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Writing: Conduct Unbecoming
11 years ago
“Rainbow Falls” is the first episode since “Wonderbolts Academy” to feature the Wonderbolts in general and Spitfire in particular. Otherwise an acceptable but not strong installment, its storyline crashes and burns on the same problem that torpedoed the previous Wonderbolts outing.
Spitfire and Fleetfoot simply do not act like mature, experienced military officers. In fact, a real-world field-grade or general officer (in an organization of good quality) who behaved in like fashion immediately would be hauled up on charges before a board of inquiry and possibly a court-martial. The charge in question is, in United States military parlance, “conduct unbecoming of an officer and a gentleman”—or lady, in this case. British wording for the same offense is similar, though not identical. In both cases, military slang shortens the phrase to “conduct unbecoming”.
The reason for this is simple. Part of military training for all ranks, and even more for officers, is to instill a strong and consistent code of morals and ethics. One may quibble over some aspects of that code, but it exists and is critical to the success of the service in question. The widespread belief, fostered by Hollywood, that military officers are bloodthirty barbarians with no moral compass rests on the flawed assumption that any such code must rise from the same foundation as the social contract of the civilian world. In fact the two must be, and are, utterly different: War is the most extreme activity any society can undertake, with uniquely harsh but vitally necessary imperatives and requirements. (This, incidentally, is one reason why military personnel, especially those who engaged in frequent combat for long periods, often experience difficulties reintegrating into civilian life.)
A military officer is responsible both for the individual fates of the personnel under his or her authority and very possibly for the fates of nations. Balancing one against the other in wartime is an agonizing ongoing process, often with mere minutes or seconds in which to make decisions great or small, on little or no (or even faulty) information. At the same time, while patriotism or other abstract motivations may have led one into donning the uniform, what keeps the same person going in the cauldron of battle is loyalty of a very personal sort—the need to keep faith with one’s comrades because everyone’s lives and, perhaps more importantly, victory and the survival of one’s country depend on it. In short, every instinct in Spitfire and Fleetfoot should impel their behavior toward Soarin’ to be exactly the opposite of what it was in the episode.
The military code has been refined and tempered in that cauldron over the millennia of recorded history. Details vary from nation to nation and service to service, but the broad outlines remain generally the same—and that is the answer also to any objection based on the observation that brightly colored magical ponies might be different from hairless apes. While true, it overlooks two facts: First, that war and combat would impose the same strains and urgencies, and require the same personal and institutional responses, regardless of species; second, that pony society has been shaped by the writers to resemble human society, mostly to ease storytelling for themselves and their young primary audience.
Allowing active-duty military officers to participate in an athletic festival, particularly representing a civil municipality, is shaky, but can be justified by invoking “ponies have different traditions”. The same can be said of allowing an individual to participate in only one event, especially with the justification that said rule encourages participation by as many ponies (or, apparently, griffons) as possible, which comports well with the Equestrian ethos.
So, again, the question legitimately may be raised: “How would you do it, smarty-pants?” The answer in this case is simpler than for “Wonderbolts Academy” and apparently has occurred independently to others. Instead of the Wonderbolts, the Cloudsdale team should have been foalhood friends of Rainbow Dash—perhaps fellow alumni of the Junior Speedsters, as was Gilda in “Griffon the Brush-off”. Not only would it avoid the whole tangle of involving military personnel in a dubious ethical and legal situation, it would heighten Dash’s test of loyalty by making it a good deal more personal: Which cherished friends does she support, and which does she leave aside?
If retaining Wonderbolts as characters is absolutely necessary, make them junior officers—second lieutenants (nicknamed “butter bars” in US military slang for their single gold-colored rank bars). There are several storytelling benefits to this tack: They are closer to Dash’s age and therefore more like peers—and would be of the rank she would hold upon Academy graduation. They are young and therefore more likely to engage in brash borderline behavior, and it could have been an opportunity to show them being chewed out or an ominous hint of disciplinary action for their improper behavior.
. . . And why did the winner of Manehattan Fashion Week design an athletic uniform that looks like a tablecloth?
Spitfire and Fleetfoot simply do not act like mature, experienced military officers. In fact, a real-world field-grade or general officer (in an organization of good quality) who behaved in like fashion immediately would be hauled up on charges before a board of inquiry and possibly a court-martial. The charge in question is, in United States military parlance, “conduct unbecoming of an officer and a gentleman”—or lady, in this case. British wording for the same offense is similar, though not identical. In both cases, military slang shortens the phrase to “conduct unbecoming”.
