm of the Century” before it, this is very much an episode for bronies, and like “Call of the Cutie,” it’s very much about us, too. I say “us” because, in case it isn’t already obvious, I identify as a brony.

A couple of months ago at AnimeUSA, my friend Charles invited me to be on a panel with him and a couple of other people about otaku. One of the things we talked about was the many, many different possible definitions of the term. I argued for the term as an equivalent, at least in English-speaking contexts, to anime geek. An anime geek, I argued, is not quite the same thing as an anime fan; an anime fan is someone who likes anime. An anime geek is someone who constructs their identity at least in part around anime; someone who would be a different person if they had never encountered anime. I gave two personal examples of the difference: I am a fan of DC comics, but not a geek for them; if I had never encountered Superman, Booster Gold, or the Question I would still be the same person. I am a geek for My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, however; in a world without it, I would be a different person.

“You were definitely a different person before ponies,” Charles quipped.

All art is transformative. There’s this myth floating around that art is a form of communication, that the purpose of art is to transmit information from the mind of the artist to the mind of the viewer. It’s understandable where this myth comes from, since art frequently uses the same vectors as communication–images and sounds, pictures that look like things, the spoken and written word. But treating art as a form of communication quickly leads to absurdity, because good communication is clear communication. There is no such thing as excessively clear communication, but there is such a thing as overly transparent art. We expect communication to be didactic, to have an agenda; these are features, not flaws, yet to say that art is didactic or that it has an agenda is usually a criticism.

Purpose is in the eye of the beholder, and so the purpose of art is different for every person and every work. Function, however, is objective, and the primary function of art is transformation. Experiencing art changes you; usually only a little bit, but sometimes much more. Any art can achieve this transformation, but some works do it more than others–and some works seek actively to transform.

That’s what My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic did to me. It made me someone other than who I was before it, and very much for the better. It’s mostly subtle, little things. When someone posts a stupid opinion on the Internet, I’m a lot less likely to argue with them, and when I do argue, I pull out sooner. I’m more social, and less likely to stay home all weekend. I answer the phone slightly more often. I’ve been told that I’m also more passionate, more energized, less prone to holding myself back and playing it safe in social situations.

Oh, and I started a blog where I analyze the series to ridiculous levels, can’t forget that.

All art is transformative, but “Suited for Success” is where My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic starts seeking actively to transform. In alchemy, rubedo is the final stage in creating the philosopher’s stone. It is the ultimate end goal of the magnum opus, the creation of an object which can turn base metals into gold, create the elixir of eternal life, and heal the possessor both physically and spiritually. It is an object, a work, which transforms people, makes them better.

Back when I began this blog, I argued that a show about the magic of friendship, in this day and age, is necessarily a show about the Internet and the Internet Generation. But despite its vast potential, the Internet remains very much an untamed wilderness, a place where the cynical and the hateful and the self-obsessed–“trolls” in online parlance, “dragons” in the mythology of the show–can lash out freely and without consequences. It is a place where people are free to be who they are without consequences, and the result is that a small handful of dedicated assholes run around destroying everything they can touch.

The legendary bastion of this dedication, the ultimate hive of scum and villainy, at least in the English-speaking portions of the Internet, is of course 4chan’s /b/ board. I have no idea if this is actually true–I refuse to go anywhere near 4chan, but I find it a bit difficult to believe that anything can be worse than YouTube comments–but in a sense that’s less important than the general perception that 4chan is the bottom of the Internet barrel, and /b/ is the squirmy things living in the filth under the barrel. And yet this is where bronies began.

It is a baffling contradiction. The fandom that gave us “I’m going to love and tolerate the shit out of you” began in the black heart of the Internet Hate Machine. Oh, it might have been ironic at first, but spend some time with bronies and it becomes quickly clear that sincerity is a defining feature of the fandom, just as it is of the show. Most bronies are completely sincere in both their love of the show and in their yearning for a world where people can be kind and friendly without being torn apart by dragons, trolls, and assholes who perceive gentleness as weakness and sincerity as vulnerability.

The alien infection of love, happiness, and rainbows at the heart of /b/ necessarily resulted in rejection. 4chan tried to drive the ponies out, and succeeded for a time–but only for a time. In the end, they had to cave in and let the bronies return.

From the heart of darkness, My Little Pony forged light, and that light in time overcame the darkness. This is the power of the philosopher’s stone. It is a power that was always latent within the show–the story I told above began with the first episode–but it is only with “Swarm of the Century” that the show becomes aware that bronies exist, and only with “Suited for Success” that it figures out what to do about them.

Because this episode, more than any before it, makes clear that we are the main characters of this show. As Rarity struggles to create, the demands of the other ponies become a typical litany of complaints you’ll hear on any fan board. Twilight Sparkle wants accuracy at the expense of quality–she’s those fans that want the show to stop mid-episode and spend 20 minutes explaining why Rainbow Dash can turn a cloud into a trampoline. Pinkie Pie has no sense of restraint and wants everything she thinks is cool to happen at once, no matter whether it fits together, like a bad crossover fanfic. Applejack is obsessed with the pragmatic side of things–she can equally well be read as the sort of fan who constantly looks up Nielsen ratings, or alternatively as a Concerned Parent ™ insisting that the show be safe and educational and aseptic. Rainbow Dash is the vague fan who can’t explain what they want, but insists that the show do it. And Fluttershy insists on treating a dumb little cartoon like it’s high art and over-analyzes every detail, like some asshole blogger or something. They are fractious, complaining, and selfish, like every Internet fan discussion thread ever.

Yet they learn. At the end of the episode, they realize that their vision of how things should be isn’t working out as well as they’d hoped, and decide to embrace Rarity’s vision instead. Almost like posters on a certain image board deciding to watch My Little Pony to mock it, and instead discovering they love it.

The Internet is changing. Originally created as a place where anyone could say anything from behind a veil of anonymity, this is rapidly being revealed as a terrible idea. It turns out that, when there are no rules and no consequences, power and the abuse of power don’t magically disappear; they fall into the hands of the biggest asshole. As more people move onto the Internet, discontent is growing; demand for safe spaces and civil discussions is rising, and people’s freedom to do awful things from behind a mask of anonymity is increasingly challenged, as witness the recent war between Reddit and basically every non-jackass on the planet over the “creepshots” subreddit.

A long cultural love affair with bullies and bullying as a sort of refining fire is starting to end. Everywhere from our schools to the Internet to the ballot box, we are beginning to recognize that bullying breeds only bullies, broken people, and broken communities. A new generation is rising, more interconnected and social than our immediate predecessors, more open about our thoughts and feelings, more tolerant and community-minded.

Of course we’re also selfish, intolerant, hateful, and angry. Of course we’re cynical and bitter. It’s an ugly world, and we all do our part to keep it that way.

