I’m so glad you’re liking the metas! And omg, you and your friend have excellent conversations and I’m thrilled to join in the mix. However, I should preface all this with: I’ve read the LotR books, seen the movies multiple times (hell yeah extended edition marathons), but I’m far more familiar with Harry Potter on the whole. I can’t compete with the encyclopedic knowledge that a lot of LotR fans possess and I’m definitely not going to try.

To start, I can see a huge number of similarities between Oz and Dumbledore/Gandalf. I think you’re right. There are clear connections among the three due to their status as Wise Mentor Figures (something Oz complicates and that I’ll get into a bit below), but they’re all their own characters. Obviously. So yeah, I kinda just want to throw out a series of tangentially related points because my brain is mush and organization? Who’s she?

First off, if we bypass the obvious commonalities here (teachers, wise men, authority figures, flawed keepers of power) I think that the way the three consolidate power is distinctly different—and that has a large impact on the rest of their characterization. Dumbledore, to be blunt, is the most manipulative in my opinion. He’s still very sympathetic, but to me he’s the one who has been the most warped by power. Yes, he refuses the position as Minister of Magic, though we see throughout the series that he has just as much power (if not more) as headmaster of the most prestigious wizarding school in the world, to say nothing of the power that comes with people assuming you have less than a political figure. Dumbledore might always have reasons and justifications for his actions, but he still gathers up as much power as he possibly can under the assumption that this is how you survive. He tries to regain the Minister’s ear. He creates and heads the Order of the Phoenix. He searches out powerful magical artifacts and tries to either master or destroy them. He’s not at all disturbed to learn that his prize student has been training a group of soldiers under the name Dumbledore’s Army, because ultimately that’s what he wants. Compare that for a moment with Ozpin ultimately walking away from being a god, refusing the power of a king after the Great War, and not running the school that feeds into a military (James). Dumbledore has reached the point where he sees the world as a chess game and believes he’s the only one capable of winning it.

Gandalf might have become that if he hadn’t had a staggeringly honest sense of self. He knows that he would be corrupted by the ring and because of that refuses to take it. In order to understand why that is, we have to briefly acknowledge the different ways that these stories characterize evil. Harry Potter has a rather simplistic approach based in Christianity, teaching readers that if you’re just strong enough you can beat anything. If you have the willpower you can throw off the Imperius curse. If you have the need you can summon up a corporal patronus. If you have enough love you can even save your child from certain death. Harry Potter works under the assumption that evil is inherently conquerable. Not so Lord of the Rings. That series isn’t the children’s story that The Hobbit started out as and we learn slowly—and painfully—that no one is above the ring’s corruption. Not even Frodo. In the end he doesn’t fail in his task because resisting the ring was never possible; he instead succeeds because he managed to craft a situation in which the ring’s own manipulations lead to its destruction: Gollum’s greed ends up throwing them both into the fire. Gandalf understands all this and so he avoids accepting the ring, period. He’s done just enough self-reflection to acknowledge that no, he’s not above the ring’s influence, and giving the ring access to the power he already has would be really, really bad.

And then there’s Ozpin. The evil of his world isn’t Destined to be Conquered like in Harry Potter or Completely and Irrevocably Bad like in Lord of the Rings. It’s a human kind of evil. Yes, the grimm are inherently destructive—a “pure” evil, if you want to go there—but they were notably created by a flawed, arrogant, temper tantrum-ing god. Our Big Bad is no longer a “You’re Evil Just Because You Are” antagonist, but a mortal woman who became what she was out of grief and manipulation. Their fight doesn’t have an easy solution like “kill Voldemort” or “get the ring into the fire” and then everything will be Perfect. (So “perfect,” in fact, that your readers are going to side-eye that epilogue hard because I really don’t think killing one dictator is gonna erase the bigotry all this was founded on in the first place…) Rather, RWBY’s fight is based on the willingness to keep fighting even if you don’t have an end-game solution yet. Are Beacon graduates going to eradicate all grimm? No. They’re gonna keep as many people safe as they can for the duration of their career as hunters and then the next generation will continue the fight. Are they currently able to kill Salem? No. They’re going to hold her at bay so that humanity survives and the vast majority can live in peace. This is a type of fighting the cast hasn’t acknowledged as important yet, but we as the audience should be able to. RWBY’s ethics are crazy complicated, and so you need equally complicated protagonists to work through it. Ozpin gives us that. He fits into the world by virtue of also being a flawed, messy, regretful human being… but he’s a hero because he keeps fighting despite that. He’s the embodiment of the type of war they’re fighting; you keep going because you have to. More importantly, Ozpin fights in a particular way that upholds both aspects of humanity: the collective and the individual.

