Review of Neon Genesis Evangelion

As a preface, I’d like to say that I’m opposed to episode-by-episode reviews of series, so this is my attempt to piece it all together after my rewatch. Personally, I like to view everything in context, and specifically with writing on a series, I prefer to discuss the broad strokes, big picture, and ideas throughout rather than going step by step. This will generally move through the series, to a certain extent, because I think there’s value in discussing just about all of it(so spoiler warning on all of this), but it’s by no means a one-to-one discussion on each episode. That is all tosay: I’m trying to piece this together after finishing the series(for the second time), so please excuse me if I get anything off a bit because I’m still going to touch on a lot of minutia that I think is important to the show’s discussion. I should note that this is by no means comprehensive(notably I haven’t really addressed Ritsuko’s character, or the abundant religious imagery; not really sure why, it’s just kinda how things turned out), so don’t go in expecting that. This is going to be fairly long because there’s a lot I want to address and, as such, it’ll be pretty messy from a structural standpoint, so bear with me and you might read something interesting. Anyways, without further ado, here it is.
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This was not what I remembered. It’s a show that’s hard to grasp on first watch in ideas, largely because of its presentation. It’s only with a complete understanding of the series do the pieces start to fall into place. What the show develops into recontextualizes where it starts; on first watch I found myself immediately disengaged because of how the show presents itself—without understanding of its trajectory, the opening feels very bland(viz. it’s just mechas so why do I care) which in turn prevented me from really latching onto the more serious [presentationally] section of the series. What I would suggest, in viewing this series, is that it’s not “a descent” as some discuss, but rather a revelation—slowly peeling back the covering so that you can see what was going on all along.

From the jump, the dichotomy between surface and depth is immediately evident [on rewatch]; what’s most ubiquitous in the discussion of youth depression, but what’s also important to mention is how it deals with coming of age. Though I’m not sure if it was intentional(and it doesn’t really matter), the EVAs serve as an apt metaphor/symbol for puberty/adulthood. I think the common expression goes “adults are only kids grown up”; this is something that’s literalized with the suits—children thrust into bigger bodies that they aren’t able to fully understand or control, without any preparation or thought. We see Shinji’s father in the distance(this has another purpose I’ll mention in a minute) telling him to go in the suit, without any preparation or advice. This, of course, replicates the experience of so many children—becoming adults without change past the physical. People in bodies bigger, stronger, faster than what they’re used to, but without any understanding of what they’re supposed to do with them. It’s a horribly hopeless situation(and even applies to more broad metaphors ex. children have to reckon with the faults of generations before them and are expected to remedy long-standing issues that have been ignored and thrust upon the young generations(obvious example here is climate change, but really applies to any social issue)), and the contrast between reality and tone is what makes it work so well in context of the series(a child forced into this new body without understanding, but on first glance it appears to be something out of a much lighter series, a fight “to save the world”).

Also immediately evident is Shinji’s neglect; he states that “it’s been a long time” since he’s seen his father, but the boy is only 14. This isn’t a throw-away line to add mysticism, it’s the first instantiation of his long-standing neglect that will later be extrapolated upon in its impacts. What we see is not the hero who will save the world, but a child, long ignored, forced into a situation that may well end his life, without regard for his humanity or worth. This doesn’t start as a “fun mecha show” it starts with the pretense of “a fun mecha show” that distracts from the reality that’s painted on its sleeve from the start—a tale of neglect, confusion, coming of age, and depression.