But it doesn’t have to be. Put aside the magic, the talking animals, and look for a moment at the essence of My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic. These characters are, more or less, believable. A little naive, a little trusting, but ultimately they’re people with jobs and lives and friends, who make mistakes and don’t always do the right thing, but who generally forgive one another and try their best to get along.

It’s an escapist fantasy, which is to say, it is a better world than the one in which we find ourselves. But again and again, friendship lesson after friendship lesson, it hammers home that this better world is better because the people in it all choose for it to be such. It is an escape that heals, that offers happiness and peace without cynicism.

It’s a funny thing, but when I’m feeling happy and peaceful and non-cynical, I’m a much nicer person. I think most people are. Do a lot of something that makes you happy and peaceful and non-cynical, and you spend still more time being a nicer person. Spend time around others who are feeling the same way, within a fandom for instance, and it reinforces that niceness. By and large, the brony communities I’ve participated in online are vastly nicer, friendlier, and more welcoming than the norm.

Of course there are exceptions. Some people are always going to be jerks, and everybody has a bad mood sooner or later. But the baseline is simply higher for bronies than any other fandom or online community I’ve been in. Most online interactions have an undercurrent of wary hostility, a sense that anyone could go off at any moment; as a result, it’s extremely jarring to enter a brony space for the first time and find oneself assumed to be friendly until proven otherwise.

This is the second great truth of My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic: Cynicism poisons communities, and sincerity and openness are the cure. That truth is the source of its transformative power; by maintaining sincerity without descending into the twee, it demonstrates that sincerity is not inherently a weakness and bit by bit chips away at the cynicism of its fans.

The philosopher’s stone takes many forms–a stone, of course, but it can also be an elixir, a powder, even a spiritual essence. And, apparently, it can be a cartoon about ponies.

The great work is complete.

The real work begins.

Next week: Done with alchemy, at least for now, it’s time to wade into the Science Wars…

Just make the whole thing, you know, cooler. (Fall Weather Friends)

If Twilight’s “42” means she knows the Ultimate Answer,
does this mean Carrot Top has a license to kill?

Identity Crisis and Transmutation

Two episodes after the shattering impact of “Swarm of the Century,” My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic is starting to recover. “Winter Wrap-Up” was a retreat from the new possibilities and dangers both represented by fully embracing the fanbase, but “Call of the Cutie” was a rebirth. It introduced a new stand-in for the brony contingent, the Cutie Mark Crusaders, and also suggested two possible ways forward: the safe, comforting, Generation 1 throwback represented by Applejack, or the hip, flashy, Cartoon Network-esque show represented by Rainbow Dash.

These two opposing visions of the future of the show cannot coexist; they must do battle as thesis and antithesis, so that a new vision of the show can fully emerge.

The great work continues….

Xanthosis

The third stage of the magnum opus is “yellowing,” the conversion of the base materials to gold. In this stage, the work is no longer devoid of identity, shining by reflected light, but beginning to glow with a light of its own. Powerful binaries unleashed in the previous stage, such as the male/female binary of anima and animus, here conflict until they at last unite. Xanthosis is the dawn, the moment at which something new begins.

It’s January 28, 2011. In the three weeks since the last episode, Katy Perry’s “Firework” has traded its top spot on the Billboard charts back and forth with Bruno Mars’ “Grenade,” so things have been explosive all around. Sadly, that terrible pun is still less terrible then the song, which consists primarily of the singer whining about getting dumped and taking pains to mention all the violence he’d happily have protected his significant other from, but now he can’t because she dumped him. Love is a protection racket in Bruno Mars-land, apparently. How charming.

Meanwhile in film, the top movies are The Green Hornet, No Strings Attached, and The Rite, none of which I saw, and reviews of which suggest that I missed out on nothing whatsoever. In real news, a shooting rampage at a supermarket in Tucson, Arizona kills six and injures another 14, including U.S. Representative Gabrielle Giffords. The usual desperate flailing ensues as everyone points at their favorite culprit du jour, because systemic change of the kind that could do something to fix a culture that fetishizes violence and loves bullies is hard and scary. More on that two seasons from now. NASA data shows that 2001-2010 was the warmest decade in history, and the government of Lebanon collapses. Protests and civil resistance in Tunisia, which have been building since last month, lead to the ousting of the ruling regime and democratization. Protests rapidly spread to Jordan, Yemen, and especially Egypt, which tries to restrict the social media protestors are using to organize. As this is the same social media people use to share cat pictures and organize after-work happy hours, the net result is to create more unrest. Egypt 0, Magic of Friendship 1.

On TV, we have the return of my nemesis, Amy Keating Rogers, with “Fall Weather Friends.” Happily, it is an Applejack-centric episode, and we’ve already established Rogers writes her well. Unfortunately, it’s Applejack engaged in a conflict Rainbow Dash, so we have to deal with moderately obnoxious levels of writer bias, but in the end it’s still one of Rogers’ more tolerable episodes–nothing particularly special, but watchable at least.

The main flaw in this episode is the way it depicts the conflict between Applejack and Rainbow Dash. From the start, Applejack is depicted as calmer and a better sport, willing to accept challenges and meet trash-talk with trash-talk, but also willing to accept whatever outcomes occur as long as the competition is fair. Rainbow Dash, on the other hand, uses every unfair move she can think of, staying within the rules of the competition but rejecting its spirit. Ultimately, Applejack only cheats when she believes Rainbow Dash is doing so, which is pretty forgivable, while Rainbow Dash cheats (at least in spirit) from the start. It’s hardly a test of athleticism to use magic, after all, and pegasus flight is quite clearly magical–their wings aren’t anywhere near large enough to support a creature that size, even given the evidence (see “Applebuck Season” and “The Cutie Mark Chronicles” for examples) that they weigh much less than their size suggests.

Of course, underlying their competition is the tension we’ve already noted in the last couple of articles: Applejack represents business as usual, a slow-paced, gentle, rather boring show in which Lessons Are Learned and everyone is always nice. Rainbow Dash is fast and cool and fun and utterly devoid of scruples or heart; she will play by the rules, but will try to get away with anything she can.

The two approaches cannot coexist peacefully; by sharing the same space, they undermine one another constantly. The existence of Rainbow Dash creates obstacles for Applejack and the existence of Applejack creates obstacles for Rainbow Dash, reminiscent of but more fundamental than the Applejack-Rarity conflict. The conflict between Rarity and Applejack is one of class roles and expectations; it is about conflict in the ways the two ponies construct their worlds, and thus can be resolved by a process of deconstruction and reconstruction. The conflict between Applejack and Rainbow Dash is not as simple, because it is a conflict of personalities and essential natures. A world which contains both of them is necessarily a world which contains conflict. It seems as if they cannot coexist.

And yet they can. At the end of the episode, Applejack and Rainbow Dash are still competing, still conflicting–but happily, and with useful results, namely the transformation of the seasons. This is the essence of the alchemical process of xanthosis (also called citrinitas, which sounds like an energy drink, while “xanthosis” has an “x” in it, so that’s the term we’ll be using), the combining of conflicting opposites to create energy and open the path to enlightenment.

