Letting Go of Evangelion

Around a week ago now, I watched Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time, or Shin Evangelion, with my father in IMAX. It wasn't the first time I've seen it, and it won't be the last. To prepare for the film, I watched the original classic Neon Genesis Evangelion, as well as End of Evangelion, and the three other "Rebuild" films: 1.0 You Are (Not) Alone, 2.0 You Can (Not) Advance, and 3.0 You Can (Not) Redo, in their respective 1.11, 2.22, and 3.33 states, all with my father watching with me. It's the third time I've rewatched the original series, the fifth time I've rewatched End of Eva, and the second time I've rewatched the Rebuilds, minus 3.0+1.0. Every time, I took away something new, something that didn't resonate with me the last time I experienced the work. Like a guitar, playing a new chord caused a string that I haven't heard before to ring in resonance. The string that played this time was the idea of  changing the world, and more beyond that. To first examine that, though, we'll have to go into my experience with Evangelion, and how that informs the person I am, today. 

I believe I first watched Neon Genesis Evangelion when I was 13, nearly five years ago now. This was before I knew how to torrent, and if it even existed, and also before the show made its way onto Netflix. I had to resort to the likes of KissAnime, bombarded my porno ads and popup viruses, I started my journey in a hot, stuffy cellar of an Airbnb in the Hawaiian winter. I don't remember much about my first watch - 13 year old me was mostly just mopey and horny all the time - but I distinctly remember watching Episodes 18 and 19 for the first time, 18 in particular having a visceral effect on me. To a more desensitized individual, the violence showcased probably isn't so shocking, but the imagery on display stayed with me for not an unsubstantial amount of time. I gave it a 7 out of 10 (yes yes I know multiple things wrong with that) and kinda just moved on with my life. For reference, this was when I was a big fan of the likes of Code Geass. It's very funny.

A year after that, I watched the Rebuilds and thought they were an improvement in every way, until 3.0, which I loathed. Not really much else to say after that, it's just pretty funny to me as well.

Anyways, I didn't really think too much about Evangelion for awhile after that. I watched some Youtube videos on it from the likes of Digi and some dude named GoatJesus I think? It made me appreciate it a bit more, but I wasn't a big fan of it or anything. That is, until one night when I decided to watch the sequel film, End of Evangelion, and I kind of lost my mind. I don't really remember much about the initial viewing experience, I just remember sitting in silence looking at the "Fin" screen, the thoughts in my head speeding so fast that it actually made me kind of dizzy. It was a momentous event in my life, and I attribute that experience to kind of saving my life, I think. It's difficult for me to articulate into words, the way this series makes me feel, nevertheless; I'm going to try.  

There are so many angles to approach Eva from, especially with the Rebuilds added into the mix, that there isn't really a place *to* start. You kinda just have to take it all in. The general synopsis, then, is about three children -- Shinji, Rei, and Asuka -- piloting massive mecha, called Evangelions, to defeat aliens from outer space, called the Angels. Immediately, the show makes quite the impression with Hideaki Anno's fantastic, unique direction and Shiro Sagisu's beautiful score. It's not just bombastic, it's moody, atmospheric. There's whole episodes where there's no action at all. In an early episode, most of it is our main character, Shinji, walking throughout the city of Tokyo 3, ambient sound playing and beautiful vistas to feast our eyes on. It's clear that this isn't a cut and dry story, and that it's going to be something unique, at the very least. Some themes are so obvious that they're not worth talking about, mainly because it's been written to hell and back. Loneliness, parenthood, legacy, grief, the pursuit of happiness and subjective reality are just some of the many, many prevalent themes seen in both the original series and the Rebuilds, and for good reason. However, one thing really struck me with this rewatch, and that's that this entire franchise is so incredibly optimistic. 

There's a throughline of human ingenuity and the power of imagination throughout the movies and shows. Constructing miracles, the curse of intelligence and consciousness, and the sheer amount of *work* it takes to have these massive mecha even function. It's brought up time and time again. More than that, though, this human ingenuity theme leads right into another one: the idea and preservation of the future. 

For me, it becomes increasingly difficult to view art through a lens that's not attached to the issues of the present. A lot of what I look for in a piece of art is for it to be timely, or to relate to the general sentiment of the modern age. I feel this is a part of Eva that is sadly quite overlooked, as the background is something that truly adds so much to narrative and emotion of the show. Fifteen years prior to the show's start, the Second Impact happened, a catastrophic event that occurred in Antarctica and where millions of people died due to the melting ice caps. In this new world, there are no more seasons, it almost never rains, and it's always summer, all the time. To grow up in a world where it feels as if you have been fundamentally robbed of things in that world, is a feeling I can very much relate to today. Instead of relating to the material aspects, like economic and equity struggles, Eva is able to let us connect with a world and a feeling that I think a lot of children, and adults, are able to relate to.