What’s also important is that Shinji isn’t alone in his struggles. This is, vitaly, a show that displays the universality of the myriad issues youth are confronted with and further, their long term impacts. To the latter, what’s important is Misato’s position in the narrative; she, like everyone else, is a fundamentally broken human being(likely from long-standing depression; the benefit of something that discusses such issues so ubiquitously is that it allows for implicit characterization thereof). For her, too, tonal contrast is smartly utilized to reveal [on rewatch] how broken she is. The scene that highlights this most clearly is when she takes Shinji to her room for the first time. The tone is overtly comedic—we see a room filled with beer cans and empty food containers and chuckle because that’s what Shinji’s reaction suggests we do—but the picture it paints is so obviously that of pain. She’s an alcoholic, has wild mood swings, and is unable to maintain the cleanliness of her room; in other words, she has depression. This is essential, because it 1) points to the path Shinji is heading down, 2) draws a deeper emotional response from the viewer with the recontextualization of further viewings, and 3) makes evident that what we see later has always been there. Misato is broken from the first minute we see her, we just don’t know that yet.

Soon, of course, these whispers start to have both extrapolations and impacts. There are three moments that highlight this directly soon after our introduction to Shinji. First, we get some brief insight into Shinji’s past wherein he mentions how his father would beat him. This is a moment that’s around 30 seconds at the most, but it’s the second [real] insight into Shinji’s past and important for that reason. The cracks are starting to widen, and we’re starting to understand what’s left Shinji so broken after all these years. The second moment comes at school, Shinji sitting in isolation with people talking about him behind his back. His isolation has [inevitably] become cyclical—as his father neglected him, so now he is unable to properly interact with those around him. His isolation is a product of his environment, not a conscious decision on his behalf. The third moment is, I think, the most important—it’s the extension of his neglect into not isolation, but rage. This is, of course, when he makes the decision to go against Misato and take the knife to the angel he’s fighting. The importance of this is not in the disobedience, but in his demeanor that accompanies it—this isn’t a choice of heroism, but one of rage. He’s been forced into inexpression that his rage has become uncontrollable. This is a theme in so much art out there because it’s something so universal—repression breeds violence, and even though this violence was “for the greater good”, it paints a picture of Shinji’s repression and, in turn, its harms. Violence remains violence regardless of the victim.

These moments, combined with our knowledge of where it all heads, is imperative to understanding some of the following events—namely the train station. Shinji’s desire for a family is better understood in context, and under [cursory] analysis of his past, so we see his perspective, but what’s more interesting is Misato’s role in it. I struggle, somewhat, to fully understand her place in the situation. I think the conventional way to take it is that she has compassion for Shinji and his need to have a family, but I can’t help but feel that she reciprocates his feelings. She goes to the train station not because Shinji wants a family, but because her understanding that he does prompts her own realization that she feels the same. If her apartment is any indicator, it’s abundantly clear that she’s been so alone for so long that she needs anything and anyone to keep her from falling to pieces.

In the midst of all this, we see Rei. She’s not as explicitly defined as Misato or Shinji(and even they aren’t really understood until a rewatch), but, in context, she’s very much understood from pretty much the first moment we see her. The framing of her near the start is an especially somber one—she’s always in the margins, always in pain, and never expressing anything. While Shinji’s isolation is cut through somewhat because of his relationship with Misato, her’s is never blunted. Her isolation is complete and [for now] inescapable. A certain frame particularly strikes me—her spaced out a few feet extra from the rest of the students around her—distance is obviously a symbol here and it’s used very well; a simple shot conveys how isolated she is. There is no one to talk to her, no one to even look at her, her world does not extend past what she can physically grasp. The scene following this extrapolates upon her isolation; even in the most humiliating of situations, her demeanor and language is economical and inhuman. Dismissing any emotional effects of what should be scarring for a 14 year old, she only uses a few words then leaves(continues in the next scene too where she barely acknowledges what happens and berates Shinji for his lack of faith in his father—all painting the picture of her dehumanization as a result of isolation).

That, among other things, is why [on rewatch] I find the common language to describe the first half(“a fun mecha show”) so peculiar. We are presented with a group of children in a horrifying situation, isolated from their peers and suffering from emotional repression and depression, and it’s “fun”? I was disaffected the first time around, sure, but people who love this show consider the first half “fun”? I’m just baffled at the language that’s so common in describing the first half because it’s 1) so contradictory to the content and 2) in direct opposition to the show as a whole. I know I probably shouldn’t be getting hung up on this, but if that’s really how people feel about the first half, then I’d say that love is horribly misplaced.