So it is here. As the leaves yellow around them, Applejack and Rainbow Dash clash, Honesty against Loyalty, sincerity against catering to the growing geek fanbase. Throughout, Pinkie Pie and Spike mirror their conflict, Spike trying to announce the race honestly, albeit enthusiastically, while Pinkie Pie acts as the living incarnation of a fan-forum discussion thread, alternating between absurd over-specificity about trivia (What percentage of a nose is Applejack ahead by?) and bizarre, albeit amusing, tangents (fudge, hot dogs).

In the end, however, neither approach is workable. Applejack and Rainbow Dash tie for last, while Twilight Sparkle (continuing the role she spontaneously adopted last episode as the voice of reason) synthesizes their approaches with a slow-and-steady-wins-the-race approach that would not be out of character for Applejack, and a proud nerd-cool Hitchhiker’s Guide reference on her flank. She comes in fifth, and she’s happy with that.

My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic is never going to be the most popular show on television. It’s never even going to be the most popular show among nerds. It’s also not content to be G1 My Little Pony; it’s going to be exactly as cool as it wants to be. It’s going to pace itself, be honest and sincere while also being fun and showing the occasional sly reference. It’s not Applejack or Rainbow Dash, but rather the point of tension between them. Sometimes it may drift a little too far in the Applejack direction and become overly sentimental, sometimes a little too far in the Rainbow Dash direction and become cold and too cartoony, but always the opposing force is there to act as a balance and pull it back within an episode or two.

It seems like we have found our answer to what the show is becoming, a metastable balance between warm sincerity and knowing geek chic. That is often the case with xanthosis; the gold has been created, and so the work seems complete. But it isn’t, because the mere creation of a bit of gold has never been the goal of true alchemy. The ultimate goal remains; the show is not a philosopher’s stone yet. It has been transformed, but does not yet have the power to transform.

The final phase remains.

The great work concludes…

Next week: The power of creation, the voices of the fans, and cooperative transformation as we complete the final phase of the magnum opus, rubedo. Also, fancy dresses.

Those ponies over there are watchin’ me! (Call of the Cutie)

Magical pony elementary-schoolers doing orbital
mechanics is like a dog walking on two legs: It’s
impressive they’re doing it at all, you can’t
seriously expect them to do it right.

Identity Crisis and Transmutation 

My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic began as something compelling, something new. It promised to take the characters and concepts of the My Little Pony franchise and explore new ground with them. Specifically, its premier promised adventure in a magical girl vein, which while not particularly new for anime fans, is still relatively rare on American television and certainly new to My Little Pony.

It failed to deliver. Episode after episode gave us slice-of-life character-driven stories. Good slice-of-life character-driven stories, but after nine episodes without a transformation sequence or an evil creature in need of defeating (even the dragon proving to be more thoughtless than evil), it became clear that the show could only do slice-of-life character-driven stories.

Except a swarm of parasprites turned an entire episode into an extended Star Trek reference, and in so doing destroyed everything. The ruination of Ponyville was secondary to the threat of turning My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic into yet another cartoon about geek nostalgia, yet another fountain of memes to dominate Tumblr and Reddit for a few months and then fizzle out.

The following episode, “Winter Wrap-Up,” retreated as far as it could from that possibility, but offered nothing else in its place. A mediocre episode at best, its failure to provide a path away from the collapse represented by the parasprites is a tacit admission that the show has no idea where to go next. It cannot say where it wants to go because it does not know where it is; it is not the show it promised in the premier, and the pressure of a large geek fanbase hungry for amusement means it cannot stay purely a show about cute ponies being cute.

Its identity is lost.

The great work continues…

Albedo

The second phase of the magnum opus is “whitening,” the purification of the unified material. This is the return to purity and the restoration of innocence. Albedo is the empty, still moment before the dawn, when anything is possible but nothing is happening. It is a time of infinite potential, and a moment for the emergence of opposing forces, which will be reunited in the next phase.

It’s January 7, 2011. It’s been a couple of weeks since our last episode, but Katy Perry’s “Firework” continues to provide our theme music for this little alchemical arc. Little Fockers held its ill-deserved top spot over the New Years’ holiday, but thankfully True Grit rises to the top this weekend.

In real news, it’s a new year and a new beginning, so of course most of the news is the same old. Violence in Darfur and Nigeria, disputed elections in Cote d’Ivoire, and the American pursuit of land wars in central Asia. Israeli Foreign Minister Avigdor Lieberman earns the title of World’s Smartest Diplomat by suggesting the correct response to Wikileaks is for diplomats and governments to start telling the truth. Nobody listens, and the U.S. prepares to launch a Congressional inquiry. 10-year-old Kathryn Gray of Canada discovers a supernova. And, the day this episode airs, the Massachussetts Supreme Court upholds a lower court ruling that blocked banks from foreclosing on people who didn’t, you know, actually have mortgages with the bank. Because bankers are seriously that fucking evil, that they need a court order to stop them.

Thankfully, we have the happy world of ponies to distract us. This week is Meghan McCarthy’s second episode, “Call of the Cutie,” and it’s very nearly as good as her first.

Which is a somewhat divisive statement for me to make, because there is a noisy segment of the fanbase that hates the characters introduced in this episode, the Cutie Mark Crusaders. I, perhaps predictably, love them.

My love for the CMC comes from one simple fact: they are the audience. This is true on a trivial level; unlike the Mane Six, who are young adults with jobs, the Cutie Mark Crusaders are little girls of roughly the same age as the target audience of the show (perhaps slightly older, given the pubescent overtones surrounding getting one’s cutie mark). Of course, we are less interested in the target audience than in the periphery demographic, the bronies, most of whom have difficulty identifying with the CMC.

I can understand that difficulty, to an extent. The Cutie Mark Crusaders take screen time away from the Mane Six. Their stories frequently require the Mane Six to be oddly useless so that the CMC can retain the focus, which makes sense as adults frequently are useless within a child’s frame of reference, but nonetheless can feel like the series disrespecting its main characters in order to focus on one-time background characters.

However, I think the anti-CMC portion of the fandom misses an essential feature of the CMC: they are picked on and disliked by their peers. Later episodes show that they are easily swept up by their enthusiasms and gifted with mechanical and technical tasks. And most of all, they are seeking to establish their identity by exploring their interests.

The CMC, to put it bluntly, are geeks. I’ve argued before that Equestria is a nation of geeks, but the CMC are geeks among geeks. They are more given to absurd over-enthusiasm, more socially awkward, and more likely to suddenly whip out unexpected technical skills than any other characters in the show. They are creative, friendly, loving, and completely out to sea when it comes to tasks requiring social intelligence, and I recognize in them many of my oldest and deepest friends (not to mention geekiest). I love them to pieces, and I remain astonished that this is apparently a minority view.

