Five Pebbsi: Triple Affirmative

Introduction

It's very challenging—in my opinion, at least—to pinpoint what gives The Amazing Digital Circus its varying impressions: characters wholly unsatisfying to some, endlessly captivating to others. It is a character-driven show where the most are flattened or pushed to the side once they've had their "moment"—but it reaches people, who can see what Gooseworx didn't write. It is something I've noticed since the release of episode 3, where Kinger was touted to be a character brimming with depth. This sentiment moved to—and stuck to, as the series went on—Jax by episode 5, and talk of the show's "complex characters" goes on even now.

My rewatch, in an attempt to understand, brought a set of conclusions to me.

First: the show lacks anything beyond its characters. It attempts to be a serialized show predicated on, alongside its character arcs, a mystery regarding the circus itself and the "C&A" organization within its office building hellscape: how these two are related, how Caine fits into all of it, and what this means for the characters. But it is not a show that cares enough about saying something with its setting to develop it in the 5 hours it has.

And second: the show's appeal is a cultural one, angling at the typical fandom's¹ approach of understanding and communicating character without building what can be simplified. They gesture toward an archetype—make the decisions expected of them, give or receive the wise, conclusory words—without allowing the viewer to find the intended meaning themself.

I believe the best way to communicate this is going character by character, breaking them down to see how little they're made of, with some exceptions at the end to talk about some... misguided views this show has.

(Except for Caine. To be candid, I'm not really interested in looking into him. Maybe I will in the future, but in this post only his non-story presence will be addressed. Sorry.)

¹ This is not meant as an insult to a fan's enjoyment of a property. I'm happy that people continue to be as passionate as they are about the things they enjoy, but, at the same time, much of the positive dialogue around this show is something I think should be evaluated.

The Pilot: Establishing Roles, Attempting Form

(I'd like to point out now, before analysis starts, that I do think it's very cool of Glitch to fully caption every episode. It not only means I don't have to make a transcript, but it's a really nice accessibility feature.)

I would be willing to forgive the pilot for its rather blunt writing in isolation: this is when the characters are at their most undeveloped. It is the episode to establish what to expect of them surface-level—longer, if the show were episodic—though I believe how it introduces them is indicative of the show's later shortcomings when attempting depth.

Say, how is Kinger's relationship with bugs built up? Something that would certainly be important to him in keeping the memories he made with his wife?

Huh? Did someone say something about an insect collection? — Kinger, Episode 1, 2:53

An insect collection? — Kinger, Episode 1, 14:13

He mentions insect collections, arbitrarily, twice. It certainly forms an association between him and said insect collections, but its method is telling the audience directly, as if Gooseworx were sent an ask on Tumblr about whether Kinger liked bugs.

Kinger isn't the only character this happens to, though, if the most blatant. Ragatha's panicky demeanor that will later be seen in episode 5 is shown here when she talks to Pomni about why they've given up on looking for an exit:

Well, we usually do — when we first arrive. But after a while, you start to realize that you really can't leave, and constantly chasing an unattainable goal will start driving you a bit crazy. And eventually, you get to asking what the point of anything is, and you completely lose sight of who you are and why you're even alive. And when you reach your breaking point, something really terrible can happen. — Ragatha, Episode 1, 9:50

I don't believe it's stated in the show how long she's been in the circus—I've heard 9 years as the main circulated number, but I'm not going to acknowledge information Gooseworx puts out via Tumblr, Twitter, livestreams, etc, because that's explaining rather than writing—but it's implied to at least be multiple years:

We've been stuck here for years. — Jax, Episode 1, 2:48

From a character-writing perspective, this scene doesn't make much sense. It's being established that Ragatha has built up a persona of positivity to a fault—Gangle in a later episode states that she finds it difficult to tell when Ragatha is being genuine—but cannot talk about what is essentially a fact of their lives without a budding panic attack creeping into her dialogue?

This decision is put into perspective if its aim is understood to be reaching through the screen and telling the audience something directly. Ragatha exists in duality: a positive outside with a horribly anxious core. That is what this scene, succinctly and with little room for interpretation, says.

Zooble and Gangle don't get much focus in the pilot, only presenting traits for audience members to expect of them in later scenarios. The former is established as moody and quippy:

If anyone needs me, then [censored] off. — Zooble, Episode 1, 7:37

Hey! Kinger, you motherf— — Zooble, Episode 1, 17:20

Wha— No! God! — Zooble, Episode 1, 6:36

And the latter as having emotional issues:

They broke my comedy mask... — Gangle, Episode 1, 3:17

I hope he's not still mad at me for not laughing at his jokes. — Gangle, Episode 1, 13:23

Though, keep this mention of Kaufmo in mind. I'll get to him later.

