So I literally did not give a shit about Mechsploitation until a little under 12 hours ago, when I was exposed to the above picture for the first time. For reasons unknown to man or beast, my brain immediately placed it in contrast to the below picture, which I had been exposed to some time previously.
And I am just. Fucking. FACINATED by the contrast in tone and assumption, on whether or not having the less humanoid mech is a good thing or a bad thing.
Above: Less humanoid mech has less stable pilot, more humanoid mech has more stable pilot. The less humanoid mech is disposable, expendable, dehumanized in the eyes of both commander above and enemy ahead. A pawn, a less even than a dog, an unusually expensive bullet you fire at the enemy and maybe get back in order to fire at the enemy a second time.
The more humanoid mech, in stark contrast, is vibrant and colorful and expressive and alive, ready to fight with everything it's got to give this story a happy ending, even if reality itself has to get punched in the face for that to happen. An idealist, one willing and able to stare a cruel and unjust world in the face and refuse to bend before it.
Their dynamic can be summarized by that one scene from Star Wars TCW, where the clone trooper says, "We're meant to be expendable" and the jedi unflinchingly and without a moment's hesitation replies, "Not to me."
And then the giant enemy flying battleship or whatever the fuck gets taken apart like a video game boss.
Below: Less humanoid mech has less fucked up pilot, more humanoid mech has more fucked up pilot. Technological sophistication and battlefield lethality come at a heavy cost to the fucked up pilot. Blurring the lines between flesh and metal to better end the lives of the foe, yet now the fragile creature of carbon and hydrogen is at risk of being devoured by the vaster edifice of steel and silicone.
And then you have this clunker, this junker, this outdated rust bucket. This bargain bin basic bitch "battlemech" that none the less has seen more war and emerged on top so far. And in that time, so too has it seen more love, not the love that leads to two humans mashing genitals together, but the love of a gearhead for their ride, of a hunter for their rifle, of a musician for their instrument. The kind of affection for the inanimate that gets an object dubbed "Ol' Reliable".
Their dynamic is that of a CAS fighter and a poor bloody infantryman, one staring up at the other in awe... Until the ace pilot gets shot down behind enemy lines, and right when it seems all is lost... They learn that this ground-pounder, this foot-slogger, this so called ally they never knew as anything but a voice on the other end of a radio and may not even remember saving one time or a hundred, has just DROPPED EVERYTHING and is now ON A RAMPAGE towards their location, whatever objective they were previously tasked with discarded in favor of a self-assigned rescue mission.
And then the Even More Fucked Up Rival who's mech resembles a flayed corpse for some ungodly reason takes a 105 millimeter shell to the face. Possibly followed by someone who by all rights SHOULD be cannon fodder shouting "Get away from her you BITCH!" on an open comms channel.
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