The Dangers of Role Appropriation and Scripted Romance in Revolutionary Girl Utena

    As detailed by psychologists who study the influence of narratives, fictional characters, and real-life role models on human identity construction, adolescence is a pivotal time in terms of meaningful self-development. An adolescent's ability to discover and experiment with various types of life stories and to identify with admired societal figures is integral to his or her own subjective identity construction. These processes also affect the cultivation of individuals' cherished sets of values, which can, in turn, impact their personal goals, intimate relationships, and wider ethical conduct in complex cultural settings. As psychoanalytic theorists and mythologists have espoused, imaginatively positioning oneself as the central protagonist of one's own story can bolster self-confidence and conceivably even provide one with a keen sense of purpose. However, in modeling oneself after heroic entities, and in gleaning inspiration for the passage of one's own life from external, often hyperbolized narratives, one must be wary of a specific and seductive trap. In romanticizing the identities of others, and by participating in predominant, formulaic narratives, an individual runs the risk of inadvertently losing his or her own unique identity in confining social scripts. In Kunihiko Ikuhara's Revolutionary Girl Utena (Shōjo Kakumei Utena), the adolescent protagonist Utena Tenjou's quest for meaningful identity construction leads her to fall in love with two very different individuals, who inspire her in disparate ways and draw out very unique (and opposing) traits in her. In the end, Utena must confront the reality that each of these relationships locks her into a problematic social script — and subsequently reject each of the "roles" offered by her amorous partners — before she can begin to clearly discern her own authentic set of values.

Imitating Royalty

    In Ikuhara's Revolutionary Girl Utena, a 39-episode animated series that aired from April to December of 1997, Utena idolizes and identifies with a primary hero figure, and this admiration causes her to inadvertently tumble into a set of social scripts. This does not become apparent for quite a while, though, within the course of the narrative, and in fact, Utena's emulation of this heroic role model is initially presented as a cause for celebration. The first episode of the series opens with the following story, which is narrated by Utena herself and is accompanied by stylized silhouettes of the relevant characters going through the mentioned motions:

    I include the introduction in its entirety here because I wish to call attention to the purposefully trite plot and language contained in the passage, and because it is repeated several times over the course of the series—also a significant point. To begin with, some description of the visuals that accompany this sequence will be useful. Though the characters' faces, hands, and other exposed skin are shown only in blackened silhouette, their clothes are still "illuminated" and visible. This alludes to the motif of shadow puppetry used elsewhere in the series as a storytelling device; however, it also emphasizes the "costumes" the characters don, indicating the ease with which individuals can take up and abandon new identities, but also stressing the performative nature of the roles they explore. Utena and the prince's attire overtly borrows from the imagery of stereotypical European royalty that decorates children's literature. The young Utena's dress, at the start of the sequence, resembles that of an 18^th century noblewoman, and the prince is equally connotative. Allusions to 18^th century Europe pervade the entire series, and the story takes place in a seemingly western setting, so the introduction is thematically appropriate on this level. The fabrics of the duo's costumes are light and pastel, and the two characters move about gracefully, almost as if in a dance. The overall effect of these early visual cues is certainly one of whimsy, but Utena's earnest narration also grounds it in the sincere. In the final two lines, when Utena resolves to "become a prince herself," she reappears in an even more stereotypical— and now, anachronistic—"royal" costume. Her puffed sleeves, stockinged legs, and uniformly gold crown now bring to mind medieval Europe, showing some slippage in her definition and understanding of the "prince."

    At this point, the ending question, "But was that really such a good idea?", seems rhetorical, and even a bit perkily mischievous. Because Utena (now an adolescent attending the prestigious Ohtori Academy) runs into all manner of troubles during the first several episodes due to her "tomboyish" behavior, her desire to "become the prince" is presented as one that leads her into exasperating but ultimately low-stakes conflicts, such as getting scolded by her guidance counselor for flouting school rules. Most notably, Utena wears an altered version of her school's uniform that more closely resembles the males' than the females', and this defiance earns her multiple lectures about the importance of clearly delineated gender roles, much to her chagrin. Utena's stated resolve to "become a noble prince who saves princesses" has lasted throughout her childhood into adolescence, and she still wears the mysterious ring from her handsome rescuer on a daily basis. Her constant references to him reveal that he is still a powerful influence in her psychological life, and in fact, the courageous spirit that she has cultivated in his image prompts her to defend the underdogs of the school. Utena's desire to be "noble" and to help others, stemming from her idolization of the anonymous heroic figure from her past, does lead her to seek justice for those around her. She is positioned as a small-scale, local hero herself, and for this reason, it seems that the obvious answer to the question of whether or not this emulation is a "good idea" is unreservedly affirmative.