The final two characters present the most uniquely in the pilot: Jax, who leans into the performance this writing insists on using as a character trait, and Caine, who defies much of this through being a caricature.

Jax is someone I'll get to later, since his situation is a bit complicated and requires the rest of the show to really explain. He's playing a character here, and, thus, can build intrigue—but the show's failure to execute is for his section.

Caine demonstrates precisely what this show could've been through making one of its elements very clear: The Amazing Digital Circus is extremely confident in its comedic delivery. It does not waver, which I commend it for—its humor, like its animation, is often quite good in my opinion. Caine's simplicity in this state means he is easy to understand, but the concept chosen for him, being an immensely powerful AI show host, results in a massive scope of jokes that can be told with him.

If the show were to lean into its strengths—perhaps commit to being the dark comedy it's labeled in the pilot's description—rather than attempt to use an archetypal cast that Gooseworx does not seem ready to bend, it would not have the character writing issues it does now. They would not have to subvert, because they would not have to be characters in the same way a narrative needs them to be.

The Amazing Digital Circus is a psychological dark comedy about cute cartoon characters who hate their lives and want to leave — Description of Episode 1

Equally so does the pilot establish an episodic formula that is confusingly handled. For each episode, the adventures are the bulk of their run-times. They are a vessel for jokes, or used to tell a more universal message (episode 4 is a good example of the latter). Rarely do the environments themselves say something about the characters—I believe episode 5 is the only instance of it—which, to me, is emblematic of cartoons from the 2010s, such as Steven Universe or The Amazing World of Gumball.

What allowed these shows to start telling stories, though, is their scope: Steven Universe was afforded five seasons, and The Amazing World of Gumball six. Their characters were well-established by the time something in their world changed for good. The Amazing Digital Circus has 9 episodes and, roughly, 5 hours to tell its story, meaning it can't afford to waste time. The pilot does an okay job at establishing threads to be followed, but do they ever go anywhere?

Kaufmo: Living In A Vacuum

Since Kaufmo really doesn't become relevant again until later, I'm going to bring him up now. The information we get about him doesn't challenge my argument, and it's easier to get him out of the way here.

What do we truly, actually know about Kaufmo? Ragatha brings up essentially the same thing as Gangle—that he told jokes, and was perhaps hurt by their less than positive reception—though mentions of him finding an "exit" are also here. The funeral is also silent. Is that really it?

...like when you called me out for fake-laughing at your jokes. I swear, I really did think they were funny. I was just having a bit of a bad day! — Ragatha, Episode 1, 11:48

This is where I'm going to begin referencing the leaked finale. I understand if not everyone is willing to believe the translation, but, in my opinion, much of it is written exactly how I would expect Gooseworx to handle the ending of her show.

I'm mad because you made him laugh and I didn't. — Kaufmo, Episode 9 Leak, 20:01

Look, I know we don't see eye to eye, but I think I found a way out of here. — Kaufmo, Episode 9 Leak, 30:19

...Jokes, and a way out of the circus. He's played his role by the end of the pilot, and nothing else is said about him.

The show does not care about Kaufmo, even if caring about him and what his life was like would strengthen the other characters. Ragatha doesn't get to talk specifics about what she liked about him, we don't get to learn why someone like Zooble—who presents very differently from her—was also friends with him, we never see him interact with Gangle or Kinger. They got along because Pomni needed to understand the message of the show: people have to be there for each other in difficult times.

(Addendum: I forgot about the "meaning in a stagnant life" thing. That's also definitely there, but the above sentiment is certainly a message the show is also trying to push.)

These characters are not people. They don't get to develop into anything inside the show, because Gooseworx doesn't know how to hint at a past. So Kaufmo tells us exactly who he is, and nothing more.

Gangle: A Ribbon on Top

Both Gangle and Zooble, relatively, don't get very much attention. Gangle herself is only afforded the idea of an abuse story: someone who is tormented and extorted in some way (though presumed to be sexually so, considering her interests) such that she implies she no longer views herself as a person.