Now, I say the Cutie Mark Crusaders were introduced here, but that’s not entirely true. One of them, Apple Bloom, was introduced by name and had a small speaking part in the first episode, and the other two appeared cowering under a table with her when Nightmare Moon attacked. However, this is the first episode where Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle are named, and the episode where the trio become friends and name their group.

As I mentioned, this is tremendously appropriate timing to introduce them. The core theme of this episode, and of the CMC in general, is that of potential and the quest for identity. This is a very important quest for the show right now, but it is also an important quest for much of the adult audience. Young viewers, in general, aren’t that worried about discovering their unique talents; they’re too busy learning the things everyone needs to know. Generally, you need to learn to add before you can discover a gift for advanced mathematics, and you need to learn the alphabet before you can discover a gift for writing.

The majority of bronies, however, are of the Internet generation (the consensus term for this generation appears to be “Millennials,” but I find that name stupid and try to avoid it). Like all generations, it is bounded (somewhat arbitrarily) by significant news events that either triggered or reflect a major cultural shift; in the U.S., the Internet generation begins with Reagan’s election (reflecting the replacement of Eisenhower conservatism by Christofascism as the dominant force on the right of American politics) and ends with September 11, 2001 (triggering an apparently permanent war footing and the erosion of civil liberties). The older edge (such as myself) are thus just over thirty, while the youngest members are 11 and 12. The majority of this generation are thus in their teens and twenties, the primary range of ages in which young people explore potential identities, establish themselves, and embark on their careers.

Put another way, most bronies are at about the age where they begin trying to find their own cutie marks. Once again, the CMC are the audience. There is, I think, a whiff of self-loathing in the (occasionally quite vitriolic) criticism of CMC episodes; some fans, I think, are turned off precisely because the CMC are uncomfortably familiar. Their episodes are in some ways less of an escape than the adventures of the Mane Six.

Apple Bloom is a child on the cusp of adolescent. Like any adolescent, she exists in a tension between old and new, between the desire to grow up and establish her identity and the desire to stay a child and retreat to the comfort of family. As the show has done before, this conflict is externalized in the form of Apple Bloom’s two main advisors, Applejack and Rainbow Dash.

Applejack urges Apple Bloom to take her time and discover her cutie mark naturally. She offers the comfort and safety of the familiar, but given how cutie marks work, it seems impossible for Apple Bloom to discover hers without trying new things. Applejack is trying to keep Apple Bloom a child for as long as she can, which makes sense given her quasi-parental role.

Rainbow Dash, on the other hand, urges Apple Bloom to try as many new things as possible as quickly as possible until she finds her cutie mark. She is pushing Apple Bloom to grow up, perhaps too fast, and with insufficient attention to Apple Bloom’s self–the montage of attempts is full of physical activity and competition, which are Rainbow Dash’s strengths, not Apple Blooms.

In the end, it is Twilight Sparkle who suggests a way out, which is an interesting evolution for her character. In the past she has usually either been the one to learn the lesson, or a passive observer while another pony learns the lesson; this is the beginning of an increasing tendency for her to be the one to deliver the lesson to another pony. Twilight’s suggestion is that the Cutie Mark Crusaders revel in their potential, their freedom to choose their path, rather than obsessing over what path they will end up taking. It is a reminder that we hold our destinies in our own hands, one of the vital lessons of the albedo phase. As fans, geeks, and young people we should not be in too much of a rush to seek self-definition, because that closes off other possible selves and other possible lives.

But sooner or later, we must choose. Potential must eventually settle on an actuality, or it is wasted. The show itself cannot rest here; powerful forces are beginning to stir. In Jung’s formulation of alchemy, the albedo phase is when the self unleashes its internal conflicts in the form of anima, the opposite-self that must be integrated in the next phase. Here we see those forces expressed in Applejack and Rainbow Dash.

Applejack represents continuity with older versions of My Little Pony; straightforward expressions of family values that are, perhaps, a bit on the boring side. She is safe, comforting, and sweet, without any edge to her. She is the Element of Honesty, and the greatest virtue of the show she represents is its sincerity. That show, however, is not something that can retain much appeal outside of the target demographic.

Rainbow Dash represents the new, the flashy, the cool. Her show is one of minimal plot and character development, but lots of cool and funny moments with lots of fan appeal and potential to create memes. She’s edgy and hip and kind of shallow, the sort of thing that’s increasingly dominating Cartoon Network here at the beginning of 2011. She is the Element of Loyalty, and the greatest virtue of the show she represents is that it gives the fans what they want. However, it’s not a show that will be remembered once the memes and fads die down.

These two forces are diametrically opposed, and yet a victory by either is a disaster for the show. The only hope going forward is that their clash will create something new. In their battle lies the only hope for My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic to discover a way to shine on its own, as neither an iteration of My Little Pony nor a typical cartoon of its time, but something else. It must find its cutie mark, and there is only one way to do so.

Applejack and Rainbow Dash must fight.

Next week: Xanthosis, the first glimmers of inner light, and the hints of a new dawn born from the clash of two ponies and two principles. Applejack vs. Rainbow Dash–and for the show to survive, neither can win.

We’re doomed (Winter Wrap-Up)

From the day we arrive on the planet
And, blinking, step into the sun
There’s more to see than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done

Identity Crisis and Transmutation

The show’s creators have clearly never been content to create merely another iteration in the My Little Pony franchise. From the start, they have sought to create a show that can transform My Little Pony from base and blatant cash-grab to something greater, something enduring–something that has a whiff of the timeless about it.

For the first nine episodes, they slowly explored the space they had carved out for themselves, but ultimately they trod the same ground as My Little Pony always stuck to: friendship, rainbows, and fantasy fun. After the initial daring move to explore the eclipse myth for the premier, they largely retreated to slice-of-life episodes with higher production values, better jokes, and vastly superior characterization to previous iterations of My Little Pony, but ultimately nothing novel in their premises. The My Little Pony canon remained untouched, consisting of the same narrow pool of motifs and themes as always.

“Swarm of the Century” changed everything. The parasprites devoured not just Ponyville, but the show itself; the introduction of Star Trek to the canon violated every rule of how the show worked even as it delighted the growing brony contingent of the audience. Before “Swarm of the Century,” My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic was unique among its contemporaries for its sincerity and near-total isolation from pop-culture. That isolation has been breached; it no longer is what it was. By airing an episode clearly designed for geeks, it threatens to become a show for geeks, which in 2010 means either a meme depot or a cult show.

A meme depot (Regular Show is a good animated example) is a show that trades almost entirely in memes. It is full of catchphrases and stock characters, and very heavy on references to pop culture, especially nostalgic pop culture. It’s a show that’s easy and fun to quote, but doesn’t provoke much discussion. By its nature, a meme depot cannot take itself too deeply; it must maintain the ironic detachment needed to self-consciously generate its quotable gags.