But, I guess, that response comes from another textual contraction of tone and content. In some ways I can see it—the intense music, the bombastic fights, the theatrical lighting and animation—but it’s so clear to me that it’s meant to contradict itself. This isn’t a “fun mecha show” because of who’s behind the mechas—children who have no idea who they are or what they’re supposed to do, children who are being used as objects for the “greater good”, children who could easily die if they make a small mistake. There’s nothing “fun” about this, it’s real human beings whose lives are put on the line and face death regularly. It’s these situations which prompt the greater emotional weight—the kids are thrust together because of these fights which in turn fosters their relationships to one another and intensifies their long-standing personal problems. So many moments highlight this, but one in particular comes to mind—Shinji ripping open the EVA to see if Rei is alive and bursting into tears once he finds out she is. The significance is in the positionality, this is something that comes after only a couple brief conversations between Shinji and Rei(viz. their interactions are incredibly minimal such that an emotional response wouldn’t be ordinary but it makes sense for Shinji as it highlights how quickly Shinji latches onto relationships because of his father’s neglect). This is to say that in the “fun” action sequences, there is always more, there is always an undercurrent of pain, and it’s never “fun” because of the people in the EVAs and what they are facing.

I should note here that this leads to yet another contradiction in tone; directly after Rei faces death, we cut to breakfast between Misato and Shinji. The tone is, as always, lackadaisical and light, verging on comedic as we have the goofy breakfast theme in the background and Pen Pen eating a fish whole. The contrast between this and the previous scene highlights the weight of the previous and how it’s directly attacking viewing this in a light way—the lightness is in the face of death and accentuates it rather than taking away from it. I also want to note the contradiction within the breakfast scene—the light tone is here put against Misato hammering a beer in conjunction with a face of delirium to hide pain. Misato’s personal struggles are practically insurmountable at this point in her life, and we are shown at every turn how deep the pain lies(despite the tone which, again, accentuates this rather than taking away from it). This display in every breakfast between Misato and Shinji is, I think, essential; it’s this constant reminder of Misato’s pain and her inability to escape it. It’s the perfect encapsulation of the way she obfuscates her real emotions through exaggeration and alcohol, hiding behind a wall she’s spent years building up. The breakfasts are not an escape, but a context for and evidence of the lasting pain and trauma from both the fights and past pain of Misato especially and Shinji to a lesser extent.

Then in the midst of all this, Asuka comes along. Asuka’s presence is quite an interesting addition to the series because it seems incongruous with the rest of the cast. She’s immediately bold and confident in herself, fully committed to the “greater good” and dedicated to her control of EVA 2. Unlike Shinji she knows her purpose, unlike Misato she isn’t constantly on the verge of collapse, and unlike Rei she’s not a husk of a human with no real voice[or so it seems]. Her fights are accompanied by triumphant music, and she approaches every situation with complete confidence in herself. This is better understood in the frame of the whole series, of course, but more readily her characterization is more fleshed out(or at least hinted at) by her surroundings(surroundings meaning Rei, Misato, and Shinji). When understanding that everyone in this series is plagued by past trauma, you’re able to view the characters more intimately and beyond whatever masks they choose to wear. Before Asuka’s cracks start to show, we are able to see just slightly behind her mask via implication/similarity. The mask that Asuka wears is, I think, most similar to Rei’s, it’s just developed so that she’s superimposed a confidence onto her emptiness. When I see her confidence, I see the pain that’s underneath—a hollowness that’s run so deep that she’s no longer to feel anything past her commitment to “the greater good”. It’s unbelievably tragic the way we see her first, someone who expresses nothing but a lust for violence because it’s what she’s been conditioned to do.