You're a human. You're not his toy. — Zooble, Episode 6, 14:42

It sometimes doesn't feel that way. — Gangle, Episode 6, 14:48

She doesn't get any sort of retort to or apology from Jax, someone who's presumed to have hurt her in this way for years. Episode 8 turns her, like every other member of the circus, into the resilient victims that Jax needs to keep from abstracting.

He's right, though. ... It doesn't matter what could've happened. We could argue about it and hurt each other all day long, but that's not gonna help anybody. I think... what we need to do now... is to just be there for each other. — Gangle, Episode 8, 6:38

In the finale, she's given a hint of something with one line that never gets expanded on:

Why can't I cry for him? — Gangle, Episode 9 Leak, 8:17

Because she does cry for him. Everyone does. It is a tragic fact when he abstracts. This aspect of Gangle sends one very particular message: the moral decision is to forgive your abuser when circumstances are dire. But what about the masks? Is there a message with those?

No, not really. Not specific to her, at least.

The audience has to be told she's manic, for some reason:

It's called a manic episode, and you're gettin three more seasons! — Gangle, Episode 4, 5:08

Alongside being told she was a shift manager in the past:

Being a shift manager was my job at one point. — Gangle, Episode 4, 3:53

And this episode seems to be more focused on the other mask she gets, which, despite being tied to her mania verbally, though dialogue, more aptly represents the "work face" people at those sorts of dead-end jobs put on for the sake of keeping their employment. It doesn't come up again, so I really can't reasonably tie it to any of her emotional issues.

The comedy mask seems like, largely, a source of physical comedy. Jax is often the one to break it, which is fair enough—it could've been something like an optimistic outlook if it were meant to be a symbol, something that an abuser can break over and over again—but judging by the expression she makes under it in episode 6, I think they use this to do bits enough of the time that it's hard to view as a true symbol.

Aside from the Jax half of her character, I think Gangle's meant to be a story about following your passions rather than succumbing to the slog of everyday life, finding fulfillment internally and through your close relationships rather than externally.

They sort of do that—Zooble and Gangle's friendship/relationship is, to me, the most believable out of those in the circus—but Gooseworx couldn't help herself and gave the "real" Gangle a happy ending anyway. Circus Gangle smiles, because the "real" her happened to realize her dreams off-screen. It doesn't send a good message, whichever the intent: you will realize your dreams if you keep at it, or you have to if you want to be fulfilled.

So, Gangle herself falls flat. What archetype does she fill in my argument, then?

I say she isn't meant to be a character on her lonesome. Her value comes from what she provides to the others: someone to abuse for Jax, to put more distance between him and the others,

Do it, or I'll tell Ragatha about the figurine thing. — Jax, Episode 2, 7:58

encourage for Ragatha, while acknowledging her flaw,

Oh, Ragatha. I love her, but... after a while, it gets kind of hard to tell how genuine she's actually being. — Gangle, Episode 4, 16:30

Your instructions helped me a lot. — Gangle, Episode 5, 22:18

give reprieve for Pomni, so she can deliver The Wise Words That Comfort Someone,

You know... I can close for you, if you want. — Pomni, Episode 4, 18:37

and aid in Kinger's comedic relief in the earlier episodes.

We saw a gloink carry one of Zooble's pieces down there, remember? — Gangle, Episode 1, 12:58

Oh, yeah. Thank you for the recap. — Kinger, Episode 1, 13:02

Zooble is really the only exception to this, since the only thing they truly have is each other. But, on closer inspection, their relationship on-screen is mostly

Zooble: Hollow Platitudes

Okay, that's mean-spirited. They do have the most background interactions that actually build up their dynamic, but their relationship doesn't get much focus because Zooble doesn't get much focus. And they don't need to: the two only need enough to speculate what they'd be like, the woobie and her protector.

(A note: I'm aware of Zooble using any pronouns. However, for this post, I will exclusively use they/them, as a) that's what the show does and b) I believe it helps make things more clear with how many characters are spoken about here.)

The first time the show gives them proper attention is in episode 3, when Caine attempts to "get to the bottom of [their] behavioral problems":

I hate this body. I hate all these stupid removable pieces. I just want to find something that feels... good. — Zooble, Episode 3, 10:46

This, paired with the mirror imagery in episode 8, is a rather obvious parallel to being trans and the dysphoria that often comes with it.

