They Were ElevenFear makes people behave irrationally. When we're afraid, we distrust the unknown. We panic when something deviates from our expectations. We fall prey to baser instincts, like violence and prejudice, thinking that the false security of what is known will protect us from these variables. Yet all we do is wield this paranoia like a club, wielded by fear in our shaking hands. They Were Eleven is a science-fiction animated movie about a group of applicants into an elite space program many centuries into the future, after humanity has spread far and wide across the universe. The applicants are complete strangers to one another and informed that the test would be comprised of ten cadets. But when they count eleven instead, suspicion reigns and fear extends its black hand across their eyes, blinding them with doubt and anxiety.
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Science fiction movies and thrillers are no stranger to stories about impostors who are both not who they claim to be and potentially a threat. They Were Eleven was made in 1986, yet despite the dated animation, the story feels as fresh and relevant today as it must have almost forty years ago. Much of the enjoyment of this movie comes from having your expectations about who the "eleventh" crew member is subverted, if there even is a stowaway in the first place. So with that in mind, I will avoid any spoilers about the story, or as much as possible to prevent ruining the enjoyment. The story predominantly follows a young candidate named Tadatos Lane (Tada), who narrates just how exclusive it is to be admitted into this program. The film opens with a brief prologue explaining that over hundreds of years, humanity spread across the stars, met new races, warred with them and each other, and has only recently found peace. Tada shares that candidates are drawn from all over the universe and tested on all manner of complex equations and presumably other criteria for consideration before being presented with the final test--an all or nothing, pass or fail team exercise. Passing the test is a badge of honor and affords those chosen with exclusive privileges. It is also meant to parallel the rigorous selection process for students entering higher education; there very futures are being decided, so it is very serious for most of them. The cadets are all decked out in full space suits that hide their identities, as they float toward a derelict ship, which they are tasked to operate for a period of fifty-three days. The stakes are real, and from the onset the ship experiences crisis after crisis, with the very real possibility of death. The skills and talents of each of the cadets finds some place in this exercise. Tada claims to possess a highly sensitive form of intuition, alternately described as "ESP", which he uses early on to try to identify if anyone is lying to him. He places his hand against theirs as they introduce themselves, which has the added benefit of introducing the audience to the characters, and each of them are wildly divergent. Some fall into camps based on preexisting forms of hierarchy, notably the authoritarian King Mayan Baceska (and, no, "King" is his title, not his name), or fellow noble, Doricas Soldam IV (a.k.a. "Fourth"). These two establish a form of ad hoc leadership based on their preexisting titles and royal status, and expect others to follow suit, which leads to little more than ordering the others around. Conversely, Tada and several other crew members take on roles based on their individual expertise, falling naturally into a functioning system based on skill. Others, like the musically inclined Amazon Carnias, seem to harbor some resentment toward the ruling class, which tends to fan the flames of discontent. And, of course, there are a couple of aliens, i.e. non-humans, like the reptilian Vidminer Knume (Knu) and Mule, who add their own novel perspective to each crisis that arises. And the most unorthodox member of the team is Frolbericheri Frol (Frol), with long, blonde hair and a chaotic, rough demeanor which seems deliberately designed to provoke.
They Were Eleven was released during a "golden age" of English anime localization in the Eighties. Compared, however, to the likes of Akira, it's more subdued approach to science fiction may have led to it languishing in obscurity, which is a tragedy. This is one of the better science fiction stories around, animated or otherwise. The somewhat primitive character animation and occasional moments of whimsy (largely due to Frol) can give the impression that this is a "kid's cartoon", but the story is clearly meant to appeal to adults. It is all about how fragile trust is among strangers and how some people (like King Mayan) tend to let their egos do the talking instead of logic, creating more problems than solutions. It's the kind of conceit featured in movies like The Thing or Reservoir Dogs. No one is sure who the imposter is, or even if the presence of a so-called "eleventh" member wasn't a part of the test in the first place. The whole test is dependent on unity, and that's fractured from the moment it seems like everything isn't going as planned. But what kind of test would it be if everything was predictable? Just how would that establish that these highly qualified candidates are anything more than just entitled academics? This group test is the real way to identify whether these strangers from various backgrounds can get along and work together or not. It is really a test of the assorted planets and peoples that comprise the space force; can they truly work in harmony, or is their "peace" all just a sham? And mature audiences can (and should) empathize with this idea. We see this kind of suspicion all around us every day of our lives, even if it is tempered by our creature comforts. Just take a look at how the news exploits our fear of war and uses politics to divide us. That same dynamic is at play in They Were Eleven, where characters rush to conclusions and cultivate echo chambers to reinforce their prejudices. Characters start breaking off into factions early on because there is a sense of comfort in being told what to do by someone who has charisma and the countenance of authority (like King Mayan), even if he clamps down on his bias like a toothless pit bull. His mistrust of Tada first rears its ugly head after Tada uses his ESP to try to see if someone is lying--a power King Mayan does not possess. He feels threatened, so he responds by pointing out that no one else can use ESP, so Tada might be the impostor. What King Mayan is doing is deflecting his feelings of inadequacy by diminishing Tada's gift in the eyes of everyone else. So despite the evidence, he feeds his bias and entices others to his point of view because he's just afraid, clinging to his outlook at the expense of objectivity. How often do we feel compelled to do this when someone wants to talk about politics or social issues with us? It makes us uncomfortable--unless you're the kind of person who enjoys making other people uncomfortable, that is. But all of this is a social convention that presents no real danger; the danger comes when people forget to put their "mission" first by instead allowing their biases to dictate their actions. They Were Eleven makes this inherent flaw in reasoning based on our innate desire for social acceptance all too painfully evident, because it is so easy to manipulate. Would you even know if you were being manipulated? You would have to become starkly aware of your prior errors in judgment. And even if you knew how wrong you were, would you be so quick to admit it? If not, that's your bias pulling your strings.