Then, of course, come the cracks. There are two key moments to illustrate her repression/deep-rooted issues. The first(and more important) comes when Asuka and Shinji plan to synchronize; Asuka asks if she’s the only one who can do it, to which Misato suggests Rei. In this moment, Asuka lets out an emotion she hasn’t before—something between fear and anger that there isn’t quite a word for. Her personality has become so intertwined with her piloting of an EVA that she needs to be “the only one” to have any semblance of self-worth. Her possible replaceability terrifies her because that’s the only thing she has left. The second moment is much more simple and not expanded on till later: her crying out for “mommy” in her sleep. It doesn’t have any direct or immediate payoff, but the implication(and its importance) is clear: she has a past that she’s unable to deal with and won’t articulate.

Between all the pain and confusion, what ends up being the most strikingly human is very odd—Shinji’s, well, perversions. We aren’t able to see a lot of what Shinji feels, so much is hidden below the surface, so his sexual attractions are the most evident because they’re impossible to hide. There isn’t [that] much criticism of this series(in the circles I’m in—I mean it’s got an average of 4.5/5 on this site), but what I’ve seen most commonly noted in the criticism of the series is how it handles sexuality/nudity/a general observation that Shinji is a pervert/bad person and occasionally people suggesting that it sexualizes children. I would tend to push back on this criticism for a number of reasons, but one I’d point to immediately is another film from Anno, Love & Pop. Now, full disclosure, I dislike this film pretty strongly, but it’s for reasons separate from what I’m about to address. The film is, quite explicitly, a condemnation of social structures in place that push young girls into systems of sexual abuse and exploitation. It’s practically impossible to interpret it in any other way, and I think it does a good job to illuminate Anno’s intentions here as positive because sexualization/exploitation of children is so clearly an issue close to his heart. Regardless, I think the choice to repeatedly emphasize Shinji’s “perversion” via his sexualization of those around him is imperative—in contrast to the situations he’s put in(the responsibility to save all of humanity) that would suggest he’s a fully matured and intelligent individual, we are made to understand his true nature—a stupid little kid. This is such a vital decision because this show could so easily turn into one about heroism that reflexively dehumanizes its cast by making them into heroes rather than human beings, but we are shown at every turn that these are not heroes, these are children who don’t know who they are or what they’re doing.

Now I hate to repeat myself here, but with this series it seems important because it’s so commonly misconstrued in the reception. I’ve read so many reviews saying that “I wasn’t ready for the last 13 episodes”; it feels like some think that it’s an entirely different show and the first half only serves to familiarize you with the characters, but I find this to be unbelievably far from the truth. As I’ve covered, we’re viewing repeatedly textual contradictions of tone and form that emphasize how not just the audience is viewing it, but how the adults are(okay this is a new point so to elaborate: the nonchalance of the score and tonal contrast work to reflect how little the adults care for the children here and are merely using them as pawns for “the greater good” and, inadvertently it seems, this contrast also reflects the audience as they view the surface-level nonchalance as the extent of the form rather than the depths of despair that are present from the start). So Shinji’s childish perversions are yet another example of how the first half is in no way fun: despite the immaturity and stupidity, his actions have real harms and hurt(though not really elaborated on; I wish it was to a greater extent) those he sexualizes(specifically Rei and Asuka as they are his age and his inability to express sexuality manifesting in sexualization is harmful for them because they are also unable to do, so it’s obviously going to lead to issues with them as not a single child in this series is, in any way, aided in their exploration of sexuality which causes greater repression and confusion(which is a good choice—all the sexuality because poorly handled because the adults in the children’s lives are focused on using them rather than helping them so everything regarding sexuality is harmful), though, I really do wish the harms to Rei and Asuka were shown—how Shinji acts is usually brushed off(I agree with this decision for the reasons previously stated), but the harms of his actions should be addressed(there is an argument to be made on the contrary, that Rei and Asuka brushing off his sexualization of them is just further evidence of how they’re entirely incompetant when it comes to sexuality because of their lack of education, but I think a lot of the scenes, especially when Rei ends up fully naked with Shinji near the beginning, would have very pronounced effects on Rei and Asuka, so should be addressed more holistically to contribute to the overall commentary on sexuality/repression)). Anyways, point is this: you have this much discussion/representation of flawed child sexuality/repression thereof, it becomes very clear that this is not “the fun section” or something removed from the later half, but a very serious, very human display of youth that’s consistent in that throughout, and the later half only serves to slowly peel away the veil from what’s been lurking in the first half.

