If there was anything to galvanize your interest towards the world of Evangelion, the happenings in Episode 19 of the TV series provided such a moment. It was then that the well-established setup had gotten to its tipping point: this was the culmination of the Angel-of-the-week configuration, so majorly altered in those closing moments by way of a reveal whose emergence stood to confirm one thing - that if we thought we'd figured (most of) the world of Evangelion, we were wrong. Shinji was no longer a pilot to Unit-01, but an actuator for the Angel within to acquiesce to his commands. When those parameters were no longer met, the bellowing sound of the Angel awakening needed no further cue to signal the unknown that was to come: that there was more to this world than was being let on.

The last episodes of the TV series, whilst in keeping with the general veering of the show towards supplanting action with psychoanalysis, perhaps left some to be desired. The shift seemed rather brusque and the full-blown delving into metaphysical territory could have been tempered in a more concentrated manner. There was more to want from Evangelion, in essence. And The End of Evangelion was there to provide just that: a more definitive version of the universe that hosted Tokyo-3. In a series that has built up a foundation for the sole purpose of tearing it down, Hideaki Anno's creation is both an exercise in restraint and exasperation. The former takes hold of the series until its mid-to-late stages, most observable in the quiet interactions between the members of Misato's household. A rather moving instance where Anno's restraint is beautifully transmitted is through the Shinji-Misato relationship, specifically in the way it evolves - and how they appear to be much closer to one another than it had been suggested.

In truth, anything that resembles Misato - and even Ritsuko - is a demonstration of thoughtful directorial restraint. The orderly-yet-disorderly antithesis that best describes Misato goes a long way in the proceedings of her tale, but there's also her seeking of human connection that's so integral to what she is about. Her inability to put herself out there without feigning resilience of character is merely one of the many facets to one of the characters in this series. And Ritsuko, too, with the glaring irony of not retreading her mother's steps in life - yet doing just that - substantiates another of Anno's attempts at probing into the human nature.

With Evangelion, its study of interhuman relationships is just as necessary to account for as the unabated mecha set pieces it trots out. Make no mistake, to prop up the fighting sequences in that manner and to then supplant them with intense character study was a long-in-the-making matter. Shifting towards psychoanalysis by the later episodes didn't relocate the objective or narrative goal of the series - it merely stood to remind that what mattered was inside the mechanical robot, not outside it.

As it concerns itself with the study of the self-doubt and the loss of self-actualization adjacent to its characters' headspaces, the abundance of depressive behaviour that's portrayed is not at all surprising. It's a dire and unfeeling world out there in Tokyo-3, and with examples ranging from the insecurity-ridden Shinji to the validation-starved Asuka, all the way to the stifling aloofness of Rei (which hints at a strange backstory); there's something that lies inward of those characters that's so curiously morbid to uncover. And the results of draping their backstories by their narrative threads in the last third of the series pulls forth some disquieting reveals, with Asuka's being so disheartening that I fail to conjure any string of words to have any rational say.

There's a palpable sense of dread to virtually anything happening in Anno's work. That sentiment is continually amplified both throughout the series and in the film - and it's crushing. The sheer anticipation you sense during Evangelion is nigh unbearable, because it's not the pleasant kind. It's akin to knowing there's something that wasn't yet revealed about something that you fear inwards. It's this anticipation that works so effectively in Anno's fictionalized world, and it functions twofold: for one, it quantifies uneasiness toward future events through fear of the unknown, which it capitalizes on in ways that are as twisted as the anime's universe. And through those ways, you are being thrown in for a feedback loop in which you only expect the worst to come. In fact, Evangelion can also be classified as a foray into the unknown and into quandaries that lie beyond human comprehension. The designs of the Angels exemplify that notion, as the tamer, more conventional forms are rolled out in the earlier episodes, with the increasingly more bizarre entities introduced midway through the series seriously testing the realms of comprehension and...creativity! Oddities such as Leliel, Sahaquiel and Armisael look downright peculiar, for instance.