    However, each time the introduction's central question is reiterated as the series goes on, the answer becomes less clear. Eventually, the details of Utena's parents' deaths are revealed, and it becomes apparent that she has exaggerated the grand narrative of her meeting with the prince to mediate the pain she experienced upon their loss. The mention of their deaths and of her emotional response, which are reduced to a single line in her self-constructed, obsessively retold story, gradually come to light, destroying the pleasant illusion of her peace with the event. Utena was never "a little princess," and she was much more than "sad" when her parents abruptly died. In actuality, she was simply an ordinary girl, and when her family perished, she went into such a deep depression that she contemplated suicide. It is true that Utena met a prince, and that he encouraged her to retain her "strength and nobility" and gave her a ring. It is also true that this encounter revitalized the young girl's spirit and convinced her to devote herself to helping others in need, as she was helped herself. However, the matter of Utena's ardent identification with the prince is called into question here, as the cracks in her rosy narrative slowly begin to show. Each time the introduction as repeated, the language and imagery seem less whimsical, innocent, and playful, and more off-kilter and disturbing. Utena's conscious framing of the event in terms of a familiar, culturally pervasive fairy tale—through such devices as the implementation of the "Once upon a time" standard opening phrase, and the equally romanticized but chronologically incongruent prince costumes—exposes the extent to which she is living in a fantasy world rather than in the real one.

    The story of the fairy tale prince rescuing the damsel in distress is problematic for a number of reasons. However, it is important to acknowledge that Utena's positioning of herself in this beautiful narrative is not necessarily the issue, and that in fact, many psychologists argue that the invention of a cohesive life narrative is essential in dealing with trauma. Psychologist Dan McAdams explores the importance of role models and idealized storytelling to successful identity construction in his book, The Stories We Live By. McAdams suggests that it is a natural function of the individual human mind to create metaphoric narratives that frame its values, struggles, achievements, aspirations, and ultimately, identity. Influenced by Carl Jung and Erik Erikson, McAdams explains that personal myths exist "to bring together the different parts of ourselves and our lives into a purposeful and convincing whole...to make a compelling aesthetic argument." Congruently, psychiatrist Laurence Kirmayer's writings mention the obstacles presented by a "fractured life story" in psychotherapeutic treatment. In studying the implementation of narrative therapy, social psychologist James Pennebaker concluded that patients who were able to frame their painful memories within the larger structure of an emotionally charged, but thoroughly structured story, were those who achieved the greatest levels of catharsis and healing. In managing her trauma through the use of a romanticized story, Utena is able to function in society and build several meaningful friendships, though of course her psychological profile is far from perfect.

    McAdams also argues that individuals establish a cast of characters called "imagoes," similar to Jung's archetypes, which populates the mythology of their lives' journeys, and that these encapsulated values can be based on or inspired by entities whose behavior we witness, either staged or authentic. More simply put, both real and fictional individuals can serve as the basis for another individual's bank of imagoes. In Utena's case, it is unclear whether she identified with or aspired to be a "princess" figure prior to her parents' deaths and the encounter with the prince. However, it is evident that her meeting with the noble figure directly inspired her to simultaneously idolize and seek to embody him. In short, on the day Utena met the prince, two separate imagoes were created within her. McAdams opines that "central conflicts or dynamics in one's life may be represented and played out as conflicting and interacting imagoes, as main characters in any story interact to push forward the plot." Herein lies the most troubling issue for Utena. In her case, two primary imagoes are established, but rather than helping to sort out a psychological impasse, they exacerbate it, pulling her in different directions both in terms of personal identity and desired life narrative. Her fractured allegiance to the romanticized roles of "prince" and "princess" cause internal conflicts to emerge within her that ultimately (and ironically) obscure her own emerging identity. The tension created between these imagoes may not be immediately apparent, but their opposing motivations and self-definitions present an unusual array of contradictions.