I'm not going to claim Gooseworx is completely unequipped to handle this—she has a closeness to the topic that most others won't ever experience—but her portrayal of the subject is rather cursory and bland to me. Zooble hates their body, but seems to come to terms with it off-screen. It was an issue important enough to them to be nested in their first line:

Welcome to your new home. And your new body. — Zooble, Episode 1, 2:39

But, by episode 7—after years of the struggle, with the only recent change being Pomni's, or the audience's, arrival—they come to terms with it in such a way that their suffering doesn't have to be seen.

I've been starting to think that maybe the ability to change is fine. Not needing to commit to one thing all the time. ... And if I DO still have problems, I talk about them with the people I trust. — Zooble, Episode 7, 4:44

I would attempt to analyze this conclusion—Are they genderfluid? Have they learned to make the best of it simply because there's no other option? How exactly do they cope with the seeming dysphoria that they had? Did it go away as they started to reach acceptance?—but I can't make any conclusions strongly supported by the text, because the text could support anything.

Making people assume details about a character arc will usually lead them to fill in the gaps with concepts they favor. It's clever, but it isn't writing.

Zooble does successfully fill two other roles, though: "indie shows having representation," and acting as a comfort surrogate to the aforementioned woobie, while her pain matters. Not only goes Gooseworx publicly support the idea of Abstragedy:

But a post-credits scene during the finale shows what is presumably Gangle and Zooble having... sex? Pseudo-sex? Something intimate of that sort.

Gangle and Zooble, archetypically, are characters that many queer people can relate to: the former, like many of us, has interests that are considered "weird" or "cringe" by the general public and is put down for it by Jax, and the latter's entire story is a(n attempted) metaphor for gender dysphoria.

I don't think this is meant to be queerbaiting. They're not given enough screen time to do so, and that decision itself is, to me, more rooted in misogyny than homophobia or exploitation of a queer fanbase. What I can say is that they fulfill a very particular archetype popular in young, queer fandoms: the hurt and the comfort, where one suffers and the other wills it away.

How are you supposed to like the part of yourself that just... makes you worse than everyone else? — Gangle, Episode 6, 15:07

'Cause it exists. It's a part of you that's real, and the only you that you should care about is the real you. — Zooble, Episode 6, 15:18

I don't think I have to explain why the veneer of authentic queer love would draw people in.

Kinger: They have two daughters together.

Kinger presents as a polar opposite to Gangle's continual expressions of pain: he, much like Zooble, eases the suffering of other despite issues of his own that, considering the circumstances, are likely unresolved to a degree.

In fact, Kinger and Zooble are quite similar in that their issues are hardly taken seriously by the show. The difference is that what Kinger presents is a disability—a neurodegenerative disease, more specifically.

His presence serves two purposes: to be funny, or to help the rest of the cast, whether through (if I am to be honest, awfully rehearsed) monologues or blatant exposition. Both can be seen in the second episode quite clearly through an interaction with Jax,

Uh, hey, Kinger, is that rope attached to anything? — Jax, Episode 2, 8:27

Uhhhh. I don't know. Let me check. — Kinger, Episode 2, 8:30

and, later, with Ragatha.

... I don't think she really likes me that much. — Ragatha, Episode 2, 19:22

It's a lot for anybody to go through. Don't take it too personally. I remember how long it took for you to adjust. — Kinger, Episode 2, 19:25

What's more important when speaking about Kinger as a character, though, is this:

The show brings it up later, that Kinger's memories largely come back to him when in darkness. Attempting to pin down what exactly he represents when involving this fact unveils a massive problem: he doesn't quite represent anything, with flip-flopping symptoms.

Most of his general confusion is reminiscent of Alzheimer's disease, where examples can be pulled of him forgetting what's going on moments after it happened,

We saw a gloink carry one of Zooble's pieces down there, remember? — Gangle, Episode 1, 12:58

Oh, yeah. Thank you for the recap. — Kinger, Episode 1, 13:02

failing to remember how rock-paper-scissors works,

stopping in the middle of sentences without reason,

You know, I'm starting to think... — Kinger, Episode 3, 6:29

being significantly more startle-able, likely out of sudden confusion,

My comedy mask is broken again. — Gangle, Episode 1, 9:15

Gah! Oh! Gangle, you startled me. — Kinger, Episode 1, 9:19

and withdrawing socially from others.

But, to acknowledge these as symptoms, they would have to be seen as slivers of truth through the show's joking demeanor surrounding his difficulty in understanding his surroundings. Alzheimer's is also a progressive disease, meaning Kinger's long, predictable moments of lucidity don't fit into its criteria.