The reason for this is simple. Part of military training for all ranks, and even more for officers, is to instill a strong and consistent code of morals and ethics. One may quibble over some aspects of that code, but it exists and is critical to the success of the service in question. The widespread belief, fostered by Hollywood, that military officers are bloodthirty barbarians with no moral compass rests on the flawed assumption that any such code must rise from the same foundation as the social contract of the civilian world. In fact the two must be, and are, utterly different: War is the most extreme activity any society can undertake, with uniquely harsh but vitally necessary imperatives and requirements. (This, incidentally, is one reason why military personnel, especially those who engaged in frequent combat for long periods, often experience difficulties reintegrating into civilian life.)
A military officer is responsible both for the individual fates of the personnel under his or her authority and very possibly for the fates of nations. Balancing one against the other in wartime is an agonizing ongoing process, often with mere minutes or seconds in which to make decisions great or small, on little or no (or even faulty) information. At the same time, while patriotism or other abstract motivations may have led one into donning the uniform, what keeps the same person going in the cauldron of battle is loyalty of a very personal sort—the need to keep faith with one’s comrades because everyone’s lives and, perhaps more importantly, victory and the survival of one’s country depend on it. In short, every instinct in Spitfire and Fleetfoot should impel their behavior toward Soarin’ to be exactly the opposite of what it was in the episode.
The military code has been refined and tempered in that cauldron over the millennia of recorded history. Details vary from nation to nation and service to service, but the broad outlines remain generally the same—and that is the answer also to any objection based on the observation that brightly colored magical ponies might be different from hairless apes. While true, it overlooks two facts: First, that war and combat would impose the same strains and urgencies, and require the same personal and institutional responses, regardless of species; second, that pony society has been shaped by the writers to resemble human society, mostly to ease storytelling for themselves and their young primary audience.
Allowing active-duty military officers to participate in an athletic festival, particularly representing a civil municipality, is shaky, but can be justified by invoking “ponies have different traditions”. The same can be said of allowing an individual to participate in only one event, especially with the justification that said rule encourages participation by as many ponies (or, apparently, griffons) as possible, which comports well with the Equestrian ethos.
So, again, the question legitimately may be raised: “How would you do it, smarty-pants?” The answer in this case is simpler than for “Wonderbolts Academy” and apparently has occurred independently to others. Instead of the Wonderbolts, the Cloudsdale team should have been foalhood friends of Rainbow Dash—perhaps fellow alumni of the Junior Speedsters, as was Gilda in “Griffon the Brush-off”. Not only would it avoid the whole tangle of involving military personnel in a dubious ethical and legal situation, it would heighten Dash’s test of loyalty by making it a good deal more personal: Which cherished friends does she support, and which does she leave aside?
If retaining Wonderbolts as characters is absolutely necessary, make them junior officers—second lieutenants (nicknamed “butter bars” in US military slang for their single gold-colored rank bars). There are several storytelling benefits to this tack: They are closer to Dash’s age and therefore more like peers—and would be of the rank she would hold upon Academy graduation. They are young and therefore more likely to engage in brash borderline behavior, and it could have been an opportunity to show them being chewed out or an ominous hint of disciplinary action for their improper behavior.
. . . And why did the winner of Manehattan Fashion Week design an athletic uniform that looks like a tablecloth?
If I may offer a theory, the whole thing smells of a setup - yet another test of RD's character by the Wonderbolts. Perhaps they have intentions of fast-tracking her induction to the group but want to prove the state of her maturity (to themselves and others).
Secondly, I have suspicions that Equestria really hasn't had a full-scale military engagement in over a thousand years - perhaps longer. There seems to be the notion that the country needs a military, but we almost never see them in anything but a ceremonial capacity. The princesses' skills as diplomats and control over day and night itself may have led to some atrophy of military tradition since the time of...whoever those characters Dash and Fluttershy played in the Hearthswarming Eve pageant.
Whether, and to what degree, Equestria has experienced war is an open question, granted. There are hints the ponies are not complete strangers to the idea, but no evidence for any armed struggles on more than a purely local peacekeeping level (pirates and raiders et alii). My headcanon assumes there’s been some military history, if not as much as the real world, enough to keep Equestria’s forces from getting flabby.
Dash played
CommanderGeneral Hurricane and Shy played Private Pansy.Shaky? no more shaky than allowing the collegiate army and navy football teams to compete against civilian football teams.
I agree with the Conduct Unbecoming charge. These Wonderbolts are an Equestrian equivalent of the Blue Angels naval aircraft drill team. There is no place for a lie in their mouths. and yet, they seem to lie to get what ever they feel they need. They are acting more like Shadowbolts (if we can assume that Nightmare Moon's team would not hesitate about such things) than Wonderbolts.
I think they are souring the whole wonder of their team, and RD may not be so interested in the Liarbolts.
my $.02