SIX Chapter I Elita One/ Blackarachnia: The Gambler :Author’s Note
I wrote SIX and its predecessor Heroic Nonsense out of a spirit of rebellion. In some ways, I like Transformers: Animated. I appreciate its realism and its fresh take on my familiar characters. But after watching it, I felt an intense urge to argue with the writers. Part of my frustration stems from the show’s overuse of American-style heroism, which I disagree with. Another major reason is how the writers portrayed and handled female characters. That’s why I started writing these two fictions (SIX and Heroic Nonsense). Neither of them is finished, but my original intention has never wavered.
The writers of Transformers: Animated were likely raised on American hero films, a genre that often promotes a simplistic and rigid gender narrative: The male protagonist follows the classic arc of rising from an underdog to a dragon-slaying knight, ruthless to his enemies yet tender to women. Meanwhile, the female characters fit into one of two archetypes—either the saintly, beautiful, and understanding “pure goddess” or the seductive femme fatale awaiting the hero’s conquest. Both types have the primary function to serve the male protagonist’s growth: the “pure goddess” will be tragically lost, adding depth to the hero, while entanglement with the femme fatale makes him more alluring. Interestingly, this literary archetype—the “Madonna-Whore Dichotomy”—finds a perfect embodiment in Transformers: Animated through Elita-1/Blackarachnia.
My feelings toward Elita-1/Blackarachnia are complicated. On one hand, I strongly dislike how the writers created this character and positioned her as a potential romantic interest for Optimus Prime (The Optimus Prime in my understanding is more than a shallow embodiment of traditional “manhood”, therefore his choice of romantic partner rises higher than a “beautiful woman in the background” under patriarchal standards). Given that the third season significantly reduced the sexual undertones in Blackarachnia and Optimus’s interactions, I suspect the writers’ attempt to pair them was met with strong opposition and was ultimately abandoned. I also reject the narrative framework they constructed: “Elita-1 and Blackarachnia are two completely different people. Blackarachnia became what she is (someone who survives by seducing and emotionally manipulating male characters) solely because Optimus Prime failed to save her. As Elita-1, she had none of these traits.” This artificial separation of one person into two completely disconnected identities conveniently caters to a patriarchal fantasy, while also shifting the blame onto the protagonist, forcing him into moral debt towards her. This approach is disgusting.
On the other hand, I also reject the way some fans attempt to “redeem” Elita-1/Blackarachnia, particularly by attributing all of her transformation to “not being saved by Optimus/doomed by the plots.” Some even speculate that if Optimus had fallen into the spider pit instead, their roles would have been completely reversed—that is, Elita-1 would have become the noble hero, while Optimus would have become the bitter outcast. But is that really the case? Even identical twins, despite sharing the same genetic makeup, would approach the same problem differently due to variations in personality and mindset, leading to vastly different outcomes. Denying personal agency and blaming all misfortune on “an unfair fate that didn’t take my side” is just another form of helpless self-pity.
The original depiction of Elita-1 is sparse, limited to a few generic traits—she’s close with Optimus and Sentinel, somewhat competitive, etc. But Blackarachnia’s characterization, though flawed, is not entirely unfounded. When I watched Blackarachnia’s episodes, I was reminded of many real people I’ve encountered: hypocrites who construct false personas, those who manipulate their identity as “victims” (such as leveraging their gender) to gain affection and validation, and high school bullies who expertly form cliques, excel in emotional manipulation, and guilt-trip others. In many ways, Blackarachnia serves as both a vessel for the writers’ fantasies and a representation of a certain type of person that does exist in real life.
In recent years, discussions around female representation have gained traction. I’ve always believed that a well-written female character must first be real and complex. Simply reversing stereotypes by creating a brute-force-loving, blindly arrogant, gender-swapped version of a white male action hero is not enough (this also ties into my critique of Elita One in Transformers: One). That’s why my feelings were so conflicted when writing Blackarachnia’s story. On one hand, I wanted to fully explore her motivations, making her a character too complex to be summed up in a single sentence. On the other hand, I dislike the type of person she represents in real life, and I resent the writers for creating such a character while trying to shield her from moral scrutiny through narrative justification. So, in my writing, I amplified the narcissism and insecurity that the original subtly framed as “harmless sex appeal” or “cute flaws.” I wanted to challenge (what is likely an old white man’s) perception of his own creation, to confront him with this question: “This is what your character truly is, as revealed through the very details you provided. Do you really like her? Do you even care about this character at all?”
If you’ve read this far, you should understand that I didn’t write this biography because I agree with Blackarachnia’s actions or think she’s a “cool villain.” If this character existed in reality, I would find her both detestable and pitiful.
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SIX: Chapter I: Elita One/Blackarachnia: The Gambler