    Consider again the recurring introduction. In spite of her non-royal status, Utena chooses to portray herself as a princess in her own subjective memory. She considers the possibility that the ring the prince gives her is an engagement ring, a loaded symbol of heteronormative female fantasy. Though she says "This was all well and good," seemingly dismissing her desire to play/ identify with/embody the princess role, Utena is consistently torn between her traditionally "feminine" impulses and her more assertive, "masculine" ones as the series goes on. To say that she utterly rejects the lures of conventional femininity, as encapsulated by the archetype of the helpless fairy tale princess, would be to overlook a significant part of her character. Yet Utena also identifies with the prince, and this attraction is equally powerful and important. Outwardly, she clearly considers her "true" identity to reside more in her tomboyish, "princely" inclinations and actions more than her submissive, coquettish, and passive ones. Throughout the series, Utena struggles to negotiate between these competing sides of her personality, trying to convince herself and others that she can both wear a boys' school uniform, participate in physically aggressive sports, and intervene on bullied students' behalf (i.e. embody/perform "masculine" characteristics) and wear dresses, waltz, and enjoy being pursued in romance (i.e. embody/ perform "feminine" characteristics). The problem is that due to her overreliance on the archetypal role models of the fairy tale prince and princess, Utena's perception of gender becomes divided into a rigid binary. Qualities become polarized into "masculine" and "feminine" categories, leaving little room for fluidity or flexibility. Utena constantly views her potential adult identity as an either/or scenario, in which she must choose between embodying the prince or embodying the princess. When love enters her life, offering her a chance to respond to someone else's implicitly gendered treatment of her, this conflict rapidly escalates.

The Problem with Anthy: Utena Becomes the Prince

    Over the course of the series, Utena develops a romantically and erotically charged relationship with a fellow student named Anthy Himemiya, who plays a crucial role in the advancement of the show's central adventure story arc in addition to serving as a love interest. The young women's paths become intertwined when Utena witnesses a student council member, a recalcitrant boy named Saionji, physically abusing Anthy. When Utena, motivated by her desire to act with "strength and nobility," intervenes on Anthy's behalf, Saionji interprets her challenge as a formal invitation to duel. His assumption is supported by the fact that Utena's ring identically matches those of the other student council members, who orchestrate a covert series of duels to determine who will be deemed worthy of accessing the mysterious (and vaguely defined) "power to bring the world revolution." This cult-like society is organized and goaded on from a distance by letters from a figure known only as "End of the World" (who later, in a dramatic twist, turns out to be Utena's second primary love interest). Utena, simply wanting to help Anthy, agrees to the duel and bests Saionji, subsequently learning that the current "champion" not only takes one step closer to obtaining the "power to bring the world revolution," but also becomes engaged to Anthy, whose formal title is "the Rose Bride." In this context, the sex of the champion is irrelevant, and men as well as women battle for possession of the Rose Bride. Anthy's wholly submissive attitude and her insistence that she must obey all commands of her current fiancé(e) suggest that she has endured sexual as well as physical abuse. This allusion is made more pronounced in the cinematic adaptation of Revolutionary Girl Utena, which was targeted at a slightly older audience.

    Despite Utena's urgings, Anthy refuses to fight back against the system. As her character develops, the extent to which her consciousness has been totally colonized by self-loathing becomes evident. Anthy cannot combat her dehumanization because her captivity is more symbolic than literal, and thus she is a perpetuator of her own abuse. Anthy is coded, throughout the series, as a symbolic representation of women's participation in patriarchal order. She is presented as long-suffering, yet somewhat masochistic; she is an obedient yet resentful "object" that buckles under the whims of the agentic "subjects" around her. She is, in short, an archetypal embodiment of the most damaging aspects of female subordination. A complicated figure, she is neither the helpless victim that she first appears to be, nor the "witch" who, according to her brother as he calmly watches her writhe in bodily pain, "can no longer be happy except like this." For a long time, though, Utena neglects to acknowledge the moral and psychological complexity within her friend, instead conveniently categorizing her as a delicate damsel in need.

    In spite of Utena's disgust with the council of duelists and their objectification of her friend, she decides to participate in the system in order to prevent Anthy from falling into the hands of someone less compassionate. Utena fights in the hopes of achieving the "power to bring the world revolution," which she believes will end the duels, and thus the subjugation of Anthy. The problems with this rationale are somewhat overt, but Utena is so utterly consumed by the desire to act chivalrously toward her friend, whom she sees as helpless and meek, that she entirely overlooks them. As Utena's feelings grow stronger and turn from duty into love, this desire intensifies all the more. Thus, she falls into a troubling social script, ignoring the specifics of her present situation and letting her romantic notions about heroes and heroics get the best of her. In short, Utena begins to play "the prince" to Anthy's "princess," and this sets both women on a trajectory that can only end in sorrow.