I've heard people call this aspect of Kinger wholly unrealistic—I myself thought of it that way for a while—but there is a disease that involves flare-ups of symptoms followed by periods of relative normalcy: Relapsing Multiple Sclerosis, or RMS.

After being alerted of the disease's capacity to wane as Kinger's does, I went to investigate its other symptoms—

Numbness or tingling, Lhermitte sign, lack of coordination ... weakness, partial or complete loss of vision ... vertigo ... fatigue, slurred speech, troubles with memory, thinking, and understanding information, mood changes. — Mayo Clinic, "Multiple sclerosis - Symptoms and causes"

—but he only aligns with the memory and thinking aspect. With this disorder out of the question, I believe he becomes lucid in darkness for a much more insidious reason: to be useful. For the rest of the show, Kinger's two halves will be valued in this way, the "crazy," "insane," unhelpful and zany half used for humor, and the "real," "less crazy," valuable half that tells them what they need to know and gets them back on their feet.

My language may seem hyperbolic to some, but the show is certainly not afraid to use its more compassionate characters when weighing his value this way:

If we leave and we go back to the circus... you're just gonna go back to being crazy. — Pomni, Episode 3, 21:23

He's got a lot of wisdom buried in there, doesn't he? — Ragatha, Episode 7, 21:43

Wait, the bucket makes him sane? — Zooble, Episode 8, 18:44

The final lines of dialogue in episode 3—an episode heavily focused on Kinger—solidify to me that the show itself wasn't ready to handle the effect this kind of disease can have on a person. He's called a "nutcase," and Pomni doesn't push back despite what she's heard. We know she's capable of it, she's plenty quippy and sarcastic throughout the adventure, but she doesn't care because the show doesn't care. It doesn't respect people with neurodegenerative diseases.

That, and they put a bucket on his head to extract information from him. I don't think I have to lay out what's disrespectful about putting a bucket on "the crazy's" head to make him "useful."

The only tragedy that does get acknowledged is the death of his wife—something I'm sure still hurts him—though both it and his disorder are turned into sanitized messages for the audience:

Good memories can do a lot. Hold onto them. And cherish the people around you. You never know when they'll be gone. — Kinger, Episode 3, 20:21

This is where his actual purpose lies. He was of the first batch, more versed in the birth of the circus than the rest, older than the rest. He is wise and doesn't force others to concern themselves with his problems, only tending to theirs. The father of the group.

How the finale went only supports this idea, with Kinger's moments of focus being another talk with Pomni,

In times like these, they'll need someone like you the most. You're very strong, Pomni. And I know you'll get through this. — Kinger, Episode 9 Leak, 5:06

and learning that his "real" self had kids with his living wife.

They have two daughters together. He seems like a good father. — Narrator(?), Episode 9 Leak, 50:43

He's less directly in service to other characters because he has something on-screen, but it's not enough to dissuade the idea that he exists to be the perfect, selfless father of their "found family," should audience members look at the circus that way.

Ragatha: Spoonfed Relatability/A ragdoll.

Ragatha as a character is much akin to the appeal of episode 4: a story that's easy to latch onto as a result of its simplicity. The less details to remove when relating the ideas to yourself, the easier it is to say the two—the fiction and the real—are similar. To an extent, this applies to every character in this show, but it's especially prevalent with Ragatha.

There are very few explicit details regarding her mother, all told through the bluntly-stated dialogue this show tends to employ.

I'm sure she doesn't miss me. I certainly don't miss the yelling... and the berating... and guilt-tripping... — Ragatha, Episode 5, 14:30

Though, I will commend the show for Ragatha's "torture sequence" in episode 8. It's a good example of audience speculation: it recontextualizes a previously innocuous character detail without explicitly saying what happened, leaving the specifics of the incident unknown and frightening. The rest of them are horribly confused or unsubtle, so I'm glad one of them did something.

Otherwise, her abuse story's up to viewer interpretation. All we really know is that it led her to being an anxious people-pleaser who overextends herself for others.

This aspect of Ragatha is certainly meant to appeal to the viewers who, in one way or another, relate to her mentality. It's important enough to allow Kinger a "dad monologue" comforting her in episode 6:

It sounds to me like you put a lot of pressure on yourself to be there for everyone, and when you're not, you beat yourself up for it. ... Giving someone space should never be the same as giving up on them. — Kinger, Episode 6, 19:12

These moments—the suffering and reprieve that are grandiose, with music stingers and abstract visuals—are what the first half of the title refers to. Much of Ragatha's inner world is fed to the audience this way, though these moments are the only ones to truly belong to her. The rest of her character is dedicated to Pomni, and, both directly and by proxy, to Jax.