Back to Asuka, her mask is slow to fall and we don’t really get much insight into her for quite a while. What strikes me, though, is the way she wears her mask and how it exemplifies what lies underneath. A scene I especially remember takes place in the elevator between her and Shinji(Rei is there too, but she’s quiet) where they’re preparing for an operation that is basically impossible. She says that she wants to do the operation to “show the world what she can do”; Shinji replies “to show them you exist?” which she affirms. It’s a simple exchange, but an extremely telling one—we know this already, but it’s painful the degree to which Asuka defines herself through her piloting. It’s not just the most important thing, it’s the only thing—the only thing that she can do, the only reason she’s special, and the only reason she has meaning. As it relates to the broad metaphor of teen depression, her characterization is one that’s particularly poignant—kids finding worth not through who they are, but through what they can do which, obviously, leads to horrible problems in the long run as they are always people who can do “your thing” better than you. No one is special because of what they can do, because there’s nothing only one person can do. Human beings are infinitely complex and inherently irreductible insofar as we don’t reduce ourselves. Self-worth is a complicated thing for every kid to figure out, and here it’s even harder to find because they’re being told their worth comes from what they do and not who they are.

The first person to [mostly] pull their mask off is Misato. In a scene with Shinji(and Gendo in the background), she (finally) reveals what she’s been dealing with all this time: long-lasting resentment towards her father for what he had done, in particular a shared[with Shinji] neglect that’s led to instability. I want to first point out that Gendo’s presence in this scene is absolutely essential: Misato’s articulation of her past prompts Shinji to discover repressed memories of his childhood abuse, and while directly in the presence of Gendo it hits a million times harder for both him and the audience. I think what’s definitive about this scene is Shinji’s response rather than Misato’s articulation; viz. we see that honesty prompts honesty such that these characters’ time together is what leads to their self-discovery over the course of the series. Again, I don’t think this is a show with two distinct halves, but if forced to draw a line between where the series starts(laying out characters, implicitly and explicitly expressing shared trauma, setting out themes, etc) and where it ends(elaborating on all of this and verbalizing that which is repressed) that scene is the line.

Though not in such a direct way, the second emotional revelation/explication we see is from Rei. Coming after the recap of the angels, Rei delivers a monologue that’s interesting, to say the least. She speaks in vagaries, a strange combination of worldviews and introspection. It’s not something you’re readily able to decipher but, after sitting with it, its muddiness is its honesty and its significance. When she speaks of the world, of blood, of herself, none of it is concrete and it’s all meaningless. She’s trying to ascribe words to things she can’t because she’s lost the ability to truly express and, as such, is grappling for anything she can. It’s a powerful scene because of how hopeless it is—none of what she says really means anything, but all of what she says is honest, something that’s never come from her before. It’s so insecure and raw that you can’t help but be astounded by it; on first viewing I tried to find its significance, but the second time I understood that its weight is in its lack thereof. Moments like this are what make this so special for me—glimpses of humanity in a world of repression.