    In her essay "Legacies of Tortured Sensibility; or, what Shakira learned from Sade," literary analyst Courtney Wennerstrom discusses "the fine line between empathy and...masculinist liberation fantasies." She notes that such fantasies "occur at the cost of injured flesh and extracted hearts" and that yet these injuries are mere "façades or faux surfaces that endlessly unfold to oblivion." So it is with Utena and Anthy. Utena strives to walk the fine line between empathy and masculinist liberation fantasy, but temporarily and tragically fails due to her over-identification with the "prince" and his corresponding narrative. In short, she acts paternalistically toward her friend, seeking to "fix" and "correct" Anthy's being. Instead of seeking to understand or collaborate with Anthy, Utena appoints herself the sole and omnipotent savior of her friend's woeful life. Although Utena's "orders" to Anthy are well-meaning — Utena encourages her to socialize more and to seek healthy friendships, for instance — Anthy still "obeys" because she is the Rose Bride, not because these situations are comforting, pleasant, or something she genuinely desires. Utena strives to create an egalitarian, non-hierarchical relationship with Anthy, but her paternalistic attitude undermines her efforts. Interestingly, this dynamic also carries some racial undertones, as Utena is light-skinned, and Anthy is darkerskinned, and also wears an Indian bindi. Some fans have speculated (and I agree) that given the relative absence of non-white characters in much of Japanese animation, that the tensions inherent in this relationship can be taken as a critique of western, liberal, second-wave feminism. In any case, while Utena means to act out of empathy and virtue, her endeavors to capture and mimic the essence of the noble, heroic, and male-coded prince figure lead her to indirectly contribute to Anthy's subjugation.

    Various feminist theorists have analyzed the complications that can often arise when a female individual seeks to identify with and emulate male role models, especially in literature and other types of fiction-based media. Literary theorist Judith Fetterley, in her landmark text The Resisting Reader, famously introduced the idea of "immasculation," or the voluntary repression of "feminine" characteristics in female readers who wish to be treated with respect in intellectual circles. More recently, in her book, Ink-Stained Amazons and Cinematic Warriors, cultural critic Jennifer Stuller explores the troubling collapse between the very concept of heroism and the historically male-coded fascination with violence, domination, and individualism. Wennerstrom's labeling of liberation fantasies aimed at suffering female bodies as "masculinist" is no accident; there is clearly some agreement among feminist writers that certain "heroic" tendencies are associated with or culturally linked to the constructs that define male behavior.

    Especially in the case of action-adventure and fantasy stories (of which Utena is one), this erasure of female presence may be due in part to popular culture's frequent reliance on the formula of the hero's journey when crafting marketable storylines. This journey, as theorized by Joseph Campbell, Northrop Frye, and other mythologists, has served as the basis for countless epics and fairy tales, both historically and contemporarily. On the surface, the idea seems simple enough—even obvious. Heroes heed a call to action that draws them away from their comfortable and familiar homes, descend into an altered, "underworld" territory where they overcome terrifying foes, and ultimately reemerge stronger and wiser than before. It could be argued that there is a certain universality to this narrative arc, and that at its heart, the hero's journey reflects a very basic cycle of peace, conflict, and resolution. Yet the pervasiveness of this model may be problematic. It colors our expectations of what truly constitutes an interesting and worthwhile story, almost to the exclusion of alternative types of narratives. In doing so, it may also aid in the normalization of certain values and behaviors marked by undertones of violence and domination. If nothing else, it promotes a certain set of principles that define what "the hero" should be. Fetterley, Stuller, and other feminist critics argue that if we take our notions about the archetype of the hero for granted, so too do we blind ourselves to the underlying rhetoric concerning virtue, entitlement, and, notably, gender that they contain.