Recommended for: Fans of an inspired anime that tells a story of mistrust and deception among strangers that also makes fundamentally a mystery. They Were Eleven is an excellent anime from the early days of English localization, and should be seen both by aficionados of anime from that era and anyone who loves a good science fiction story. It also manages to deal with social issues like gender identity and social status in a serious and meaningful way by presenting them in a novel context.
They Were Eleven was released during a "golden age" of English anime localization in the Eighties. Compared, however, to the likes of Akira, it's more subdued approach to science fiction may have led to it languishing in obscurity, which is a tragedy. This is one of the better science fiction stories around, animated or otherwise. The somewhat primitive character animation and occasional moments of whimsy (largely due to Frol) can give the impression that this is a "kid's cartoon", but the story is clearly meant to appeal to adults. It is all about how fragile trust is among strangers and how some people (like King Mayan) tend to let their egos do the talking instead of logic, creating more problems than solutions. It's the kind of conceit featured in movies like The Thing or Reservoir Dogs. No one is sure who the imposter is, or even if the presence of a so-called "eleventh" member wasn't a part of the test in the first place. The whole test is dependent on unity, and that's fractured from the moment it seems like everything isn't going as planned. But what kind of test would it be if everything was predictable? Just how would that establish that these highly qualified candidates are anything more than just entitled academics? This group test is the real way to identify whether these strangers from various backgrounds can get along and work together or not. It is really a test of the assorted planets and peoples that comprise the space force; can they truly work in harmony, or is their "peace" all just a sham? And mature audiences can (and should) empathize with this idea. We see this kind of suspicion all around us every day of our lives, even if it is tempered by our creature comforts. Just take a look at how the news exploits our fear of war and uses politics to divide us. That same dynamic is at play in They Were Eleven, where characters rush to conclusions and cultivate echo chambers to reinforce their prejudices. Characters start breaking off into factions early on because there is a sense of comfort in being told what to do by someone who has charisma and the countenance of authority (like King Mayan), even if he clamps down on his bias like a toothless pit bull. His mistrust of Tada first rears its ugly head after Tada uses his ESP to try to see if someone is lying--a power King Mayan does not possess. He feels threatened, so he responds by pointing out that no one else can use ESP, so Tada might be the impostor. What King Mayan is doing is deflecting his feelings of inadequacy by diminishing Tada's gift in the eyes of everyone else. So despite the evidence, he feeds his bias and entices others to his point of view because he's just afraid, clinging to his outlook at the expense of objectivity. How often do we feel compelled to do this when someone wants to talk about politics or social issues with us? It makes us uncomfortable--unless you're the kind of person who enjoys making other people uncomfortable, that is. But all of this is a social convention that presents no real danger; the danger comes when people forget to put their "mission" first by instead allowing their biases to dictate their actions. They Were Eleven makes this inherent flaw in reasoning based on our innate desire for social acceptance all too painfully evident, because it is so easy to manipulate. Would you even know if you were being manipulated? You would have to become starkly aware of your prior errors in judgment. And even if you knew how wrong you were, would you be so quick to admit it? If not, that's your bias pulling your strings.
Recommended for: Fans of an inspired anime that tells a story of mistrust and deception among strangers that also makes fundamentally a mystery. They Were Eleven is an excellent anime from the early days of English localization, and should be seen both by aficionados of anime from that era and anyone who loves a good science fiction story. It also manages to deal with social issues like gender identity and social status in a serious and meaningful way by presenting them in a novel context.