Ragatha spent her human life getting abused by her mother, and now she's in the circus, getting abused by Jax. One of these things is given the weight of a shadowed figure—a looming presence throughout her life—while the other amounts to comic violence.

We know the circus allows them to feel the pain of these things. Zooble brings up various acts of violence Jax has committed in episode 7:

There's that time you ran me over with a steam roller. The time you pushed Gangle into a pool of piranhas. When you set me on fire, mailed me a pipe bomb, threw me into an active volcano. I could go on. — Zooble, Episode 7, 4:21

But Ragatha never gets any kind of comeuppance. She's part of a cycle—one of many women that Jax did, and would've continued to abuse. Pomni was hurt by him in the same episode Ragatha called out exactly what he was doing:

You know, getting close with Pomni... to corrupt her? — Ragatha, Episode 6, 13:26

This is also the only scene where she properly defends herself from an act of violence against him. The show doesn't take it seriously, though. The music cuts out when he questions her, and she herself begins to doubt the claim before being killed by a now enraged Jax who quickly continues his "bonding" with Pomni.

They have the occasional conversation beyond this point, mostly about or in the presence of others, and don't get a chance to resolve anything until Jax has abstracted. A "we're still close friends," and a hug.

It's a shame, how little recovery she gets compared to how much of her screen time it spent in conflict with what the show tells us is her closest friend because of her most recent abuser. Even worse, the show tells us to sympathize with him, despite his proof that he'll continue to hurt women in the way we see him hurt them.

Really, it's hard to talk about Ragatha on her own in non-simple terms, because her story is so simplistic. She's abused, and she gets better. It doesn't try to speak to victims of abuse—especially those who dealt with their abuser long-term, whether living with or otherwise seeing them often. Once Jax is out of the picture, her recovery is as simple as a happy montage.

Pomni: By Women/For Men

The final three characters are a bit complicated to talk about. Two of them lean into their roles, and are almost something because of it, while the third has arguably the most complex appeal. Pomni, as the main character—that is how she is framed, even if untrue in practice—is predicated more so than everyone else on how she changes throughout the story. The impact she makes on others, the impact they have on her.

This is mostly accomplished through a "focus scene": Pomni is afforded a chance to talk, individually, with the character she's meant to help. Most episodes showcase this in some way—Gummigoo in episode 2,

Y-you still care about your buddies up there, don't you? I'm sure they still care about you. — Pomni, Episode 2, 15:48

Gangle in episode 4 (sort of),

You don't have to be stuck here alone. I can handle closing. — Pomni, Episode 4, 18:46

Ragatha in episode 5.

I think we all need to be a jerk sometimes. — Pomni, Episode 5, 20:30

The only exceptions are episode 3—so Kinger can serve his purpose comfort her after the overall quite stressful adventure—and episode 8—because characters are very infrequently alone with one another.

Her dynamics with most of the cast are similar: she helps them, in one way or another. They're all people that can get through what Caine throws at them, with the support of each other. The only person she gets to engage uniquely with—the person she chooses to seek out—is Jax.

She doesn't engage with him at first, when he starts choosing to talk about the "shortcomings" of others with her:

Can you believe this, Pomni? First she draws anime. Now she drags us all into one. She must be one of them, uh... losers. — Jax, Episode 5, 6:52

You threw me out of a moving truck. — Pomni, Episode 5, 7:02

But this is quick to change, as he expresses a singular, potential vulnerability. She's now willing to entertain his pessimism,

Doesn't she get on your nerves sometimes? — Jax, Episode 5, 8:50

I mean, she's nice to everyone. — Pomni, Episode 5, 8:53

and is eventually engaging in banter with him.

Also, she's dumb and she looks weird. — Jax, Episode 5, 9:18

Eh, I think we all look weird. — Pomni, Episode 5, 9:20

In this same episode, a divide is created between Pomni and Ragatha. He's the one to do it—him and the show, which compares Ragatha's sometimes ill-placed yet consistently well-meaning support to his bitterness that keeps him separated from the rest of the circus. Jax's mal-intent is weighed as a misstep, and Ragatha is to apologize for her outburst at the sight and Pomni's defense of it.