    In short, these theorists and others suggest that the "hero" of Campbell's marvelous mythic journey is an inherently patriarchal agent, even when such a figure appears in a female body. A hero that undertakes this journey frequently achieves victory by using destructive and aggressive forces, impulses that do not reflect the more cooperative and compassionate ideals that many feminists espouse. Furthermore, Campbell's hero almost always succeeds alone, though supporting characters may offer minor assistance along the way. Although some may argue that the hero ought to be a vessel of the extraordinary and that this kind of exceptionalism is ultimately nothing more than a benign fantasy, such recurring representations of isolationism can diminish the importance of community and glorify ideals of hyper-individualism. Finally, the fact that the protagonist is often prompted to begin the journey on account of a prophesy or other predetermined assignment of "hero" status strikes some as problematic. Community organizer Dave Meslin criticizes narratives such as Harry Potter and The Matrix trilogy, for instance, because they center on "chosen ones" who have greatness thrust upon them rather than choosing it themselves; they are compelled to complete heroic deeds by external rather than internal drives. Meslin argues that one of the key points of leadership is that "it comes from within." In perpetuating the notion that heroes are born and not made, such stories may contribute to the misconception that heroism is a solitary, elite, and even biologically deterministic attribute. Significantly, Meslin critiques narratives starring female protagonists in this analysis as well.

    Utena's quest to "become the prince" is, in essence, a quest to become a hero, and unfortunately, her conception of heroism is problematically implicated in values of hypermasculinity. Firstly, the bestowal of the ring by the prince marks her as a sort of "prophesized" or predetermined hero, a fact that she recognizes and embraces. Additionally, in trying to model herself after her childhood hero, she unintentionally begins to resemble an arrogant, even narcissistic tyrant in her dealings with Anthy under the guise of altruism. Finally, instead of creating a new and original life narrative using the hero's journey as a source of inspiration, Utena begins to participate in a problematic and andocentric social script. In her overreliance on tropes of fairy tale heroes, the gendered subtexts of her chosen imagoes, and their corresponding narratives with regard to her own identity construction, she becomes the "prince" to Anthy's "princess" in the worst possible ways, negating her friend's own sense of agency and power.

The Problem with Akio: Utena Becomes the Princess

    In total contrast, in her relationship with Akio, Anthy's dashing and enigmatic older brother, Utena falls victim to a very different social script. In spite of her consciously cultivated courage and level of comfort with dismissing men who seek to woo her through flattery and other stereotypical courtship tactics, Utena gradually succumbs to Akio's subtle yet assertive charm. Predictably, his intentions are less than pure; Akio desires to manipulate Utena for his own twisted purposes, and does not truly care for her in the least. As he slowly gains the protagonist's trust, he also wears down her resolve to act as a noble and heroic "prince" figure. Ultimately, his acquisition of control over her is achieved through explicitly gendered methods. Akio seeks to transform Utena from the sprightly, confident, and valiant individual she is into a meek, submissive, and delicate "princess," and because a part of her identifies with this extreme end of constructed femininity, his scheme very nearly succeeds. As he performs the role of the perfect prince, she responds by playing the part of the idealized princess, just as he intends.

    Akio lures Utena into the trap of scripted behavior that detracts from her own authentic identity construction through several means. Unbeknownst to Utena, Akio is aware of her desire to reunite with/embody her childhood hero, and he uses this yearning against her. First of all, he is at an immediate advantage because he bears an uncanny physical resemblance to her cherished prince. Furthermore, he seeks to present himself as an immediately attainable alternative to and replacement for the absent nobleman. Namely, Akio gallops about on a white horse, conflating himself visibly with the prince, and pretends to advocate for Anthy, whom Utena loves and in whom she may perceive a reflection of her younger, vulnerable self. In doing so, he presents himself as an upstanding gentleman concerned with others' welfare, appealing to Utena's inner "princess" imago. She is startled by this resemblance, and even questions it at one point, musing, "It's too much. An actual prince on a white horse?" Yet in spite of her suspicions, and in spite of the fact that Akio is engaged to another woman, she allows herself to develop passionate feelings for him, suspending her better judgment.