A cult show (Adventure Time is a good animated example) , on the other hand, is a show that encourages speculation, discussion, and theorizing in its fanbase. It is heavy on internal references, foreshadowing and callbacks and background subtleties, and tends to have more story arcs and character development than is typical for the medium and genre. It seeks to evoke the existence of a world in which the events of the show takes place and a plan for how the events of the show will unfold. Much of the entertainment of a cult show comes in fan speculation and discussion, and thus if it is to last it must give out details and hints in dribs and drabs, without ever coming to the resolution it implicitly promises (or else start out with the entire series already planned, including the ending, beyond which it necessarily cannot last).

There is nothing inherently wrong with either type of show in itself, but the one relies on irony and the other on promising a payoff without ever delivering. Neither is compatible with My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic‘s greatest strengths, its unwavering sincerity and emotional openness. It cannot become either, but the floodgates are open; it cannot remain what it was. The only option is to create something truly new, something transformative.

The great work begins…

Nigredo

The first phase of the magnum opus is “blackening,” the burning away of dross from the base materials and their reduction to a uniform mass. This is the black night of the soul, the emergence of melancholy that threatens the self. This is the phase for the expression of doubts, the asking of questions that make discovery and transformation possible. It is a time of disintegration, of clearing the old to make way for the new.

It’s December 24, 2010. The top song is Katy Perry’s “Firework,” which is so absolutely perfect a metaphor for the next few episodes of the show I checked three times to make sure I wasn’t misreading the charts. Also, it’s actually kind of an okay song for pop. (If there’s no article next week, it’ll be because the Metal Police found me.)

In a travesty of all that is right and good in this world, Little Fockers is top at the box office this weekend, implying America likes Ben Stiller better than the Coen brothers. A long cold winter of film lies ahead: except for one brief week of True Grit, there won’t be an actually good movie in the number-one spot until Rango in March.

In the news, Israel and Gaza are missiling each other again. The U.S. Senate passes the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” and President Obama signs it, ending the policy once and for all. And it’s Christmas Eve, celebrating the miracle that a child born in a stable in the wee hours of a late-December night 2,000 years ago survived until morning, or something like that. I’m not a Christian, I don’t keep track of these things. More importantly, we are just past the solstice. The nights are still long and dark, but getting shorter every day; we are in the inevitable climb back up to spring.

The ponies are climbing back up to spring, too, with “Winter Wrap-Up” by Cindy Morrow. This is another solid but unspectacular effort by Morrow overall, though it does have one of the best songs all season, also titled “Winter Wrap-Up.”

The episode primarily deals with Twilight Sparkle’s uncertainty about her place in Ponyville, and in particular whether she has anything to offer other than her ability to use magic. It’s also all about clearing the old to make way for the new, a fitting theme for what is much more of a solstice and New Year’s episode than a traditional Christmas episode. As Rarity sings, the winter has been delightful but gone on too long, and her boots are getting old. It is time for something new, but first the old must be cleared away.

Twilight Sparkle tries on several different hats (or vests, rather) throughout the episode, and it is tempting to read those vests as signifiers of future paths the show could take, but ultimately disgards. “Waking the animals is a metaphor for a radical show that pursues social justice!” my inner over-reaching critic says. “Helping build nests is a metaphor for focusing on worldbuilding, and ice skating is… uh…”

That’s going much too far, however. More important than the specific tasks Twilight undertakes is the fact that she undertakes them at all, that she wishes to help with clearing away the old. If there has been an arc thus far this season, it has been the evolution of the Mane Six from a group consisting of newcomer Twilight Sparkle and her five friends, to a group of six friends from Ponyville. Much of Twilight Sparkle’s distress in “The Ticket Master,” for example, comes from the fact that she is afraid that if she upsets any of her friends, she might lose them. That fear becomes less pronounced as she grows closer to them, and by “Bridle Gossip” she has no quams about criticizing them for their attitude toward Zecora.

Part of clearing away the old in this episode is thus clearing away Twilight’s status as a newcomer; Twilight descends into despair as she realizes she has coasted on her laurels since the first episode, and not really demonstrated her usefulness to the people of Ponyville. It’s unlikely that she’d lose her place outright, but she still feels uneasy and inadequate unless she can prove that she has something unique to offer. However, in the end she learns that she can be an organizing principle, a way of bringing together the community, and this itself is valuable. She herself does not complete any of the tasks required for Winter Wrap-Up, but can nonetheless serve as a catalyst to transform the community from one at odds with itself into one capable of cooperating and completing tasks that normally require magic.

Which, of course, this task does require. There is literally no way to turn winter into spring by manual labor, which is why Ponyville has always failed. Twilight Sparkle does use her magic, but not her unicorn spells; she uses her Element of Harmony, (Friendship Is) Magic. She creates a cooperative community where before was only the chaos of people working and living at cross purposes, and in so doing accomplishes the impossible.

At the same time, she has been fully accepted as part of Ponyville, and never again shows signs of fearing that she doesn’t belong. Quite the opposite; her fear of being taken away from Ponyville, and the desire of her friends to keep her from being taken, is a significant plot point in episodes such as “Lesson Zero” and “Magic Duel.”

The episode thus sweeps away one element of the plot so far, Twilight’s uncertainty about whether her friends and the people of Ponyville truly accept her. She retains the underlying fear of rejection that partially defines her character, of course, but she focuses that fear on more distant figures instead, such as Princess Celestia or Shining Armor.

It clears away some subtler elements, too, such as the notion (introduced in the premier) that Pinkie Pie thinks she’s in a musical and everybody else thinks she’s weird for bursting into song. By giving a song to all of Ponyville, this episode makes it pretty clear, this is a musical, just one that can sometimes go several episodes without a song. It’s a retreat away from a unique element of the show, which is always a bit sad, but ultimately I think the “only Pinkie Pie sings” rule that seemed to apply in past episodes (intentionally or otherwise) would have been much too limiting, and cost us several of the show’s best songs.

The philosopher (I hesitate to call him a psychologist, since that implies some element of science in what he was doing) Carl Jung suggested that medieval alchemy, particularly the quest for the philosopher’s stone, was actually the quest for self-realization and spiritual enlightenment. Each of the traditional stages in forging a philosopher’s stone is actually a step in this process of self-transformation and maturation, which follows a pattern of descending into darkness, losing one’s identity, then slowly restoring oneself with a newfound inner light ’cause there’s a spark in you/You just gotta ignite the light/And let it shine…

Okay, enough Katy Perry, I can almost feel the Metal Police breathing down my neck.

The first step in the magnum opus of alchemy, nigredo or “blackening,” is the burning down of the component ingredients into a uniform substance, which is of course what Twilight Sparkle does to Ponyville in this episode. In order to get there, however, she has to fail at all the other tasks first, and reach a nadir, the “dark night of the soul” I mentioned above. In the spiritual realm, the fire that burns away dross is failure, and at this point at the heart of winter 2010, the show is on the cusp of artistic failure.