This is seen most overtly to me in his treatment of the students vs. Dumbledore’s treatment of Harry. Dumbledore—unconsciously imo—often treats Harry as a tool to win the war. Of the three he’s the most willing to sacrifice the individual in the name of the “greater good.” He has to stay safe in Privet Drive because he’s our inevitable savior, as opposed to thinking the reverse: he has to be removed from an abusive household because he’s just a child. In contrast, Ozpin insists that the students he finds in Haven don’t have to continue this battle, no matter how useful they might be to him in the overall war. Dumbledore doesn’t fight the magical contract because competing in the super dangerous Tri-Wizard Tournament would be excellent training for Harry (the fact that it supposedly can’t be broken is a convenient excuse). Ozpin, meanwhile, forcibly stops Pyrrha from fighting with Cinder because he’s not willing to get his student killed just to buy himself more time. Dumbledore gives an eleven year old an invisibility cloak knowing he’ll get into crazy situations that will help prepare him for fighting a dark lord. Ozpin insists on keeping things like the relics and various secrets to himself so as not to burden the children. Ozpin is the one who watches food fights and encourages his peers to let them be kids while they can.

Another excellent example is how missions are treated between the two of them. Ozpin bends the rules a little, yes, but when he sends the girls to Mountain Glenn he’s doing so under numerous assumptions: that they’ll only be fighting grimm, that they won’t be separated from Oobleck, and (correctly) that they’re a group of prodigy fighters who might need something harder than what first years normally experience. His decisions are calculated with their safety in mind. Dumbledore encourages recklessness in Harry. He wants him running around the castle alone, competing in tournaments he’s not ready for, facing off against any and all forces that stand in his way—no matter how dangerous. Because that’s how you raise a soldier, not a child.

All of this isn’t to say that Ozpin hasn’t made mistakes, only that his mistakes are always rooted in good intentions. He’s concerned both with the greater good and the individual. If he were to ever reach a point where he no longer cares about the people he’s fighting beside then he’ll have automatically failed in his task. Ozpin can’t unite all of humanity if he’s not united with them.

Interestingly, we see how all three of these characters make use of that faith in humanity to craft bubbly, approachable facades that are less real facades and more how they’d like to be if the world were a simpler place. All three, notably, use innocuous objects to emphasize their supposedly happy-go-lucky natures. Dumbledore is constantly sucking on lemon drops and stealing Bertie Botts beans from Harry, playfully wincing at getting ear wax. Gandalf is known for his colorful fireworks and smoke rings, party favors that amuse Hobbit children and, while hinting at the dangers in the world (like dragons), make sure to always end on a positive note. And Ozpin has his mug of hot chocolate, something that—odd as it sounds—immediately humanizes him. He eats and drinks like the rest of us (connect this to him giving Ruby a whole plate of chocolate chip cookies). He has simple, everyday preferences. His mug also provides him with his most humorous moments: taking a nonchalant sip after he flings students off a cliff and twirling popcorn in it after his subordinates get into a fight.

From Harry’s trauma over facing Voldemort, to Hobbit anxiety about what’s outside their boarders, to your inner circle fighting amongst themselves, all three characters function as the calm authority figure who suddenly appears in the midst of chaos going, “Why all the fear? The cruelty? Everything is fine. I’m here now”—and all three have their tools for achieving that. This is the image we grow used to and it’s only as each series progresses that we begin to see cracks in their careful illusions.

