Middle and high school were around the time I didn't care too much for books. Looking back it feels weird to have passed up on a lot of great books just because they were part of the school's English track; maybe it would've been easier to just read 20 pages instead of a Sparknotes page, especially when the former clearly had much better writing. The few I did read had an impact on me, like how The Aenead was everything I wanted out of The Illiad or The Odyssey, or how The Inferno had hell as a frozen wasteland instead of an...inferno. Come to think of it I liked the much older books, and so I passed up on The Great Gadsby, The Catcher and the Rye, and Lord of the Flies. To be fair, I would've read Lord of the Flies had it been set in space, and finishing Infinite Ryvius gives me the strong urge to go back and see what it was worth as is. Could it have had as much impact on me ten years ago as the show did today? If the answer is yes I'll be impressed.
If you paid attention in class you should be able to scope out the basic structure of Infinite Ryvius without much difficulty. The vastness of space is the ideal setting to isolate a ship full of adolescents, and to leave them to their own devices while they struggle for survival, and while some aim for a higher position in their new society. Instead of a plane crash, this time it's an attack on an astronaut training session aboard the innocuous Liebe Delta, whose exterior breaks apart to reveal the Ryvius, a mysterious ship capable of virtually limitless travel, a protection barrier, a guard mecha called the Vital Guarder, and seemingly, a mind of its own.
Beyond setting the ship's parameters to allow us to focus on the human struggle rather than technical aspects of being stranded in space, this extensive setup is enough to warrant science fiction and political drama in the backdrop. The Liebe Delta saboteurs are unknown, and the government seems strangely unwilling to save a spaceship full of teenagers. Meanwhile a girl in a red one-piece manifests in the ship from time to time, and as we eventually look into the enemy ships we see a similar phenomenon. Coming from the Sunrise studio, it's not completely unexpected to see these sorts of touches, since they'd been doing sci-fi and politics since Mobile Suit Gundam 20 years prior.
But make no mistake, the focus is squarely on the shifting power dynamics within the ship, coupled with an intense look at dozens of passengers trying not to internalize the crushing dread of being abandoned adrift in space. The focal point for this struggle is on the brothers, Aiba Kouji and Aiba Yuuki. They had fought their whole lives, Kouji a passive stickler for rules, Yuuki a temperamental lone wolf. Their sole arbiter and childhood friend Aoi and Yuuki's girlfriend Cullen are also aboard, but it becomes clear that Kouji feels a rooted sense of discomfort with Aoi, while Yuuki and Cullen break up no more than a few episodes into the show. And as Yuuki distinguishes himself as a pilot and operator for the Vital Guarder, Kouji struggles as an administrator working for the ship's de-facto government the Zwei. The two show nothing but bitter resentment for each other.
The message, however, doesn't seem to be that Yuuki's refusal to make friends ultimately hinders his ability to protect the ship. The message doesn't seem to point to Kouji's passive and highly logical decisions as being the way to maintain order. We see both rise and fall from the graces of the community of the Ryvius, discriminated against for their special status, them and their friends and loved ones assaulted in the nooks and crannies where the governing body can't keep watch. And the message is not that through it they bond together, or compliment one another to cover for the other's weakness. At the end of the run they hinder each other, resent each other, and often attack each other just to feel a bit more justified in their own choices.
Taniguchi Gorou shows an early insight into how to shift power dynamics and human relations, vital to his success in Code Geass and integral to his deeply human Planetes. Underscored by a hip-hop soundtrack, Taniguchi brings the Aiba brothers and the rest of the crew alive for 26 whole episodes aboard a single ship, without ever doubling back on an exhausted plot point or rehashed drama.
Another interesting point: while almost a dozen different characters receive thorough exposition and backstory, their stories are intertwined rather than having different episodes focused on different character arcs. In the midst of an enemy crisis, another crewman named Ikumi starts seeing delusions of his sister, and coupled with an attack on his girlfriend by jealous workers he seizes unrighteous control of the Ryvius, signaling an instant changing of the guard. This sets off a counterpoint with his girlfriend's friends Aoi and Reiko, which diverge but intersect in the growing machinations of one of the ship's administrators and Kouji's ex girlfriend, and so on. The stories reverberate and return to one another, even within the span of an episode or two.
Few elements are wasted. Rather than make the girl in the red one-piece an overblown sci-fi story herself, she remains a background element, but as she echoes the thoughts and feelings of the passengers of the Ryvius we get a raw look at the emotions and tensions, framed in solitude with no one else around. Due to the regular external attacks, the Vital Guarder becomes necessary for the defense of the Ryvius, which by extension puts it at the center of the ship's internal power struggle, allowing pilots like Yuuki to rise in the public image. A single gun brought onto the ship holds an oppressive place at the center of the politics in the early half before exiting the stage in a coup, but when the gun comes to Kouji his whole character is upended, from his passive stance to his desire to remain amiable to those around him.
And of course, we glimpse happiness from time to time. Love, affection, and a new incarnation of family comes to many as they band together to hold out hope for a rescue. Even while despair and trauma set in, everyone is driven by an internal sense of searching for hope, for someone to cling to out in the middle of nowhere. Both the men and the women occasionally let slip how much they think about and care for one another, sometimes when even we weren't aware of it. Around the middle of the season, the ship throws a party, partially to distract themselves, partially to raise moral, but partially to celebrate being alive and to cut loose for a little while. Here the backbeat of the hip hop score work not to heighten the tension, but to let it go.
In fact, for as stressful and visceral as Infinite Ryvius was, I can't help but imagine that Lord of the Flies was worse. Not because Infinite Ryvius missed the mark, but because it takes special care to cultivate both the darkness in their hearts as well as sympathy, and an understanding of their ambitions rather than condemnation. It doesn't shy away from having characters like Kouji and Yuuki getting into ugly, useless fights every time they meet, because trauma and hatred aren't solved by reason and good intentions. But the ship never devolves into complete disorder; whoever is in charge manifests their own way of viewing the world in their law and order, and however twisted it becomes the Ryvius stays afloat. Truth be told I don't know how to reflect on the message of human darkness and innocence in my everyday life. But Infinite Ryvius feels like another lens to watch human struggle through, and I'm excited to see how it changes my viewings from here on out.