We All Fall Down

The barn at night has a soundscape all its own: the crickets, the night birds, and, interestingly, the creak and groan of wood as the frame gently sways in the wind. Much of this is muffled through the walls, but a bit creeps in fresh like a breeze through the open door.

When the two of them talk, we get an unusually stark shift to the mix, with their voices foregrounded and the backing atmosphere drawn way down to make room for music to strum in around the vague cinema stage.

We pan up to a black screen, on our way to a stylized flashback, and Garnet’s narration zorps right to the front, gaining presence and depth. It sounds exactly like Cate Blanchett’s narration at the start of Fellowship of the Ring.

Curiously for such a stylized depiction
(Hi, Lapis.), the foley continues strong as ever here. Sapphire’s hair rustles as she moves. The Rubies’ feet clomp solidly along. Don’t know what to make of the reverb situation. It suits an open air arena.

As Ruby stumbles into Sapphire and hems and haws in apology, an atmospheric whirring enters the mix. It’s not music. It doesn’t seem to be wind. Maybe an engine of some sort? A power source? It adds tension anyway, without ever clearly announcing itself.

As Sapphire enters Blue’s palanquin, her voice becomes muffled. Lisa Hannigan isn’t present, though; Blue hasn’t officially been introduced yet. So all we get is Garnet playing her part—in deep foreground, narrator-space, separated from the zone occupied by the story she’s telling.

There are some deep, skronking bowed bass notes here as Ruby clocks the nature of what’s happening and makes up her mind whether to react or not, and rescue this nice Sapphire who had been the opposite of awful to her just before.

And yeah, when they fuse it swoops out and saturates the entire stage, in all phases and channels and spectra. I hadn’t noticed either the deep bass thrumming or the light sparkling noises when just listening through speakers.

As the crowd closes in, we get the sound of jackboots in unison. Then this tactile “slam,” like someone punching a metal wall, as (through Garnet’s narration) the spectators chime in with their opinions. Followed by a scraping, swooshing, mechanical sound as the palanquin rises.

I hadn’t noticed that as they land the clouds break. I mean, yeah, there’s the fire scene, but it just happens so quietly… unless you’re wearing headphones, at which point suddenly they’re in a very real, tactile environment compared to the abstraction of the sky arena.

Footfalls are all authentic soggy foot on wet grass noise, as they would be. Everything sounds freshly, moistly recorded. And yeah, the cave has its own atmospherics, changing the sound of the rain outside and providing its own close yet sustained reverb.

As they flash back to their fusion and ponder what the hell just happened to them both, the soundtrack keeps abruptly shifting with each cut, from this warm, slightly reverbed crackling fire to stabs of swooshing musical score and sparkle effects. It’s intentionally jarring,
but as the cuts go on, the reverb on the effects and some of the notes of the score sustain a bit longer each time it cuts back. It’s like when you dip your toe into hot bath water then jerk it out, then dip it in again more slowly, then tentatively insert your foot, etc.

I hadn’t caught Ruby pondering the gem on her palm, then eyeing Sapphire’s corresponding palm.

A Gem’s relationship with her gemstone must be pretty strange. She literally is that rock, and her body is just an illusion, but the gem itself has no awareness; only her projected body.

I really dig when the show dips into what fusion feels like, experientially; the implication, they never quite state outright, that it’s this transcendent high that one never wants to come down from.

There’s so much work on the expressions in this scene.

Oh God, I’d definitely not heard this song in headphones before. With the deep bass drum; the sounds of wet, waking nature as a backdrop. And also just the right space between Ruby’s and Sapphire’s voices that their harmony works: a bit awkward and stumbling but in sync for that.

The cut to crickets and general night atmosphere, and the way their vocals fall out of the soundstage back to diegesis, for the “Oh, um, I just can’t stop thinking…” sequence, it really sells the sense of budding romance, and the idea that they’ve been stewing on this a while.

The tangibility of the environment, and the way the characters are cemented in it even as they continue the song, lends weight to every word they speak.

“So, um. Did you say I was different?”

“And you hadn’t before?”

“Of course not… When would I have ever?”

Again the subtle things; this small yet tangible pat of foley when she touches Ruby’s hand:

“Well, you’re here too. We’re here together…”

As Sapphire begins to hum “Stronger Than You” against all the night sounds, they step into a more-stylized glen, away from the reality of Earth back into the world of myth, and her voice begins to echo. After nearly bumping gems, nervously, Ruby joins in, their voices blending. And the moment their harmony perfectly syncs up…

Again the foley. The hard two-handed smack against the tree, selling the weight and clumsiness. And I think her feet actually make different noises on the grass; one bare, one shod.