    Beneath the suave exterior, Akio is an utter scoundrel. In contrast to Anthy, who is coded as an embodiment of female subjugation, Akio represents the most sinister qualities of patriarchy. He participates in sexual relations with several members of the main cast, as well as minor characters, including the mother of his own fiancée. In many cases, these trysts seem irrelevant to the progression of the plot, and I would suggest that their hyper-exaggerated prominence serves no other purpose than to symbolically illustrate the extent to which patriarchy impacts/infiltrates everyone. Moreover, Akio is secretly the infamous End of the World, who has been organizing the very dueling system that locks his sister in psychological and physical captivity. In the end, it is revealed that Akio and Utena's childhood prince are actually one in the same, although Akio considers himself divorced from his former self. In fact, it is his endless agony over losing his own former "strength and nobility" that causes him to ravage the lives of others. His inability to live up to his standards of the perfect storybook prince leaves him feeling worthless and culturally impotent, signaling once again the dangers of unchecked hero worship.

    His solution to this is to transmute Utena into an "unmatched princess," a goal he tends to in private but also shares with his naïve lover publicly. The young woman is unable to withstand his appeals to her inner princess imago, and she migrates increasingly toward the stereotype of a helpless, demure damsel. Interestingly, one of Akio's methods of colonizing Utena's consciousness involves convincing her to alter her body. Throughout the vast majority of early episodes, Utena appears in her standard customized "boys'" school uniform. As Akio and Utena continue dating, however, she appears in several casual, feminine outfits, and other characters begin to notice (with some concern) that she looks and behaves in a more traditionally "girlish" manner. Akio sends Utena a pair of flashy earrings that she wears in spite of initial hesitations ("they don't suit me," she insists), and teasingly offers to replace her duelist's ring with one "more suited to [her] new look." Notably, in the early scenes of the episode in which Utena gives her virginity to Akio, she is wearing a revealing dress. These details are significant because earlier in the series, the audience has learned to associate Utena's adornment in female clothes with the character's discomfort, or even unhappiness. In the most telling instance of this, she wears the ordinary girls' school uniform as a pointed, nonverbal expression of sadness and defeat. We learn to believe that a visibly tomboyish Utena is a happy Utena, and thus, when she concedes to primp herself up for Akio's pleasure both in manner and garb, it is narratologically distressing. This visual conflict reaches its climax when, in the penultimate episode, Akio forcibly dresses Utena in a princess costume almost identical to the one Anthy wears as the Rose Bride, symbolically erasing all trace of her own identity and attempting to clinch her absorption in the social script of the submissive, dehumanized woman. Coming of age and dealing with the inevitable sexualization it brings are recurring themes in the series, but nowhere is the latter presented as a source of emotional tension more vividly than in this evolving dynamic.

    The way Akio would have it, growing up for Utena would mean growing into a quiet, obedient princess. Correspondingly, given the series' heavy allusions to fairy tale tropes and clichés, this can be seen as another feminist critique. Feminist theorists observe that in countless myths and traditional western fairy tales—as well as in contemporary stories—the female life is seen as an inevitable trajectory toward marriage and motherhood, and that this is posited as "common sense." Admirable women obey this path, while "abject" women resist it. As cultural critic Andrea Dworkin argues, "There are two definitions of woman [in fairy tales] ...The good woman must be possessed. The bad woman must be killed, or punished. Both must be nullified." Other critics, including Margaret Atwood and Anne Sexton, similarly note that female characters within popular heroic narratives tend to be funneled into one of two fates: marriage or death. The idea of a free and autonomous female agent surviving the standard hero's journey without succumbing to one of these endings is apparently cause for an anxiety that is deeply rooted in cultural norms. In addition to exploiting Utena's desire to embody/perform the role of the "princess," Akio attempts to derail her entire life narrative by conflating maturation with willing objectification in her mind. He stunts her psychological growth both as a human and a woman, and Utena is too enamored with her romanticized fairy tale narrative to notice his subtle violence.

"Revolution?"

    Ultimately, Utena rejects both of the social scripts offered by her lovers, refusing to play the role of the complementary "other" to either of their hyperbolized archetypes. Though realizing that she can neither be the noble prince to Anthy's suffering princess nor the blushing princess to Akio's charming prince is painful, it is vital for Utena's departure into independent identity formation. When she learns the truth about Akio's machinations as End of the World and his long-term abuse of Anthy, Utena physically attacks him, ending their relationship and her delusions about an impeccable storybook ending. Moreover, when Anthy attempts suicide, Utena is forced to confront the fact that she has been seeking to liberate her friend for the glorification of her own "prince" imago rather than to genuinely help her. She confesses, "I never realized the pain you were in. I never noticed how much you were suffering. And despite that, I kept acting like I was a noble prince who could save you! The truth is, my protecting you was just for my ego!...I was the one who cheated you. I was the one who used you." In breaking from both the male-coded epic narrative of the heroic, if individualistic fairy tale prince, and the trajectory of the "good" fairy tale princess who happily weds, Utena puts herself at risk of tumbling into their narratological inversions. That is, had her will been weaker, she could have interpreted these departures as indications that she was "truly" a villainous figure, and upheld heteronormative gender roles in a disparate, though equally problematic way. But instead, she avoids becoming the deadly patriarch and the abject witch; she disposes of narrative maps entirely and begins anew.