What I mean is not that the show is no longer entertaining, or that it is no longer one of the best cartoons on the air. Rather, I mean that it is failing to live up to its promise. The premier by and large promised a magical girl show, which is to say something between a magical adventure series and a superhero team. Instead, ten episodes later we’ve only had two more adventures: “Dragonshy,” which was a character episode in disguise, and last week’s “Swarm of the Century,” which has triggered a narrative collapse that appears to be pushing to show to either become a regurgitator of geek memes a la Regular Show, or retreat from its more intertextual and geeky elements and return to the standard My Little Pony canon.

Simply put, in its present state at the end of 2010, My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic cannot fulfill the promise of its premier, either as a magical girl show or as a bearer of truth about the Internet generation; it is a slice-of-life cartoon for children, with sufficient humor and heart to appeal to adults, but nothing transcendent. It will flare in popularity for a while, produce some image macros on Tumblr and Reddit, and fade away into obscurity.

And its response to this challenge? A retreat into another slice-of-life episode with no antagonist. It is a decent enough episode, and it does bring together what has worked before: Twilight stressing out, the close ties between the ponies and nature (which have been in the background until now, except for the pegasi and weather), a musical number, Fluttershy starting out timid and then turning suddenly assertive when the animals she cares about are threatened, and so on.

Unfortunately, even as the ponies tear apart winter, the show itself is coming apart around them. This episode has nothing to say, and its friendship lesson is one of the weakest yet. The show knows it does not want to become nothing but endless references and recycled plots, but it does not know what it is anymore. It is certainly not the show it was in the premier.

Its identity is now gone; it is blank. The black night of despair gives way to the blank white of nothingness.

The great work continues…

Next week:  Albedo, blank flanks, new beginnings, and a new friendship, which is magic.

Does anypony have a toupee? (Swarm of the Century)

Pinkie’s very glad that worked. Her Plan B was to
bounce a graviton beam off the main deflector dish,
and that always leaves a mess.

Sorry all for the late update. I ran out of buffer and I was sick a couple of days this week, so this ran right down to the wire and then an hour over it. Sorry.

It’s December 17, 2010. Geeks rule the weekend: The top song is P!nk’s “Raise Your Glass,” which is both the least insipid song we’ve encountered to date in this blog, and the least terrible party anthem I’ve heard, a celebration of unpopular kids partying. Equally geeky, but in a bad way, the top movie is Tron: Legacy, which I have not seen on the grounds that I hate Tron and the “there is a world inside your computer where all the programs come alive” trope with a passion. (That I love Kid Radd and Wreck-It-Ralph anyway are testaments to just how excellent those two works are.)

In real news, archaeologists in China find a 2,400-year-old pot of soup. The U.S. appears to be about to file espionage charges against Julian Assange, but does not actually do so. Somalian pirates continue to be an issue, as is the presidential succession crisis in the Ivory Coast. A Federal District Court judge in Virginia overturns the insurance mandates in the Affordable Care Act, and the U.S. House of Representatives votes to repeal Don’t Ask Don’t Tell.

In ponies, M.A. Larson writes his first episode, “Swarm of the Century.” Larson is one of the show’s better writers, especially in the first season; he has written some truly excellent episodes (most notably the two-part Season Two premier “The Return of Harmony” and last weekend’s “Magic Duel”), but he has also written one of the worst episodes in the show’s entire run (though not the absolute worst; that one’s still a couple of years away). Thankfully, his first episode is pretty good.

In keeping with geeks ruling the weekend, Larson writes some of the most geek-friendly episodes of the show. What I mean by “geek-friendly” is that Larson’s episodes tend to be less about developing the characters and more about expanding the continuity and canon of the show–two things geeks tend to love.

Before we continue, let’s take a moment to define some terms, because I am using both in a more technical sense than is common on the Internet:

Continuity is diegetic truth. Put another way, the continuity of My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic is the set of statements established as true by and within the episodes, including the events depicted onscreen, character backstories, the history and geography of Equestria, the way magic works, and so on. When Twilight Sparkle implies that there are not normally adult dragons in Equestria in “Dragonshy,” that indicates an element of continuity; continuity is thus identical to what the Internet usually calls “canon” and opposes to “fanon” or “non-canon.”

In technical useage, however, canon is the nondiegetic reference pool available to the work. Put another way, the canon of My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic is the set of works to which the show can allude with the expectation that some or all of the audience will notice and understand the reference. When Pinkie Pie momentarily has the face of her Generation 1 counterpart in “Too Many Pinkie Pies,” that indicates that the original My Little Pony is part of Friendship Is Magic‘s canon, even though it is most likely not part of the continuity.

“Swarm of the Century” establishes little in the way of continuity. It adds a new town, Fillydelphia, a new creature, the parasprites, and implies that Pinkie Pie previously encountered the parasprites. Unless I am much mistaken, it also marks the first time a character or location introduced after the premier returns; unfortunately, the character and location in question are Zecora and her hut.

In terms of canon, however, this is one of the most important episodes of the show, because the parasprites are a clear allusion to a work that previously was most definitely not part of any version of My Little Ponycanon. I refer, of course, to their obvious similarity to Star Trek‘s tribbles: cute, cuddly creatures that coo charmingly and continually, but whose voracious appetites and absurdly rapid asexual reproduction create a crisis.

By building an entire episode around an extended allusion to the original Star Trek TV series, Larson tacitly assumes that a significant portion of the audience is familiar with the show, which seems deeply unlikely for an audience of five-year-olds. It is not to much of a leap to regard this as the first episode that is in some sense created for bronies, as opposed to the previous episodes which bronies appropriated and made their own. Further, by opening up the canon to include a geek classic, it becomes a much smaller stretch to reference other geek classics; future references to Star Wars, Terminator, Indiana Jones, and The Big Lebowski all got their start with the parasprites. Even this episode contains at least one more addition to the canon, with a Gremlins reference: the parasprites multiply frantically from the start, but they don’t start causing any actual problems until after Spike gives them a late-night snack.

Certainly there have been allusions and references here and there in past episodes, but this is where My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic begins to rely increasingly on intertextuality (that is, the tendency of viewers to perceive a work differently based on their familiarity with other works) as a way to communicate on multiple levels. The Star Trek and Gremlins allusions here shoot right over the heads of small children, but the episode works just fine for them without that knowledge. Without knowing Star Trek, it’s a cute and funny episode with a serious-yet-silly menace and an absurd resolution.

Watching the episode with knowledge of Star Trek, however, and it becomes something else: a welcome mat. “Oh, you’re a geek?” it says. “So are we. You know how you’ve been trying to convince your friends this isn’t the My Little Pony your little sister watched when you were kids? Have some Star Trek.”