Where there’s a Pearl, there’s a piano. Then Rose brings the strings, allowing for a sparse take of “Stronger Than You,” sketched with the instruments of the Crystal Gems, as they… basically conduct their first job interview.

I like how pretty much immediately Garnet shifts any reference to Ruby or Sapphire to the third person. It’s confusing at first, but she’s not them. But if she’s not them, then who is she?

Their gems don’t even look the same anymore. They’re her gems now.

Nice reversal, by the way, panning down from that shot back into the present (which sounds so much more… present), now with Garnet sitting where Rose was and Steven lying where Garnet had been.

Apropos of nothing, a really nice Garnet face in the second-to-last shot:

Anyway. Yeah. The sound design really adds a ton to this episode in particular. Even more than usual, and the usual standard for this show is pretty high.

I know that “It’s Over, Isn’t It” is everyone’s go-to song (once they get past “Stronger Than You”), but with its familiar Broadway melody and orchestration it took me a while to warm to, beside some of its more outre neighbors. The key things that sell it for me are subtler than its reputation; more contextual.

One is the obvious, yet somehow not fully obvious, point that she’s singing to Greg. Yes, semantically it’s clear enough—but think about the significance there; the intimacy of a song, and how she waits until he’s asleep to confess to him. This, to be clear, is just shortly after she refuses his dance. (Then just following this exorcism, they mutually accept.)

She’s not singing to herself (not entirely, not formally, at least), and not really to Rose. She’s directing her song, her bleeding musical wound, to the object of a couple of decades of her scorn. Which as a fact says so much more than the specific contents of that heart-dump.

And then there’s the structure of the song, which is a subtle thing, but its skipping, repetitive nature reflects the swirl of obsessive, intrusive thought patterns. Musically the song reflects Pearl’s attempt at poise even as structurally she’s scrambling for a throughline. “Why can’t I move on?” asks the scratched record.

It’s a significant song, and its meaning is expressed through its music and structure at least as much as its lyrics. Even the stiff, formal familiarity of the melody and instrumentation have something to say about the person and her thoughts and emotions.

As with most aspects of this show, the more you pick away, the more layers you realize you’ve been missing.

The situation with Rose Quartz—it’s complicated, right? She’s a flawed person from a messed-up background who did a lot of awful things, then tried to do better things. Some of her actions were kinda good, but for messed-up reasons. Some were really messed-up, but with the best of intentions. And in the end I think she knew how much she’d fucked things up, how much suffering she’d caused, and she wasn’t entirely sure if it was worth it.

She’d made room to live as she wanted, for her and a handful of other Gems who survived, but at what cost? How many thousands had been shattered? How many more had been warped into self-fearing monsters? I don’t think she ever really forgave herself for that.

The one objectively good thing that came out of Pink’s interventions, Rose’s rebellion, was that she’d saved the Earth and its native life. Even that, though, she had trouble seeing as more than a menagerie—until she met Greg. Through him, learning to appreciate the humans she’d saved as actual people every bit as worthwhile as a Gem, connected to this world through their wants and needs and mortality in a way she never truly could be, I think Rose in the end came as close as she could to achieving what she wanted in life.

Rose was a sad person, who came from the greatest possible privilege and piece by piece realized how fucked-up everything about the life she was given truly was, first in regard to her own wants and needs, then in terms of the effect she had on the world around her, then just structurally in terms of the society. And she tried to change things, partially for selfish reasons; partially not. And she had no idea what she was doing, and made some really bad decisions along the way.

Again, it’s complicated. The show isn’t big on judging people, right? You judge the things that people do, the decisions they make. And Rose mostly did the best she could with what she was given, with who she was as a person. Possibly the best thing she ever did was the thing that made her the happiest: letting go, and allowing Steven to live a mortal life, the kind she never could.

Steven is in a sense the final stage of her metamorphosis, or transition if we want to hang onto the trans metaphor that the show uses—but as an independent person, who functions as a bridge between human and Gem life, he’s more than that. Though he never asked for it, he’s kind of the key not only to make up for Rose’s actions but to fulfill her ambitions by making peace across two worlds.

Rose stumbled onto the right path, and did what she could, but she was still a Diamond. There were always going to be some hard limits to her character, no mater her enthusiasm for a cause.

Somehow it took me until today to piece together what’s going on with the Crystal Temple. Granted, this is a topic the show has studiously avoided returning to since it was introduced way back in episode four. We get some of its effects—its “metaphysical constructs,” as the Gems describe them—but no more mention of the Heart itself. I’d always felt like this was a big, weird loose end; it’s a concept someone had put a bunch of time into early on, then dropped.