This is where the show's misogyny is unveiled. The fissure between them cannot mend while Jax is present, because Pomni is susceptible to his schemes. Once they're alone together, he minimizes the importance of relationships,

We're still people though, right? — Pomni, Episode 6, 10:11

I thought we were at first, but as time goes on, we just end up falling into our archetypes. — Jax, Episode 6, 10:14

the humanity of the others,

Ragatha's the cheerful one, Gangle's the sad one, Kinger's the crazy one, Zooble's the grumpy one ... — Jax, Episode 6, 10:42

the harm either of them could cause on this adventure alone.

Ragatha tries to be all nice and friendly, but she gets torn up every other adventure. Whether we like it or not, all we are now is a bunch of cartoon characters. So what's the point of pretending we're not? — Jax, Episode 6, 9:56

After he's done separating her, he puts her in his shoes: framing his decision to separate as an act of free will,

I at least have the self-awareness to choose who I am. — Jax, Episode 6, 10:54

showing her the selfish good in hurting others,

You wanna finally work off those weeks of rage and anguish that have been buildin' up inside you? — Jax, Episode 6, 11:05

and, most importantly, acting like he's empathizing with her plight.

I know you hate it here. Everyone does. But the silver lining is you can pretty much do whatever you want. — Jax, Episode 6, 11:12

The result? Pomni hurts people. She takes a measure of joy in taunting and shooting the people she referred to this same episode as her friends.

In a better show, this rather brilliant scene would've been acknowledged as what it is: the corruption of a woman at the hands of a man, only possible because he's taken interest and only perpetuated because he has too little inhibition to stop.

This is shown to affect Ragatha rather substantially—her and Kinger's focus scene revolves around the fear that she pushed Pomni away—but they make up off-screen. After Pomni is gaslit and told exactly what she feared would happen is happening—

I don't even remember her name, honestly. — "Jax," Episode 2, 1:04

I'd move on. And probably forget about you. — Jax, Episode 6, 28:07

—she chases after him anyway. She continues to reach out to him:

Wait. Don't you want to come with us? — Pomni, Episode 7, 9:46

Jax? Everything's gonna be okay. — Pomni, Episode 7, 23:38

Even after he proved he would keep them trapped in the circus given the situation were real, she extends an olive branch anyway, minimizing what he's done for him:

We've all done bad things. But we're also all we've got. — Pomni, Episode 8, 7:05

Much akin to Gangle's forgiveness being portrayed as moral, Pomni's words are taken as the best approach to the situation at hand. This ignores the very real truth that staying in contact with an abuser who has not shown the resolve to change and trying to "fix" them is dangerous.

They merchandised this idea, too.

Even if they're cheeky about it—

Look at him, he's just waiting for someone to come along and save him. Maybe that person should be you. Maybe you should invest all your emotional energy, hopes, and dreams into it. — Glitch Productions Store

—the fact that this mentality has and will continue to harm people does not change.

The finale only worsens things. Pomni gets to see Jax abuse another woman, driving her to abstraction. She sees what seem to be fantasies of his, making caricatures out of the other circus members—including Pomni herself, stating exactly what she's tried to do since episode 7. What does she do, when the real Jax is in front of her?

She hugs him, and doesn't let go, even when his last moments are spent spouting insults:

I hate you. Did you know? You always have to complicate everything [for] me. — Jax, Episode 9 Leak, 33:55

She "fixed" him. Because she—the audience—got to see enough suffering for the consequences of his abuse to be waived. For him to be "changed" enough to like.

Jax: Absolution in Suffering/To Have your Cake and Eat it Too

Jax, with my preamble, is quite simple. He is the quintessential duality that fandom employs when wanting to like an abusive (usually male) character: he hurts people, but he suffers.

He was implied to kill his mother, but she mistreated him. He drove Ribbit to abstraction, but she "forced" him to be vulnerable. He batters and continues to batter Ragatha, but she hurt his feelings a while ago. He buddied up with Pomni only to throw it in her face later, but she reminded him of what it was like to be friends with Ribbit.

Most of his harm is still unprovoked, of course. He finds joy in hurting Ragatha specifically such that it's something he says completely unprompted:

... if we ever do anything even close to that again, I'm getting violent, and I'm going to kill Ragatha. — Jax, Episode 5, 2:10

And, as the show makes sure to tell us, his fear of vulnerability is intense enough to push everyone away through these means. I've elaborated on many of them already, so I don't feel the need to do so here. Instead, I would like to focus this section on the finale's presentation and how Jax is, in the show's eyes, absolved.