Geeks, as I mentioned, love canon and continuity. One possible reason for this (though it’s something of a chicken-and-egg situation) is that status in geek communities is frequently determined by knowledge, the more arcane the better. In a given geek community, the fastest and most reliable route to acquiring respect is to demonstrate knowledge of the community’s focus, the more arcane the better. In-depth knowledge of a work’s continuity and the ability to recognize obscure references are both excellent tools to accomplish this in media fandom. Being able to list every Doctor Who companion (in order by first appearance) or describe Batman’s first encounter with the Joker are useful social skills in the right circles, serving as conversation starters or sources of social currency.

Intertextuality multiplies the opportunities for fans to demonstrate their knowledge exponentially, because they require knowledge of multiple works. Being able to refer to the time The Dude showed up in My Little Pony not only demonstrates arcane knowledge of MLP, but knowledge of The Big Lebowski, establishing social currency on two fronts.

(Incidentally, this is likely a significant reason why many geeks are uncomfortable with postmodernism even while they embrace its self-referential and intertextual elements with glee: naive constructions of postmodernism, including some influential constructions by prominent early postmodernists, tend to deny the existence of truth and thereby the possibility of knowledge. If knowledge does not exist, then the entire geek social hierarchy collapses.)

Of course the classic creation myth of geek culture is that the possession of arcane knowledge leads to outsider status, and that is definitely the case here. Pinkie Pie is rejected by her friends because she possesses knowledge they need but lacks the social skills to express it in a form they can understand. However, instead of the lesson of the episode being that Pinkie needs to work on her communication skills (which she very much does), it’s the more geek-friendly lesson that you should listen to the knowledge of others (which is also true). This is another gesture of welcome to the bronies watching, many of whom (especially at this early stage in the evolution of the fandom) are themselves possessors of arcane knowledge (that My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic is actually a good show) likely to be rejected by their friends if they try to share this knowledge.

This is probably not a calculated move. The rest of Larson’s output suggests that he himself most likely identifies as a geek (indeed, I would be surprised if many people involved in the production of the show didn’t identify as such). Larson is simply writing the kind of episode with which he himself is comfortable, and by extension naturally creates an episode which is geek-friendly.

The temptation would be to overdo the intertextuality, of course. To a degree, an intertextual  problem demands an equally intertextual solution. That’s why none of the attempts by the other ponies could be reused after initial failure, even though at least Rainbow Dash and Applejack’s only failed due to external interference and could have been retried. No matter how many times they attempted their solutions, these are solutions that arise organically from within the context of My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, and therefore cannot work against a threat that originates outside that continuity. The only options are either an intertextual solution or a deus ex machina, but the Star Trek approach is not workable here. In the original Star Trek episode, the tribbles died to reveal a trap set by the real villain. Killing all the parasprites would be much too dark and the introduction of a villain behind them too complex for a 22-minute children’s cartoon, so a different solution is needed.

The typical Star Trek solution would be to pull from science and science fiction (or to pretend it is, by way of technobabble), but that’s not how My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic can or should solve problems. In its own way, that would be just as inappropriate as killing the parasprites. However, Star Trek does this because it is science fiction of a sort, while My Little Pony is children’s fantasy. It has its own antecedents to draw upon, and does so, resolving the episode’s dilemma by referencing the Pied Piper of Hamlin. This is the one major reference without which I’m not sure the story makes sense; for a viewer lacking the cultural context of that story, does it make any sense for her song to control the parasprites? But then, that’s why it has to be Pinkie–not just because she’s the pony most likely to be ignored by the others; not just because, as the Fool, she’s the one most likely to possess the knowledge the others are too wise to see–because as the “random” pony, she’s the one who can do something as ridiculous as assemble a one-pony band and have it work, and because as the one who comes closest to transcending the confines of the narrative, she is the one who recognizes the parasprites as alien to it and the one who can bring in the intertextual knowledge needed to stop them.

This is where the show fully embraces the bronies, and thus marks the end of the first leg of our journey. From here, My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic is on its way to being a geek icon, transforming the way in which many fans watch the show. There is a clear line from here to games of Spot Derpy, to elaborate Wikia sites that chronicle every background pony that appears to reference another work, and ultimately to fans dissecting thirty-second preview clips frame-by-frame to see which elaborate fan conspiracy theories will be supported and which will be rendered invalid by the next episode.

Of course like any change, something must be left behind. There is a certain innocence lost; with a growing tendency to intertextuality that will only become more pronounced as the series goes on, it becomes a little less unique, a little less different from other nostalgia- and reference-heavy shows like Adventure Time and Regular Show. The main advantage My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic has over those shows–indeed, over every other show on television–is its sincerity, its ability to connect with both children and with the children inside its adult viewers in a way that is honest and heartfelt without being cheesy. The challenge in the next stage of its evolution will be to find a way to explore the newly opened vistas of Everything Geeks Love without absorbing the cynicism and irony that so permeate adult culture.

Next Week: The identity crisis begins.

Doors are barred and shutters shut/Guess I should’ve stayed inside my hut (Bridle Gossip)

Pinkie dances while Twilight looks on in confusion.
MOSKAU! MOSKAU!
Wirf die Gläser an die Wand…

It’s December 10, 2010, and Rihanna wants to be the “Only Girl (In the World).” It’s an extraordinarily forgettable song, but at least the video has some hilariously faux-profound imagery and costumes that do an excellent job of highlighting just how devoid of content the song is. In film, the top movie is Chronicles of Narnia: Voyage of the Dawn Treader, which holds a special place in my heart as the book which made me realize I despise C.S. Lewis and everything he holds dear. Needless to say, I have not seen the movie.

In real news, assorted countries led by the U.S. continue to try to shut down Wikileaks in apparent total ignorance of the Streisand Effect, Somali piracy is making headlines, Wikileaks founder Julian Assange gets arrested for sexual misconduct (which he probably did, proving once again that good things can sometimes be created by horrible people, which anyone over the emotional age of seven already knew), and British students protest a massive tuition hike.

On TV, Amy Keating Rogers brings us “Bridle Gossip,” which, if I want to be really, really charitable, is a well-meaning but wrongheaded complete failure of an episode. Less charitably? It’s a steaming pile of racist horseshit. And now everybody’s all upset, because calling something racist is the! Worst! Possible! Thing you can say, worse by far than actually being racist, and how dare I say anything against Rogers, who you met at that one con and she seemed like a really nice lady and…

Okay, look: This episode is not trying to incite hatred. I suspect it actually is well-meaning, an attempt to add the first hints of a non-Western culture to Equestria. The reason I suspect this is because I can easily believe that all the racist horribleness of this episode (and there is so much racist horribleness) comes from the same source as the sexist bullshit in “The Ticket Master,” namely Rogers being kind of a crap writer of any character who doesn’t have “Apple” in their name.

I have tried very, very hard to like this episode and this character. Zecora is one of my fiancee’s favorite characters, and she dressed as her for both Halloween and Anime USA. She’s argued for, and I can see, the good points here, most notably the attempt at inclusion. We live in a culture where white is treated as “default”–in other words, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, characters are assumed to be white. Do a Google Image Search on “humanized ponies”; how many of the resulting images include a person of color? Perhaps more damningly, how many include more than one?