Only now, it strikes me. Explicitly, the Heart is portrayed as advanced Gem technology. And Gem technology, morbidly, tends to run on actual living Gems. Obviously the shifting interior, it’s all light constructs, generated by the Crystal Heart—a powerful Gem, that’s been harnessed to do this massive projection task. This would follow the same horrific logic where Gems are integrated into objects and buildings on Homeworld, and how the CGs didn’t think twice about the cracked Gem-powered mirror they found by the Galaxy Warp all those thousands of years ago.

Heck, the job that the Crystal Heart does, it’s basically the same as Lapis’ mirror—both in regard to materializing images of things that had or might exist (albeit three-dimensional ones, compared to Lapis’ flat lens), and in responding to voice command. It’s just that it’s a huge, elaborate installation piece, compared to Lapis’ more modest, portable portal.

That latter bit, about the commands, is especially unnerving as far as what it suggests about a lingering consciousness.

Who did the Temple use to be, I wonder.

The Temple interior… it’s physically safe for the most part—as presumably it’s all, or mostly, light projection in there—but psychologically, it’s always been “off.” Rose’s room in particular, it’s never been a place where you really want to spend more time than you need to.

Requesting things from it, configuring new constructs, it’s like making wishes on a magic lamp. The genie does what it wants to, no matter how carefully you phrase your command, and it’s not going to go well in the end. The Crystal Heart, it’s willful. Full of seeming resentment. It’s not altogether malicious, but it’s not happy, and it seems to lash out passive aggressively every opportunity that it can.

A Gem powerful enough to project a glitch-terror version of all of Beach City at once, it’s… gotta be pretty high up the hierarchy. And if Lapis has had problems adjusting over the course of five seasons, I imagine a Gem that powerful, if set free, would be… trouble.

Lapis is powerful. She’s almost certainly the strongest Gem we’ve seen outside of a Diamond, and she may even rival them if she stops holding back out of fear of herself. Whoever the Crystal Heart used to be, assuming I’m reading this right, must be like a minor god.

Someone who could harness the reality-shifting powers of the Crystal Temple, and focus them outward—I can see how it might take all four Diamonds to control it, and them not even really being enough. This is a person you’d really rather have on your side than not, ideally.

It—I’m not saying it is, but I wonder if… you know… the expanding team, needing its own space… they try to reconfigure the Temple interior, and…

Just shoving a pin in this. It’s… well, it feels like something I would do at this point. Especially given what it would mean, dismantling the Crystal Gems’ sanctuary. If you want to spell the end of an era, that’s not a bad route to go.

Despite its long, complex story and rich themes and character development, Steven Universe can sometimes come off as childish—particularly to those who dwell on plot progression. Often this comes in the same breath as critique of the show’s themes as inappropriate for such a childish piece of media. There’s a cognitive dissonance here to be sure, but it doesn’t come from within the show.

The issue may be that the work it does is largely internal: emotional labor, if you will. The maturity in Steven Universe is comes from personal development: dealing with mental illness, trauma, the complications of relating to others; learning to judge actions, not people. People do awful things sometimes, for reasons based in the pain they carry. Separating the two is one of the first steps toward empathy, justice, and healing.

The show isn’t a grim-dark melodrama; as it unfolds, it becomes a complicated, sober discussion of how experiences affect a person’s emotions; how emotions drive people’s thoughts and behavior; and how this expresses itself internally, externally—individually, interpersonally, systemically. All this can result in generational cycles or systems of violence and abuse—unless it’s addressed at its root.

At the start of the show, the main cast has mostly been frozen in place, unable to grow or move on, for thousands of years. Nearly every character carries some trauma; serves to represent a particular kind of mental illness. The show’s vision of maturity involves learning how to do better. There are no easy answers, relapse is the biggest part of recovery, and mental illness is forever. But, there are ways to learn to respond better—and to break the cycle.

The show’s major conflict lies in the attitudes and circumstances that reinforce these patterns: in the oppression of the status quo. For all its chirpiness, Steven Universe is underlaid with an existential horror, derived from invalidation: the fear of one’s fundamental wrongness, as dictated by others. This comes home in the final arc of season five, which through its strengthened language and focus on themes like conversion therapy nudges the show’s window just enough to lay bare the trans allegory that has in hindsight been woven into the show from day one.