When talking strictly about The End of Evangelion, one has to retain that the vehicle to transport Anno's narrative doesn't much change, relative to the series. The main engine to propel everything forward feels very much familiar: the film starts brazen and bold, and continues in that manner. It debuts with an urgency that it manages to maintain fully without a hitch. Perhaps what was envisioned as the ultimate irony came to be: humanity is the ultimate foil and the final angel. And right off the gate, Anno doesn't waste any time with niceties: it's a full-on man-on-man assault. Where the series would likely fete us with some extraterrestrial beings for the humans to fight, the film upends that course of action immediately by getting SEELE to deploy an onslaught on Gendo's organization. But the beginning of Anno’s film isn’t just that. The hospital room we’re thrown into in the opening is desolate and lugubrious, not just in tone but also in content – as we see a dejected Shinji pleading for a bedridden, unconscious Asuka to wake up. What follows in the absence of a reply can perhaps act as a disclaimer that Anno has been given the artistic freedom he’d long coveted, for better or for worse.

Anno has oftentimes stated that Evangelion is the result of many years of heavy mental toll as caused by severe depression. That Shinji, Asuka, and Rei all act as facets of that depression is already known, but it nevertheless makes for an interesting case. If the character Shinji is to embody the more withdrawn and reclusive spells of the author, thus understandable as the lows of Anno’s depression; the foundation beneath Asuka could very well be a placeholder for the more animated highs of Anno’s depressive bouts. With that in place, Rei would slot right in the middle, if one would recognize a state of general aloofness and relative detachment to be the default of depression. This is just my interpretation, so it’s entirely possible I may be horribly mistaken. Regardless, the arcs of these main characters skew terribly for the worse in End of Evangelion, which nonetheless helps a lot with empathizing with Anno’s case.

And in case that wasn’t enough of a confirmation, what developments the main characters go through during the movie may just as well settle it: if there’s one thing that Anno wants to remind you, it’s that he’s not willing to relent on this one. As Shinji’s mental health deteriorates, the onus falls on Asuka to deliver. As a departure from the series’ ways, this is quite major: where Gendo’s shut-in son would usually be the one to make the difference as Asuka’s boisterous performances proved unremarkable. This window of opportunity presented the Unit-02’s pilot with just the chance to finally prove herself. And she does…

Battling the Mass Produced Eva series, in a segment which is simply outstanding - both visually and sonically – is one of the greatest gifts that Anno delivered with the End of Evangelion. There’s an already established grim ambiance to Evangelion, and that is a moment in which it all peaks. It’s a culmination of that uneasy sentiment, where what was ghastly and unknown was hiding in plain sight; it’s humanity fighting itself, using the tools it had used prior to repelling the invading alien forces. And that, now more than ever, is an irony of inconceivable proportions. How droll it is, for humans for fight amongst themselves using the very means they had developed to stave off the invading, foreign entities. It is arguable that this speaks to the predicament of humanity: that somehow, in the most inopportune times, it finds a way and reason to self-hate.

God’s in his heaven, all is right with the world is curiously the slogan of Gendo’s organization, Nerv. Various interpretations exist and each see the message from valid perspectives, construing it in just as valid ways. But where – if I retain correctly – the predominant understanding is that Gendo’s organization is doing God’s work - thus leading to all being right with the world – I however have a more despondent outlook on its significance. What with the happenings in Evangelion, depressing as they are, I see the quote mentioned prior as a jibe at the state of humanity: God has abandoned us, leaving us to tend to our self-destructive path towards ruin. It is through this that Anno’s interpolation of such a quote into his work gives it new meaning. All being right with the world of Tokyo-3 is thus not more than a derision at its state of affairs; the meaning is just as ironic as humanity turning on itself, after having staved off its alien adversaries. Hence, all being right with the world is a grave misrepresentation of the state of humanity, a jab at its competence to mock and self-flagellate itself.