During the ending of the television series, the subtext is made text: in bold lettering, the show exclaims: "Hello, Father. Goodbye, Mother. And to all the children: Congratulations!" The 14 year old pilots, the continuous cutbacks to those children's past as infants and toddlers, the idea of children as a seed for the future - it all culminates in this moment. A lot of people seem to think that Shinji is a self insert of the creator of the show, Hideaki Anno, but personally, I'd have to disagree with that reading. I read Shinji as a stand-in for the children, or rather, all the children of the world. At one point, the character of Misato Katsuragi says, "But he's only fourteen. Making him bear the burden of the future of mankind seems cruel." Indeed, it is a very cruel thing, but it is the only thing we can do. So, the adults of the world, those who water the watermelon seeds, should teach them to take care of themselves. To realize that the world is not a binary construct, that you can wrestle free of the restraints placed upon you. That, now, everything is up to you, and life is what you make it. It is a beautiful, and terrifying, thing.

The Rebuild series goes into this angle even harder with the idea of recurrence. When the films take a hard pivot into completely original territory at the end of 2.22, 3.33 manages to capture an even more viscous form of the guilt of inheritance that I spoke about earlier. When Shinji's actions, or rather, our inaction, caused the deaths of billions. The majority of Shinji's journey as a character in this and the final film is about overcoming this guilt. Instead of being born in a world where things are kinda messed up for everyone, he's born into a world where it's really messed up, and then makes it even worse. It may go even a little overboard I would say, but the effect is visceral.

Again, though, Evangelion defies expectations. One would expect that to wrap this up, they would say that it wasn't really Shinji's fault, that there is still hope. Yet, the arc of the final film, 3.0+1.0, embraces neither hope, nor despair. When faced with a battle between the two (and I mean that very literally), the characters representing that respective hope and despair must realize why those feelings arise in the first place. They must understand the origin of both concepts: the human heart. And I really think it comes down to that. I subscribe to this idea, too, personally: the idea that, really, all anyone wants from this world is to be happy. That some will go their whole lives trying to recreate that feeling, as Gendo does. That some will go their whole lives chasing that feeling, as Shinji does. That some will go their whole lives trying to be happy even without people, as Asuka does. That some will go their whole lives trying to understand what happiness is, as Rei does. That the pursuit for happiness is mired in both concepts of hope as well as despair is the truth that Evangelion tries to dispose upon us in its final moments, with the creation of a new spear: not the despair of Longinus, nor the hope of Cassius, but a man-made spear: Genesis. 

And so, Eva tells us that the genesis of abetter world is possible. For Shinji, it's a world without Evangelions: a symbol of the warmth of nostalgia, a product from the Second Impact. I've wrestled with what, exactly, the Evangelion represents, for years and years. Other symbols throughout the show are fairly obvious: Asuka's doll is of her trauma, Gendo's glasses as Rei's attachment to him, Shinji's tape recorder as an escape and thing of better days. Eva, too, is that day of better days. The womb of a mother, the appraisal of a father. Something created by Gendo to find Yui again, when in reality, the path to his happiness was not artificial creation, but recognizing that Shinji is the gift Yui left behind for him. And, to cherish that, he must let go of Yui, let go of the concept of a reset (a wonderfully meta character conclusion), to let go of the Evangelion. It's something that both the characters of the series and us, the audience, have to discard to be able to move forward. 

Shinji successfully recreates the world three times over the course of the series. Once, as a hellscape ravaged by the Third Impact. Twice, as a barely inhabitable blank canvas, from the Near Third Impact. And finally, recreating the world without Evangelion, a world he can achieve a true happiness. "A world where I don't pilot the Eva exists!" Shinji exclaims excitedly, during the climax of the television show. Indeed, it is. And, what's more, is that he's able to visualize it, and create it, with the people he loves by his side. Not through despair, as the twin Lances of Longinus deposed unto Shinji during Third Impact. Not the hope to save the Ayanami he knew and loved during Near Third Impact. He was able to make a world where he could be happy through himself, and the world that surrounded him. He was able to move past the guilt that he collected, the burden placed upon him by the world, the loneliness bestowed by his heart. All he needed to change the world was himself. And all you need to change the world is you.

All you need is you.