At one point while watching Purple Surf, I turned to my husband and said, “I don’t know if I’m stupid or if this show is stupid.” The story had so suddenly jumped back up from the low point where the previous one had ended that I was sure I’d missed something. There had to have been some story or emotional high point that had escaped me, forgotten somewhere in the stress of the work week. The Seven Shining Stars, who had spent the previous week in tents after a defeat, were back to being the good guys, including their shiny strategy room. They went into battle against the fearsome killing machines with beaming smiles on their faces, expressing their hot-blooded optimism and determination with cliched lines.

“The show is stupid,” my husband said sagely. As biased as he may be, I’m inclined to believe him, considering what followed. Not only did it frustrate me, but it put me in a bad mood for at least two hours afterward. But rather than recount every mindless moment step by step, I’m going to look at two scenes that I think are emblematic of the problems inherent in the way the show is written.

The first time it happens is when Walther and Sakura, seeking shelter underground from the murder machines that kill indiscriminately and spray their ground-up victims into the air as a red mist, encounter Catherine in some tunnels beneath the palace. These tunnels are strangely empty; palaces practically always have hundreds of people living and working, so you’d think it would be crowded inside. There’s no thought put into creating a sense of place, no sense of urgency or people desperately fighting to survive. They just needed Catherine and Sakura to encounter each other, so they created a place for this to happen without considering the context of what’s happening around them, much like the battles that take place in vast, empty prison yards and uninhabited streets.

Catherine, of course, complains about how much she hates Sakura and her weakness. Sakura, in turn, gives her another speech about “true” strength, which she defines as the heart beating for another rather than for oneself. The implication is that she’s thinking of Sakuya, but does that really describe her? It’s true that she’s fighting to liberate Japan, but she hasn’t been allowed enough interiority to feel like she’s fighting for the good of the Japanese people. She’s focused on her survival and regaining her place as the monarch of Japan. The only Japanese people she’s interacted with throughout the series have been her friends at the cafe. The towns have all been empty, save for one scene in the first episode. There were a few moments where she played peacemaker in petty disputes between rebel factions, but she never seemed particularly charismatic or principled. Sakura’s statement is so vague that if you look closely, you could apply it to Sakuya… but also to pretty much anyone else. After all, Catherine is fighting for Norland’s well-being, isn’t she? It’s as beautiful and empty as everything else about this damn show.

And yet it touches Catherine’s heart. We are treated to a comically over-the-top flashback in which a kidnapper randomly snatches young Catherine from a stall in a busy market, takes her under his arm and shoots her parents as he flees. No one reacts to the gunshots or the screaming child and parents until Norland comes over and stabs him, saving Catherine. It’s just… so silly. He carries Catherine like a sack of potatoes… OK, I’ll give him that, I’ve had to carry screaming children before and it’s one of the most effective methods. Maybe once I would have said that silly revelations like this are the true spirit of Code Geassbut without any narrative finesse it just falls flat.

Sakura’s attempts to “gain strength” also aren’t given the time to weight her speech. Without the narrative connective tissue of her meeting people, gradually gaining power by gaining allies, and being silenced less and less at political meetings, it’s just words. It’s a character noting her growth rather than actually going through the process. Again: Rozé of the Reconquest wants to experience the big moments without having to put in a lot of work.

The other scene is the climax of the episode, as Sakuya finally reaches Norland. After an unsuccessful attempt to cast a spell on him, he reveals his true identity: a clone of Charles vi Britannia (my husband cheered), originally meant to house the original’s soul but left empty after his death. He built the big bad robots to kill all of humanity, but he refuses to reveal why. Sakuya goes through a checklist of common villain motives, only for Norland to shoot each one down: Nihilism? No. Resentment against humanity? No. The scene gets more and more comical with each monosyllabic answer, and he refuses to elaborate until he finally reaches the cockpit of his Knightmare.

Throughout the series, they wanted Norland to be enigmatic. Opaque. Inscrutable. A vague, menacing force. Mysterious deaths, like that of poor Emperor Callis, seemed connected to him. His design is deliberately reminiscent of the iconic Char Aznable. But with each scene where he stands expressionless, he seems less like a threat and more like an uncharismatic carbon copy of more interesting villains, which I guess he is! So, good job, I guess? But he’s hardly a character to build a series around, and at this point, there was no way this scene wasn’t going to end on a flop. It had no chance of being anything other than funny-bad.

I promised that I would save my anger about the major failures for my review of the finale, but one thing is important to know: At this point Rozé of the Reconquest can no longer be saved.

Evaluation:

Code Geass: Rozé the Reconquest is currently streaming on Hulu and Disney+ depending on your region.

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