Returning to Asuka and her section midway through the film: it’s one for the ages. Beyond the sequences providing some of the smoothest yet weightiest-feeling battle scenes from any medium, they’re also ripe with meaning. Owing to the quality of animation, the feeling and intensity of every punch and laceration have stupendous force. And Asuka herself is a precious force in this culmination of her arc: she’s punching, stabbing, ripping, tearing those MP Evas, and you feel every bit of that. You feel every jolt, writhing, and every drawing of breath of hers to keep pushing on. It is through this that what is transmitted is thoroughly transposed beyond the screen. Asuka’s final battle is a superlative feat; it is more than a neatly stylized section where robots fight one another, but a spell in which the troubled childhood of one of the characters is finally made away with for once.

It is now that such a past finally meets resistance, granting us the ability to see true potential being met: we’re witnessing a heroine now at peace with herself, no longer defiled by self-doubt. Witnessing Unit 02 lift an aircraft carrier as it rises from the seabed is a particularly moving sequence. It’s a powerful case in which the visuals connect with the message so faultlessly that all you can do is lap it up and relish the moment. It is a sequence like few others, where it feels like all the momentum had been building up to that, funneling into this one set piece. And you certainly feel it; my reaction faintly making me reminisce what I’d felt firsthand whilst watching Game of Thrones’ Battle of the Bastards; the endings of The Florida Project & Parasite, and, more anime-related, Attack on Titan’s Declaration of War. Simply put, it’s as if the fabric of this entire fictitious universe is bursting at its seams, ready to unravel and scatter before you. And Anno does a lot with what pieces there are on his board: the 15-or-so minutes of Asuka’s battle befit a triumph (however temporary) over this larger-than-life, Lovecraftian envisioning of depression, where it can be likened to celestial entities, seldom comprehensible and thus, often misunderstood. Incidentally, I also happen to see the different Angel entities - though they may signify no more than a backdrop for the depression-centric thematic - as extensions for the elusiveness of mental illness, hardly palpable yet still immediately apparent; where, when the protagonists manage to upend these attackers, a step is made to curb said mental hurdles.

Of course, this would not be an Anno creation if the set piece mentioned prior did not come with a caveat. And a grisly one, at that. Having the MP Eva units self-revive after Asuka trashes them is the kind of sardonic wit that somehow doesn’t feel displaced in the slightest here. What follows is something that is perhaps just as exceedingly disquieting as it is gratuitous. With the overhead that Anno has been feted with for the movie, his penchant for the macabre is most evident now, more than ever, as it looks to spill into gratuitousness. It is through this argument that I extend that some toning down wouldn’t have been amiss. The End of Evangelion is uncompromising, truly. But it is so to a fault. Some violence and body horror that occur in EoE surely wasn’t all necessary. I shall return to this later on. However, I reckon the talk regarding Anno’s artistic vision is best saved for another time.

And yet, with what happens to Asuka, you expect something positive to come of it. Anno unfolds the Shinji getting back into the EVA plotline in tandem with Asuka’s battle, which naturally gets you to expect the classic eleventh-hour save from Shinji. Surely, as other media had taught you prior, there’s a high chance that Shinji’s right on his way to rescue Asuka. Thus, you await salvation, conditioned by what those other pieces of media would normally provide you with. Salvation does not come. Neither Shinji nor his peers manage to miraculously resolve his anxiety and despondency. This is perhaps another of Anno’s attempts to prod at the make of fiction: it may help us in temporarily escaping reality, but Anno’s creation isn’t much of a reprieve in that sense.