    In observing Utena's attempts to grapple with her parents' untimely death, Saionji remarks that although the arrival of the prince saved her from suicidal tendencies, "she's still trapped in that coffin." He then adds, "No, it's not just her. We're all trapped in our coffins." The coffin here symbolizes denial, or refusal to deal with the realities of one's psychic or bodily trauma. It represents, in short, the refusal to craft and hone a unique and unscripted identity that is not predetermined by reliance on romanticized narratives or archetypal standards impossible to attain. In the end, though Utena has left the school and her fate is left uncertain, Anthy insists that the "revolution" sought by the duelists has indeed occurred. Utena "failed" to rescue her through brute force alone, she did enable Anthy to find her own voice and the courage to act on her own behalf. In their final moments together, as Utena counsels Anthy's innermost anxieties— represented by a nude version of the girl, curled in the fetal position inside a coffin—she extends her hand and coaxes, "I came all this way to be with you, so don't be afraid of this world where we can meet" (emphasis added). In stressing that she wants to be "with" Anthy and to "meet" her, as opposed to "save" her (and in doing so, negate her own agency), Utena demonstrates that she has abandoned her old notions of heroism. As she reaches out in the spirit of partnership and collaboration, Utena demolishes the condescending hierarchy that was set up between her and Anthy. In the end, Anthy proudly leaves the Academy on her own two feet and of her own free will, scorning her brother as she leaves: "You really don't know what's happened, do you? It doesn't matter. By all means, stay in this cozy coffin of yours, and continue to play prince." Akio is left with his fractured obsession with the "prince"—a body of ideals that he can never fully embody—while Anthy departs from the patriarchal order of the school to reunite with Utena and commence a more genuine relationship.

    Northrop Frye writes that humanity "lives in two worlds, the world of nature and the world of art [it] is trying to build out of nature. The world of art, of human culture and civilization, is a creative process informed by a vision." In seeking to construct a meaningful and functional life narrative, it is challenging to navigate the balance between imagination and reality. As psychologists and mythologists have espoused, framing one's life in romanticized terms can bestow a powerful sense of purpose, and even help to mediate trauma. Yet overreliance on external characters, figures, and storylines can result in individuals' participation in troubling social scripts. With regard to memory, romance, sexuality, gender performance, and even ethical conduct, these imagoes and narratives can help us to strive for our best possible selves, or overtake our nascent steps toward originality. In Revolutionary Girl Utena, Utena must perform two disparate and diametrically opposed roles before she can discern the need of a new and less polarized collection of values. In the end, she must learn to legitimately become the hero of her own compelling story.

Note: Parts of this argument are developed further in my articles “Prince Charming by Day, Superheroine by Night? Subversive Sexualities and Gender Fluidity in Revolutionary Girl Utena and Sailor Moon,” which can be found in Colloquy: Text Theory Critique 24 (2012): 207-222, and “Her Story, Too: Final Fantasy X, Revolutionary Girl Utena, and the Feminist Hero’s Journey,” which is forthcoming in an anthology tentatively titled Heroines (Lanham: Scarecrow Press, 2014). Feel free to contact me with questions at catherine. e. bailey AT wmich.edu.

Works Cited and Consulted

Cambell, Joseph. The Hero With a Thousand Faces. New York: Pantheon, 1949. Print.

Dworkin, Andrea.Woman Hating. New York: E. P. Dutton, 1974. Print.

Farwell, Marilyn. Heterosexual Plots & Lesbian Narratives. New York: New York University
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Fetterley, Judith. The Resisting Reader: A Feminist Approach to American Fiction.
Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1978. Print.

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Essays
Personality + Relationship + Narrative + Miscellany + Music

Context
Introduction + Characters + Reference + Submission

Go Home
Analysis of Utena + Empty Movement