The show itself has done nothing to cast doubt on the default viewer assumption that the characters are white. Quite the opposite: prior to this episode we know that Rarity’s accent pegs her as a WASP from the start and Twilight Sparkle comes from a city modeled on Arthurian legend, i.e. WASP mythology. Later in the series we get confirmation that the rest of the Mane Six come from pony counterparts to white cultures as well: Pinkie Pie is Amish (so Swiss or German), Applejack descended from settlers in the American West (Anglo-Saxon, German, or possibly other Germanic countries, much slimmer chance of elsewhere in Western or Northern Europe), and Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash come from Mt. Olympus as depicted in Disney’s Hercules.

So the introduction of a character obviously drawn from another culture could have been a much-needed breath of fresh air. Zebras could bring something very interesting to Equestria, a different set of traditions, different ways of doing magic, maybe even different languages. The premise of the episode fits right in with this potential: An outsider with different ways comes to Ponyville, and the sheltered ponies, who have never before encountered representatives of other cultures, are initially afraid of her. After a round of misunderstandings, they finally learn that Zecora’s a good pony with different ways, as deserving as anyone else of respect and friendship, smiles, hugs, and a good lesson to the kiddies.

Of course, that would have required Rogers to create a convincing, believable, likeable character that isn’t Applejack, and to do the bare minimum of research necessary to avoid making said character an appalling stereotype. As it turns out, either she can’t be bothered or she just isn’t sufficiently competent to do either.

We thus get a character who is built to be generically “African”: named “zebra” in an East African language, wearing Southern African neck rings, and with a hut decorated in West African masks. This is a show that has taken pains to give pegasi, unicorns, and Earth ponies extremely distinct architecture (and, in later episodes, clothing both modern and traditional) that reflects their cultural origins–Classical Greco-Roman for the pegasi, fairy-tale Western European for the unicorns, and a blend of nineteenth-century Old West and medieval European thatch-roofed cottages for the Earth ponies. The one zebra, on the other hand, gets a blend of African elements separated by a greater distance, physically and culturally, than the distinct cultures used to make each of the three Equestrian tribes.

The only explanation for this is simple, old-fashioned, paternalistic imperialist Othering: everything from the entire continent of Africa goes into a pot labeled “African,” while more familiar European cultures are seen as distinct. To make matters worse, Zecora has an Ojibwe (as in the Native American tribe) dreamcatcher over her door, making clear that she’s not only the generic “African” but the generic “tribal” pony, too. The episode thus not only lumps all of Africa together, which is appalling enough, but all of humanity outside of a small circle of European-descended cultures. These Other cultures then get depicted as primitive and crude: Zecora’s cutie mark is more abstract and less colorful than the others on the show, her masks have chunky outlines suggesting rough-hewn handmade carvings compared to the polished, manufactured look of most pony decorations, and she cooks over an open flame rather than on a stove.

Of course, as is often the case for “primitive” characters in fiction, Zecora gets to be wise–she is allowed knowledge about topics such as nature (but not in any sort of scientific way) and healing, can dispense good advice (but at the same time lacks social awareness, such as in her apparent belief that all the shops just “happen” to be closed each time she comes to town), and shows every sign of having a higher emotional intelligence than the rest of the cast. However, this only heightens the impression that she is a “closer to earth,” “noble savage” type of character, which is to say paternalistic and imperialistic, as opposed to more actively hateful and violent, racism. Or to put it another way, the polite kind of racism that enslaves cultures and burns its way across continents in the name of Manifest Destiny or the White Man’s Burden or “bringing civilization,” as opposed to the rude kind that organizes lynch mobs.

And then (and what little documentation I’ve been able to find suggests that this, at the very least, was entirely Rogers’ idea), to top it all off, Zecora speaks in rhyme. Because she wasn’t Othered badly enough already, she needs to speak like she has some sort of bizarre compulsion or possibly brain damage. And after all, it’s not like Rogers might think to consider whether there are any stereotypes dealing with people of African descent and facility with rhyme, perhaps deriving from a century of minstrel shows or three decades of media associating rap, urban African-Americans, and gang violence. That would require Rogers to care about what she’s writing and think beyond the immediate next word on the page, which clearly isn’t something she does very often. (This is still me being charitable, by the way. The uncharitable assumption would be that Rogers made Zecora rhyme because she’s from Pony Africa and Rogers is a racist.)

Again, I really don’t think Rogers hates black people or anything like that. But, well… there’s a scene in the episode where Spike makes fun of the other pony’s curses, even though at least a couple of them are potentially life-threatening (especially Rainbow Dash’s and Applejack’s), and Twilight’s could doom the entire town (given that she saved it from destruction just an episode ago). All of their curses are at the least very hurtful for the pony suffering it. And yet Spike not only laughs at them, he lies to them; he tells them he’s working on a cure, and instead spends his time coming up with more jokes at their expense.

All of this is played for laughs; we are supposed to join Spike in laughing at the ponies. In a sense, that’s okay; the ponies are fictional characters, and have no actual feelings to be hurt. Laughing at them is certainly no worse than watching characters die for our entertainment in an action movie or suspense thriller. Also, this is an episodic comedy-adventure cartoon for small children; we know that, unless there’s a “Part One” in the episode title, odds are very high the characters will all be perfectly fine by the time the credits roll. As I’ve said before, in an adventure the primary question is not “Will they get out of this one?” but rather “How will they get out of this one?”

However, within a diegetic context this scene is very much not okay. Spike is being a massive jerk here, and nothing ever comes of it. Further, I’m not sure it occurred to anyone involved in making this episode just how much of a jerk Spike is being, and no character calls him out on it. Rogers is failing utterly at basic empathy here, what the show itself will later term “Lesson Zero”: the recognition that the feelings of others exist and are always legitimate, no matter what they are.

Sadly, the show itself fails at this lesson in one key respect. This episode is one of (to date) two that attempt to depict someone from a non-Western culture, and the other one is just as stereotype-laden. For all that it tries very hard (and usually succeeds) at being a feminist show, for all that it is clearly made with the best of intentions, Friendship Is Magic doesn’t deal well with race. Zecora’s later appearances are, thankfully, few and brief, but always painful to watch, because they represent a rot in the heart of the show. It is a show that celebrates community and bringing people together. It is a show that celebrates the “many ways of being a girl” and, since there is no statement true of all women that is not true of all humans, by extension the many ways of being human.

As long as your ways of being human fall within Western norms descended from European cultures, anyway. Otherwise, you’re an Other, and the creators apparently expect you to count yourself lucky that you get one heavily stereotyped token to represent you.

Next week: Intertextuality! Cute things! Geekiness! Easily avoidable failures of communication! We’re back to the show I love.