(As a side note, this is partly why the fandom becomes so enraged over “DID YOU PUT YOUR NAME IN THE GOBLET OF FIRE, HARRY??” because that’s a huge deviation from Kindly Mentor Dumbledore when we’re not supposed to have one. It’s entirely at odds with how he normally presents himself within the castle.)

In terms of those facades eventually cracking we never (to my recollection) see Gandalf’s actually break. He nearly dies, yes, but that’s not the same thing as breaking emotionally or ethically. He “died” the hero’s death when he fell with the Balrog and then was later resurrected with a nice power boost. Gandalf embodies a power fantasy in that respect: I’m the beloved mentor who from a narrative perspective has to die for his charges to grow, but then I still get to come back, even better than before. We don’t really see Dumbledore break either, though he gets closer. There’s the scene in the cave where he drinks the potion, though that emotional catharsis is forced out of him through magic. The emotion there is real, but he didn’t reach a point where he revealed it naturally to Harry. Indeed, minutes later Dumbledore is saving his charge again and manages to stand tall in the face of his own death.

I’d say the closest we get with Dumbledore is when he reveals the prophecy to Harry. That ending of Chapter 37:

“I feel I owe you another explanation, Harry,” said Dumbledore hesitantly. “You may, perhaps, have wondered why I never chose you as a prefect? I must confess … that I rather thought … you had enough responsibility to be going on with.” Harry looked up at him and saw a tear trickling down Dumbledore’s face into his long silver beard.

It’s a heart-wrenching moment, yes, but here we see JKR falling into some pretty ironclad assumptions about gender, specifically masculinity. Unless there’s a horrific potion forcing the emotion out of him, the most we can expect from a man like Dumbledore is that Single Manly Tear, a trope in our culture used to induce sympathy for a character without making them fully give up the tight control they have over their emotions. Dumbledore never reaches the point where he’s entirely removed from the facade he built up as a wise, infallible leader. Neither does Gandalf.

But Ozpin does.

And this is what makes him such a wonderful character. He does break. Completely—and that’s something that I’ve never seen from the mentor figure before (with the exception of those who are fully turned and can therefore be justifiably beaten down by their new status as villains). Try for a moment to imagine Dumbledore or Gandalf in the position we’ve seen Ozpin in this season. Not crying because a potion made him and not run down because he’s been fighting some mythical monster… but vulnerable simply because he’s human and can’t take it anymore. I tend to focus too heavily on dialogue and action throughout my recaps, but it’s important to note the change in visuals as well. Like something as simple as height. Ozpin has moved from standing above others:

To being forced into the shortest body in the group, but still finding ways to stand tall:

To being at the lowest:

It’s a literal, visual interpretation of what he’s going through emotionally. In Oscar, he’s the youngest now too. He has the least training. He’s adorable in a way that immediately undermines his authority. He’s not “Professor Ozpin” now, but their “cute little boy Ozpin!” All the visual choices since his reincarnation have been building towards this loss of the facade, when the mentor is revealed to truly be a flawed human being, no better or worse than the people he leads.Try to imagine those other character archetypes sobbing in the snow, begging on their knees, pleading with a bunch of children not to hurt them anymore. It really… doesn’t happen. Not to this extent. Ozpin has no more power here—a callous, horrendously merciless act on QRWBY’s part—but it’s forcing us to re-evaluate Ozpin’s characterization in a way few fantasy stories ever do.

And it’s fantastic. Heartbreaking, but fantastic.

From here on out we’ll presumably see a re-building of his character. Not preserving him through a noble death like Dumbledore; not a reclaiming of his power like Gandalf. Ozpin is fully human now (even if the cast/fandom isn’t treating him that way yet…) and we’ll get the chance to see who the mentor is behind all those facades. What is Ozpin the man like? And how will his newly revealed humanity help them to win? After all, it’s not a heroic archetype that can beat the complex evil of RWBY. We’re told from the start that it’s a simple, (flawed) human soul.

Ozpin is a part of that fight now and I honestly can’t wait to see where it leads.