It's the mid nineties, and the television series Neon Genesis Evangelion has just finished its run. The series created by Hideaki Anno, one of the industry's greatest animators, has exploded into massive success. But the show itself had run into many problems during its production. Moved to another timeslot and faced with budget problems, especially towards the end of the series' run, Anno is exhausted. "He was ready to die for it," recalls Shinji Higuchi, Anno's friend and longtime collaborator, remembering the tumultuous production of the series. It's said that Anno would work without resting just to finish an episode. The director had finished working on another series, Gainax's Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water, based on a concept from his mentor, Hayao Miyazaki. The production of that series had taken a toll on Anno's mental health, and he channeled his experiences, therapy sessions and psychological concepts learned during that time into Evangelion, perhaps as a form of self therapy.
Evangelion was revolutionary for its time: a deconstruction of the giant robot genre of anime, long dominated by hot blooded confident young men. In this case, the primary protagonist is Shinji Ikari, a socially awkward young boy with none of the hot bloodedness or swagger of his contemporaries. At the midpoint of the series, psychological themes of communication and loneliness were tackled and brought to the forefront. In fact, all of the characters in this series suffered from some sort of dysfunction. Their growth (and folly) is one of the things that made the series so fascinating to many.
But the end of Evangelion's production had only served to worsen Anno's mental state. There was a sizeable backlash to episodes 25 and 26, thanks to the esoteric and introspective nature of those episodes. Anno recalls fans posting on forums that were discussing how to kill the director, and some extreme fans even went to Gainax headquarters and defaced the front facade. It's a symptom of a toxic culture that has only grown in recent years, thanks to the internet and the relative ease with which anyone can express their opinion. At this point, Anno had contemplated ending it all; perhaps jumping in front of a train or jumping off a building. In his recollection more than 20 years later, the only thing stopping him was the prospect of pain - in his words, he "didn't mind dying, but [he] didn't want it to hurt."
Once again, partially thanks to the urging of his peers, he channeled all that negativity and despair into a proper theatrical ending to the series: first the recap movies Evangelion Death and Rebirth, and finally, the 1997 film End of Evangelion, a bewildering, postmodern mindscrew that manages to be both unbelievably bleak and strangely hopeful at the same time. It is one of my favorite anime movies of all time.
It is the End of Evangelion that shares the most similarities to Anno's latest and perhaps final foray into the Evangelion franchise, Evangelion 3.0 + 1.0 Thrice Upon a Time. The two films are two sides of the same coin, the same film exploring one concept in markedly different ways.
The film begins after the events of Evangelion 3.0 (2012); after the death of Kaworu and a thwarted Fourth Impact, Shinji, Asuka and a nameless clone of Rei Ayanami roam the desolate countryside, now barren thanks to Shinji inadvertently causing Third Impact during Evangelion 2.0 (2009). The trio then come across an oasis in a sea of red - an encampment of Third Impact survivors, whose members include some of Shinji's old classmates.
This first third feels very different from anything we've seen in Evangelion so far. Some who watched this part liken the proceedings to a Ghibli anime, which is not surprising given the fact that Ghibli gave assistance to the production of the film. This part is also what differentiates it from its twin, End of Evangelion: in this particular sequence, Shinji is given the space to understand the feelings of others, process his feelings and come out of his depression. Here, Shinji contextualizes the confusion and disorientation he experienced during the events of the last film. He has a support system in place this time, unlike in End of Evangelion where he had no one to talk to.
Shinji is not the only one who comes to terms with his feelings: the unnamed Rei Ayanami clone, previously without purpose or existence unless ordered, begins to settle into the rhythms of daily life and befriends the townsfolk. Throughout this part we know that this idyll cannot last forever; the occasional floating train or wandering Evangelion in the distance is a reminder that all this can be wiped out at any minute. But the people in the community persevere and live anyway, tying into the theme of Ayanami's arc and the theme of this entire part in particular: that in a state of dread or meaninglessness, we create our own meaning and sometimes that's all that one needs for a fulfilling life.
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It's late 2012, and Evangelion 3.0 has just come out. Anno is in a creative slump in terms of Evangelion and production for the final film is put on hold. Deadlines are pushed and for a moment, the prospect of a sequel becomes remote. Anno recalls his creative dilemma after making the third film: "I was broken, I didn't think I had the talent to pull it off." He was afraid he didn't connect to Shinji anymore as a character, identifying more with Shinji's father, Gendou, instead. He takes a long break, producing and directing Shin Godzilla (2016) instead. Anno has always been a fan of Tokusatsu; one of his earlier films was a fan film of Ultraman. Shin Godzilla ends up being one of the franchise's best entries, winning the 40th Japan Academy Prize for best film.
It's now around 2017-2018. Production for the final Evangelion film has resumed. Anno is talking to a reporter for a documentary crew who has followed the director since the resumption of production. He asks the reporter to focus on the other crew members, to give importance to them.