I would be remiss in my commenting on this if I failed to adduce the other factors that contribute to the full Evangelion experience: the animation and visuals are quite fantastic, there’s a primitive sense of rage whenever the Eva units are sent into battle, much like you’d see in something like Attack on Titan or some such works. But there’s Sagisu’s score, which I feel is the one element that aggrandizes Evangelion. As we see Unit-02’s impaling by a wayward Longinus Lance, it is the notes of Sagisu’s Munashiki Nagare/M3 that cover the sonics. The marrying of Sagisu’s score to the demise of Asuka is simply beautiful, turning into something so much more than a solemn sendoff, barring what happens after the MP Eva revival. Given how Bach’s BWV 1068 is the prior piece makes one appreciate Anno’s choices just that bit more. It’s something for the history books, in all honesty.

Furthermore, it would be dismissive of me to not account for the vocal performances of the actors. Prior to the airdropping of the MP Evas by SEELE, hearing the “It takes poison to quell poison, after all” quote in Japanese felt as menacing as its implications. All the same, the English dub itself works to building and maintaining the immersion to good effect. Given how oftentimes dubs are typically seen as second-grade renditions, I found the one of Evangelion to be stellar. Each character is given a distinct identity, and it all fits them so well. In fact, I cannot envision anyone other than Allison Keith as Misato; her English rendition is a top-drawer performance, plain and simple. Asuka & Shniji, too, get proper treatment from the voice actors, and with this I again retain a preference for the English interpretations.

Back to the goings-on in the film, Shinji’s reaction whereupon witnessing Unit-02’s remains is particularly of note. I reckon that could be interpreted even as a placeholder for the viewer’s reaction and perception of all that happens during Anno’s film: what does it all even mean? For what it’s worth, Shinji looks just as flustered and confused as us all. That the film then segues into the onset of the Third Impact is another source for consternation.

At some point during the Third Impact – whilst Komm, Susser Tod can be heard playing – Arianne candidly singing that “what’s done is done/it feels so bad” and that “my world is ending” is perhaps the most fitting lyricism to accompany the visuals. It’s all past the point of pleading or groveling; the song is a declaration, a recognition, an assertion of the fact that all is so irreparably broken that the only solutions are for naught outside of a hard reset. What’s most poignant about Komm, Susser Tod is how unflinchingly honest it is and how it's performed in such a casual, almost blasé manner.

It is thus true that the fate of destruction brings about the joy of rebirth. If the place of such a quote was hitherto hardly legible, the occurrence of the Third Impact now validates it. Even if we flounder, Asuka’s revival portrays a second chance. While this may seem off-base in relation to the overarching progression at first, thematically it does make sense. If Anno sought to found a bleak and dismaying tale that ultimately ends on a life-affirming note, he achieved that with Evangelion. This is strictly talking about the artistic intent at the crux of Evangelion: I would have a hard time believing that it was meant to be anything but life affirming in the end.

To add to the previous paragraph, while I may have considered the revival part of the Third Impact to be a bit of a crutch initially, I uncovered enough meaning behind it to understand and even sympathize with the choice. Again, the ending of the film – after all the tribulation that pervaded Evangelion - has that much more of a jolt. Especially as the lap of honour here is curiously one quite at odds with fiction, it’s essential that Anno’s message gets to the viewer. Through fiction we can escape reality, but only temporarily. And Anno’s make of fiction is akin to reality, in many ways – as had been presented earlier. While it may be natural for one to turn to fiction when the real world poses resistance to their ideals, entirely relying on that fiction is dysfunctional.

Along comes the ending. In a project meant to probe into the throes of depression and prompt a deeper look at the fortune (and misfortune) of human interaction, Shinji’s attempt at strangling Asuka encompasses that very nature. Asuka caressing Shinji as he’s trying to subdue her provides a fitting bookend to Anno's hinting at a nascent future.

It now stands to reason that the sheer depth of Anno’s creation amazes. It punctures the very cloth of fiction it’s built for itself, becoming something beyond its own dimension. The potency of the medium has been stretched to such lengths that Evangelion’s renown is not without reason. One can thus say that the trajectory of Anno’s project, focused on the metaphysical as it examined what lay inward, returned one of the most life-affirming answers: that the joy of rebirth can happen more than once.