Most of the runtime that is not dedicated to Caine is given, directly or indirectly, to him. He abstracts immediately, off-screen, and we're made to watch the people he's hurt mourn him. Pomni, once again, seeks him out. She sees the heinous facets of his personality we've observed: the comic violence, tendency toward this violence specifically directed at women, and... the maid outfit.

I would like to address Jax's relationship with gender here. It is a topic of heated debate, but, within the confines of the show, I would say implications of transness are limited to this, in the finale:

Much of what is used as evidence more adequately serves a narrative of fragile masculinity and desperate vies for control. The... maid dress, which I have seen as a major piece of evidence, ignores the fact that the garment is very clearly sexual in its design. Jax is being sexualized against his will.

I see two possibilities for why the misogynistic Jax is wearing it here. Gooseworx wanted to put him in the outfit again because she finds it attractive—which is strange—or his anger at the maid dress was meant to be a sign that he desires femininity but does not want the vulnerability that comes with embracing it publicly—which completely ignores its sexual design.

My inclination (and, to be frank, hope) is toward the former, considering the implications of the latter much resemble the talking points used to justify sexual assault: he'll like it eventually. He wants it.

His tail is often brought up as well, but the episode after he discovers its absence—the episode most full of him abusing women—it's returned. He's regained his "peak male performance" now that he has someone else at his side he can harm.

Any other substantial argument, to me, is backed by off-screen content, such as him holding a bottle of progesterone. I've already stated why these things will not be acknowledged.

What is backed by the text is a fragile sense of masculinity, both through his torture sequence truly confirming his fears of humiliation and, by proxy, vulnerability,

and the finale revealing his father wasn't a particularly good role model for him:

He never seemed very proud of me. I always felt I was a huge disappointment to him. I could never meet his expectations. — Jax, Episode 9 Leak, 22:31

When I showed weakness, I was less of a man than him. And when I lashed out, I was just as bad as him. — Jax, Episode 9 Leak, 22:57

His mother was his first victim. Not intentionally, it seems—and he very clearly regrets the act—but it didn't wound him enough to stop him from driving another woman to death.

Pomni sees all of this. Jax has been forced into a state of absolute vulnerability. But the abuser is the appeal—

I hate you. Did you know? You always have to complicate everything [for] me. — Jax, Episode 9 Leak, 33:55

—and even in his second moment of vulnerability, he doesn't yield. He can't yield. The show wants to revel in the hurt he deals while forgiving him, and it doesn't respect his victims enough to acknowledge just how hurt they were. So he abstracts.

What else was there to do but kill him once he's achieved everything the show wanted? Just as everyone else gets a montage, he gets a tent to live in—now a walking corpse, a sign of his suffering.

Conclusion

I would wager around half the reason I wrote this is self-serving: I find the show's method of gaining popularity—the archetypes, its turns to the audience—very fascinating as someone who, ultimately, wasn't charmed. Its characters were simplistic to me by the time I sat down to watch it, and, despite the appealing animation and humor that could occasionally get to me, its writing was something that pushed me away.

The Amazing Digital Circus had an opportunity to be simple. Lean into its comedic aspects, with messages approached more like episode 4's general statement about minimum wage jobs and how they shouldn't crush your dreams. Even with everything I've written, there are still jokes that I enjoy. Those stuck with me more than any of Kinger's speeches.

Of course, knowing who Gooseworx is and what Glitch is like, I wouldn't want either of them to have any more resources than they already do unless they can sort themselves out. But it's still a shame that a show with a very real appeal—an unrealized appeal, that got canned as it went on—had to suffer for its creator wanting something she wasn't ready to execute.

The other reason I wrote this, and the one that got me to start, is much simpler: I want people to look closer at what their media is saying, and how it goes about saying it. There are good snippets of writing that this show offers. I was startled by the scene between Jax and Pomni in episode 6—part of me is convinced it's one of the scenes with the most attention given to it, with how particular its dialogue is. The show's larger themes, though, were something that went unexamined by a staggering amount of people.

I don't blame them. I'm not going to be mad at them, either—there are plenty of young people in the fandom, listening to YouTube videos that tell them how "deep" Jax's vulnerability issues are. It almost fooled me too. It's also not my place to "forgive" them. I'm not the one they hurt.