Progression in the show largely deals with breaking down assumptions: about one’s self, about others, about the world that we live in. A big part of that involves learning about and de-mythologizing the past: trying to really understand how things came to be the utter shit that they are today, so you can start to find a way to avoid repeating the same mistakes over and over—and just maybe, build a better future.

Plot—this idea that there’s a driving, correct order of events that we’re supposed to take in our lives—is one of those major assumptions. Steven Universe is never really about Things that Happen; in the show as in reality, little that happens happens without cause or consequence, because of fate or some higher demand. The plot is there—structured meticulously to provide a constant pull on the action without calling much attention to itself—but it does its best to keep out of the way. Instead the story comes from the moment-to-moment interactions between characters and how they explore the show’s underlying themes—themes that get messier and messier as the show goes on.

Even the plot-bomb episodes, like “A Single Pale Rose,” what makes them interesting tends to be less the Things that Happen than, well, the mess: all the surrounding implications, and how they feed into what we know of everyone’s psychology; how it clarifies their behaviors, and might show them a route forward.

This kind of development, it’s difficult to showcase in a reel of Mature Goings-On. Reduced to action and individual moments, it’ll just look like a bunch of crying and longing glances and people looking apprehensive. It’s a novelistic form of storytelling, that rewards and relies on engagement. Meet it halfway, and the show unfurls, revealing a difficult kind of a conversation that most television actively chooses to avoid.

The maturity comes in working through all the crap put on a person by society, by prior generations, by relationships—all the expectations and judgments and every reason why one should be ashamed of who one is—and finding the start of an inner peace.

There’s so much speculation about the next era of Steven Universe, and what it will involve. “Change Your Mind” wrapped up so many of the surface conflicts, it’s hard to see a way forward—which is because there is no way forward. The show’s gonna tell a different story from here, as they’ve said. And like the first time around, it’s not going to be a story about villains and monsters and intergalactic conflict. The plot, the melodrama, all the objective things that happen—none of that matters, really. They could be anything. What matters—in all things, but particular in the case of this show—is what all those details serve to discuss.

There’s some stuff that—really, the crux of this question lies in some things on the show that haven’t come out yet, that really bring the arc of my relationship with Steven full-circle? […] Steven and I have had a very similar arc in life, and very similar trials in life of having a much larger allocation of responsibility than normal placed on our shoulders at a young age—and, rising to the challenge of that, and what kind of mental things come from that. It’s been pretty eye-opening. Just, like, recently, like in the past few weeks, some of the revelations I’ve had, about that.

The comments that Callison has made lately, they fit my expectations and hopes for the next stage of the story. Which is to say, the show’s original coming-of-age story has reached its end point—so what’s the next natural story to tell after that? The difficult transition to adulthood. Things only ever get more complicated and harder to manage, as you grow up. In most things you do, there are no right choices; just less awful ones—and personal growth, it kind of tends to flatline while one spends all one’s time on things that have nothing to do with one’s own concerns. It becomes unsustainable after a while, but since you’re an adult now people just expect you to get on with it.

On the basis of Callison’s statements as to how his life and Steven’s have become one and the same, and the things that are going on in the recording right now are surprising him with how precisely they parallel his own life situation, it sounds like this is indeed where we’re going. Which is kinda where the show has to go, if it’s gonna be honest. Callison has talked about the amount of responsibility Steven had to carry from a young age, and the… effects that can have on a person. And we know Callison’s been dealing with some health issues lately.

So basically, I expect a scenario where Steven has been accepted as not just the de facto leader of the Crystal Gems, or the reincarnation of Pink Diamond, but the architect of a new era for Gems and humans alike—and everyone expects him to know what to do all the time. Assuming some time has passed, Steven’s relationship with Connie would likely also have developed, which would have its comforts but also its own, different kind of responsibility.

Potentially, it’s been around five years, allowing sort of a reboot from a series perspective, letting new viewers jump into this scenario and figure it out just as established ones are doing so (like the Time War business in Doctor Who). (Added benefit: this should allow Callison to relax and use his natural voice in the role.) Everything has become strange and alienating; everything Steven has known is changing in front of him, and no one’s really watching out for him anymore. And then, something snaps. And he can’t take it. And the story comes from there.

This also gives the story a circularity, if you consider Pink’s actions. So much of Steven Universe is about trying to break the cycles, avoid repeating past mistakes and abuses, trying to do better than the last generation was able. But also, so much of the show is about failure and relapse and getting things wrong.

How often do people say with some horror, when they start to grow up, “Oh my God, I’m behaving exactly like my mom”? There may be a little more horror to that realization in some scenarios than in others.