Soon thereafter, we have the third revelation—Shinji’s meeting with his father that at once explains the current status of their relationship as well as elaborating on their past. To the former, it’s all too blatant how dead the love between them is, culminating with Shinji’s attempt to salvage some feelings by saying he’s glad they talked, followed by Gendo immediately shutting it down with a curt “sure”. When I say the love between them is dead, I only speak of reciprocity; Shinji, I believe, still feels for his father because he’s all he has left. Gendo, however, feels nothing; he’s a man whose soul has been ripped out by the environment he lives in—after the loss of his wife he hardly feels anything anymore. This leads into the second piece of their meeting which is revelatory—the death of Shinji’s mother. It’s with that revelation that everything starts to snap into place; though we don’t see all the flashbacks and know everything, from here on out, what we understand is only an extension of this. Shinji’s neglect stemming from grief(well, the neglect came first obviously since he ran away, but the grief and neglect are thoroughly hand-in-hand is the point I’m making here) is illuminated and puts the pain that we’ve always known was there under the spotlight.

What I’m trying to convey by citing these three events is my appreciation for the structure of the show as it relates to emotional context. Where before all we saw was glimpses of pain masked by unending repression, we’re finally being given [some of] the explanations for that pain. By first showing the cracks rather than the physical wounds, the emotional revelation becomes far more effective because we see its impact before we see it—hurt carries far more weight when its effects are shown rather than merely stating their existence. The set-ups and impacts that we see first are so blatant that I end up feeling every inch of their causes, and, in turn, my empathy towards the characters(despite their extensive flaws that cause harm to themselves and those around them) is deepened.

To touch on the theme of sexuality a bit more here, I’d like to highlight the scene where Asuka kisses Shinji which Shinji doesn’t respond to at all. This moment for me does a great job to flesh out how deeply inexperienced and immature he is—even someone he’s attracted to he isn’t able to properly respond to because he’s never learned how to handle himself in these situations. This isn’t to say that he should have reciprocated because, obviously, it would have been a horrible relationship due to each character’s inability to express themselves in any real capacity, but it is to say that ingrained into every inch of the show, despite the fact that our characters are constantly faced with the end of the world, is innocence, stupidity, and immaturity. I’ve said this all before, but it’s a point that cannot be stressed enough and is so imperative to the empathy afforded the characters; without it, they could be seen as irredeemable, but with this emphasis we understand their brokenness and stupidity. I don’t think this show would work at all without the repeated emphasis on this, so I will talk about it until the very end.

Returning to the structure of emotional revelation, what follows Shinji’s meeting with his father(not directly, of course) is his scene in the EVA, monologuing about his fears and pain. Up to this point, this is the first scene of complete emotional honesty(re: the revelations I just discussed, Rei’s monologue is honest in some senses, but the real honesty is from it’s confusion vs this monologue which is directly discussing Shinji’s fears, Misato’s monologue is an articulation of past issues rather than direct emotional honest, and Shinji’s meeting with his father is directly blunted in emotionality via his father’s coldness viz. these revelations are used to explain emotional circumstances rather than directly address internal struggles or speak honestly; it’s a strange distinction, but I think in context this is readily apparent). Shinji pours out his whole heart, navigating his fears and struggles, rather it be neglect, people’s opinions of him, or his relationship to his father. This scene is also imperative as it fully explicates the theme of teen depression, particularly in how Shinji talks about how afraid he is of how others see him, equating their view of him to who he actually is. It’s a simple articulation, but a universal one—losing yourself because you’re trying to see yourself through others eyes. In specificity, we find universality; Shinji, despite how fundamentally flawed he is, is a fully realized human being, not in the world of Evangelion, but in our world.