Though indeed Evangelion 3.0 + 1.0 is a collaborative effort, it is a very personal film, an intimate look at Anno as a person and an artist. Because Anno identifies with Gendou more than Shinji, he is given an expanded character arc in the introspective second half of the film. Although his motivations are more or less the same, his character is far more fleshed out here. He is a tragic figure, consumed with the desire to face his loved one once again. This in itself is a noble ideal, but Gendou does it to the detriment of everything else - including his own humanity. This goes back to Shinji's actions in 2.0, where he decides to rescue the original Rei Ayanami at all costs, even if it causes Third Impact. Although audiences at the time may have seen the action as a heroic one - characteristic of the very characters Evangelion sought out to deconstruct - this last film shows that it's not a healthy mindset. The hot-blooded young man trope is inherently destructive and easily misunderstood. Had Shinji continued on with his actions in 2.0, he would have become just like his father. In a meta sense, it might even reflect the actions of a young, brash creator making whatever he wants without caring about the consequences, a brave yet potentially destructive act. What matters then for Shinji (and Anno by extension), is the kind of emotional maturity that he grows into over the course of these films. This is a major part of what sets apart this film from End of Evangelion, a point that we will discuss later.
Now all this is not to say that the film doesn't have its share of problems. It has a tendency to not explain important plot points, especially in the latter half of the film series. The films become almost impenetrable if viewed without the background of the other films and the previous series. Its a work that lends itself to multiple interpretations, and thus multiple viewings, because it is not an easy watch even for seasoned fans. Yet Anno seems to approach the finale as an experience more than a straightforward narrative feature, as the esoteric nature of the film's storytelling isn't as important as the message it wants to convey.
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It is sometime in 2018. The same documentary crew that interviewed Anno earlier interviews Toshio Suzuki, main producer and one of the pillars of Studio Ghibli. This is not a surprise as Anno has a history with the company, having worked on Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind before Ghibli was even called Ghibli. At this time production on the final Evangelion film is continuing, but it is unclear when it will be finished. "Anno is an eternal adolescent," Suzuki says of his colleague, "He's almost 60 but he hasn't grown up."
Evangelion 3.0 + 1.0 is a coming of age not only for its main character, but for its creator as well. This is hardly an isolated incident, as Anno's own colleagues and contemporaries have made works that tackle the abandonment of childish fantasy for the real world. Anno's protege Kazuya Tsurumaki directed the seminal anime FLCL and Diebuster, while his former Gainax colleague Hiroyuki Yamaga directed Magical Shopping Arcade Abenobashi, both series featuring young protagonists who fear growing up and get into all sorts of situations in order to avoid it. In these works, nostalgia and homeostasis are the enemy, much like in the culmination of instrumentality in End of Evangelion where everyone is merged into a formless, unified existence, where no one can ever be hurt by others ever again. The problem is, what meaning is there to such a life?
End of Evangelion thinks inward, positing that one must keep on living in spite of how one is hurt by others, while Evangelion 3.0 + 1.0 thinks outward, noting how we must live not in spite of, but because of others, to consider what one can give to others rather than what one can take from them. In both cases, instrumentality is rejected, but the outcomes are completely different. In the latter finale, the film seems to say that we derive our own meaning not just from ourselves, but from others as well.
And metafictionally, this film is Anno's emancipation from Evangelion, a creator's coming of age. A creator's desire is to create, but some do not want to be shackled into one thing forever. Anno's journey to re-create Evangelion in this film series, a journey that took him 14 years, is not unlike the curse of the Eva pilots - to be forever young and unable to grow up. The ending of this scene, filmed in the train station in Anno's hometown, is the point of the entire film - that sometimes, we have to leave our old fantasy worlds behind and cross into the real world. There is nothing wrong with wanting to change and take responsibility for your own life, and I think that acknowledgement is a beautiful thing. The "eternal adolescent" has grown up.
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It's the late 1990's and I'm a high school student nearing his own graduation. The week before, during a trip to Greenhills, I decided to buy a VHS tape that included two episodes of a show called Neon Genesis Evangelion. It starts in the middle, at episode 15 and 16, and I have little to no context on the series itself, but I'm hooked. I decide to buy more tapes the next time I come back to the hotel, if I manage to save up the money. The rest of my days in between are spent making theories and speculating about the series. I have been a fan ever since.
It's a couple of days ago, seconds after watching this film. I realize that this is not only Anno's emancipation from Evangelion, but ours as well. The film is a challenge to all of us to move on from these fantasy worlds and go out into reality to live our lives and maybe create something beautiful as well. A work can stay in our hearts forever, but all works of art have their natural end. In my experience, trying to revive that old spark never quite works out. The hate that Anno and the Gainax staff received after the end of the original series reminds me of fans today that are unable to move on from the past. They are angry because nothing is the same, or nothing feels like it once did. The thing is, nothing ever will, as memories are like fireworks, dazzling our senses once then never again. This iteration of Evangelion is not the same as it was before, and that's for the best. And once we've all removed the (DSS) collars that shackle us to our youth, we have the rest of our lives to look forward to.