As much as I’ve talked about the internal struggles of our characters, what’s also important to discuss is their juxtaposition with the physical violence. I’ve touched on this some, but I think one sequence particularly highlights this; it is, of course, Shinji’s fight with EVA 3. Anyone who’s seen this, I’m sure, would readily point to it as one of the most powerful sequences in the series. The blood is what’s immediately striking; you have the mysticism of the EVAs set against literal rivers of blood creating a composition of violence that’s unique to that point. Despite the constant fighting, there’s rarely blood. It’s extremely sanitized and, in alignment with its pretenses, the angels they fight against are practically video game bosses—challenges to be struck down and forgotten about, so when we see blood, it all changes immediately. Naturally, the impetus of the scene is derived from Gendo’s decision to overrule Shinji’s autonomy, which is where all the weight comes from. Breaking it down is a bit complicated because the implications of the violence, combined with Gendo’s actions are oblique in design(viz. it’s not *just* “the weight of violence”, but rather a more involved discussion on parental overreach and uses violence more as a metaphor for its impacts as opposed to an end in itself(though has its own weight all the same)). My view of this sequence is complicated, but I’ll try my best to explain it—I think it’s achieving a few important things here—1) exposing Shinji to violence in a way he hasn’t been confronted with to this point, 2) elaborating on Gendo’s apathy towards his son’s emotions, 3) Gendo’s sole focus on “the greater good” rather than human beings, and 4) increasing the intensity of the series to further its themes on depression(I’ll elaborate on this shortly). This is all combined into one small sequence, just another example of how well-designed this series is and focused on its themes.

What’s most striking in all this, though, is the intensity. Viewing this series as a representation of teen depression is absolutely essential because it contextualizes all the emotions associated with any given scene. The [forced] killing of EVA 3 isn’t isolated; instead, Shinji immediately must go after Zeruel because nothing(and no one) else is available. He’s 14 and the stream of violence that confronts him is unending. His piloting of the EVA can be crossapplied to just about anything—school, internet interactions, and interpersonal relationships from the perspective of a 14 year old feel exactly the same: an unending stream of inescapable intensity that keeps you from breathing. I know because, well, I’ve been there. Shinji’s struggles are unique to the world of Evangelion, but as universal as any—it’s the feeling that when you wake up that you shouldn’t get out of bed because everything in front of you will just tear you apart; it’s not worth it because every time you open your mouth, every time you sit down to take a test, every time your parents talk to you, you’re on the verge of collapse because it’s all way too much. That’s what Evangelion is to me: a group of kids fighting for lives literally to make real kids who are fighting for lives figuratively feel seen.

For Shinji, his depression and grief turns to rage and violence. He’s forced into this situation, but how he acts in it is all his doing. Fighting Zeruel, he doesn’t just want to kill it, he wants to make it feel pain because it’s not fair that he’s the only one who feels that way. He fights in a way he hasn’t before—it’s all too much and it’s all he can do. It’s so visceral because, in contrast to the death of EVA 3, it’s a killing(well, kinda, but you get the point) wholly uncontrolled rather than precise. He punches and grasps and rips and pulls everything he can possibly get his hands on. Everything that’s built up is(once again, remember when he kills the angel near the beginning with a rageful fervor to match what we see here) explodes into violence because it’s the only outlet of emotional expression he has left. It’s all too much.

Another key theme here is shared experience/(in)expression between the characters. I talked about earlier Asuka’s only sense of self-worth coming from her ability to pilot which is reflected in a later scene with Shinji where he expresses how “people love me when I’m piloting the EVA”. This acts as a mirror for the earlier scenes with Asuka, such that we are able to understand how 1) this shared experience is manifesting in the same crisis of self-worth, and 2) the universal nature of failures of self-actualization in youth. Positionality is imperative; Shinji has to start being removed from the EVAs, otherwise we don’t see the process, and Asuka has to start fully affected by her time with the EVAs. By understanding that it’s the ultimate destination for everyone involved, the tragedy is amplified. This scene is yet another that makes Evangelion what it is—children whose lives are broken apart by adults using them as objects, their psyches scrambled and polluted by forces they don’t—and can’t—understand.

As a brief aside, I’d like to mention something I’ve noticed in a lot of the reviews for the show—the ever present question, “who is your favorite character?” This wouldn’t usually bother me, but, as is the case with so much praise of the show, it seems to cataclysmically miss the point. This is a show that’s built on the concept of flawed but irreductible humanity, of how children are used as objects, how their emotions are ignored, how treatment of them results in depression and long-lasting trauma, and how we must see them as human beings despite their stupidity and immaturity. This show goes to great lengths to express all that and the takeaway is to figure out who you like most??? What??? Did you watch the show??? I really don’t like getting hung up on stuff like this, but please, for love of god, this is literally what you’re being told not to do by the show itself(also a good place to note that if you’re in any way attracted to Rei or Asuka please seek help immediately🕊️).

What I appreciate so much about this series is the way it handles what would typically be called “emotional payoffs”. While managing its character arcs, it always culminates in humanity and unfiltered humanity rather than what normally comes from a show(ex. big romantic gestures, weddings, triumphant victories, etc). A great example of this is Asuka’s flashbacks while in her EVA. They, like all other “reveals” in the series, are only the explanation for what’s been in front of our eyes the whole time. Her deeply traumatic past is conveyed beautifully(but tragically, of course) and serves as the perfect counterpoint to any sort of reveal or emotional culmination you would expect from a franchise(at this point in its trajectory). It’s a revelation of pain, and not one that heals, but one that elucidates—it shows us why she’s so broken, why she can’t express herself, why she’s so desperate for any form of human connection; she is not forgiven for any of the actions she’s taken throughout the series, merely understood. Understanding is enough sometimes.

Though without the same degree of elaboration, this structural reveal is recapitulated with Rei in her fight with Armisael. Here we finally see her as her: utterly, desperately, and hopelessly alone. It’s been so obvious this whole time—her complete distance from her surroundings, her inability to communicate emotion, her unending commitment to “the greater good”—but seeing it finally explicated gives it so much more weight. This structure I’ve talked about is imperative to making the show land the way it does, we must first see them as they are before we can [fully] understand why. The impacts of time, grief, and trauma are seen first, and themselves seen afterwards. Push and pull between what happened and where they are is the tension at the center of every scene, and our understanding of it is vital to the empathy that’s at the core of the film.

Back to the external struggles for a moment, no moment [of violence] in this series strikes me like the death of Kaworu. There’s a particular rhythm to the death—it’s not like anything else we see—it’s not precise, it’s not immediate, it’s not rageful, it’s something else entirely. The frame where Shinji grasps Kaworu is held for longer than any other frame in the series(by a wide margin). It’s the second time Shinji must confront the death of something [kind of] human, and the time that really kills him. The time the frame is held is everything—the hesitation makes the abruptness of what follows absolutely brutal. Cut to: brokenness.

Following this we get the culmination of the series; as much as I The End of Evangelion, the final two episodes in this are (also? we’ll figure that out soon enough) perfect. Despite this, there’s very little I want to say about the conclusion to the series. Given all I’ve said to this point, they serve as precisely the culmination of all the ideas, themes, and threads that came before. The broken pasts of Rei, Asuka, and Shinji are put on full display as we get to see every inch of who they are, where they’ve been, and what they feel. It’s beautifully simple, despite all the praise as “a mindfuck”; we are only seeing what’s always been there, and for all there is to say, there really isn’t much you can. Feel it, let it wash over you, and watch as all their masks disappear.

“So what’s it all mean?” is, I guess, the only thing I have left to say. It’s a question with a lot of answers and [almost] all of them are correct.

Evangelion is that feeling when you’re not sure who you are. Evangelion is when you look at your hands and you’re not sure they’re yours anymore. Evangelion is when you’re struggling to find out why your life has meaning. Evangelion is when everyone around you is forcing you to do things you never wanted to. Evangelion is when you’re falling apart at the seams and no one knows. Evangelion is when you pretend you’re okay but it hasn’t been that way in years. Evangelion is when you make yourself believe all the shit you’ve gone through isn’t real because it’s so much easier that way.

Evangelion is you, but it’s also everyone around you, and there’s some hope in that.