Rebuild of Evangelion is fascinating. Acting as a retelling of the original anime series, the selection of films have become a polarizing subject amongst hardcore Neon Genesis Evangelion fans. Many felt it could never live up to the majesty of the television anime, and given the landmark position it holds in the landscape of animated history and wider popular culture, that was always going to be an impossibility. Instead, series’ creator Hideaki Anno saw Rebuild of Evangelion as an opportunity to examine this world and its beloved characters from a new perspective, from a more positive outlook and mental wellbeing no longer dictated by the aggressive whims of self-loathing and depression.
Nowhere is that sentiment more true than in Evangelion: 3.0+1.01 Thrice Upon a Time, the fourth and final film in the Rebuild quartet that concludes the storyline once and for all. Arriving on Amazon Prime last week a handful of months after its Japanese theatrical release, this closing chapter was everything I wanted it to be, while doubling as a bittersweet farewell to the traumatised mech pilots and irresponsible adults I grew up learning to love. Shinji Ikari’s emotional journey reaches its climax in a feature that is both excessively explosive and beautifully understated, knowing when to slow down and delve into the vulnerabilities of its ensemble cast and how the battered world they’ve existed in has shaped them. It’s a heartbreaking film that clings onto the vestiges of hope, with a ragtag group of heroes praying that some eventuality will rear its head and spell out a brighter future. This comes to pass, and these kids finally get the happy ending they deserve.
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You will need to extend your suspension of disbelief to buy into the extravagance of Thrice Upon a Time. This is a film that introduces and throws away several revelatory ideas and concepts in a matter of minutes, expecting the viewer to take such developments and not read too much into them. It’s nonsensical at times, with the final act devolving into myriad metaphysical fight scenes on the edge of reality while delving into the same level of visual subversion seen in the original series’ final two episodes. Gorgeous frames of animation are interspersed with hand-drawn sketches and production stills, while an extended fight scene between Shinji and Gendo Ikari takes us on a literal journey through time as they fight through iconic locations from episodes and films of the past. It’s a final hurrah for Hideaki Anno and the fans who cheered him on, and also a boastful damnation of those who almost ruined his life with death threats and harassment upon the original series’ unconventional conclusion.
Neon Genesis Evangelion didn’t conclude with the action and bombasse fans expected, with budgetary constraints and behind the scenes troubles leading it to instead be an introspective examination of Shinji Ikari’s character and his own definition of self worth amidst a world on the brink of apocalypse. We didn’t see battles between EVAs and Angels, but a conflict between Shinji’s own personal perception and the relationships he was so eager to throw away.
He speaks with Asuka, Rei, Misato, and even his own father about his place in the world, and whether or not he has the confidence to get in the robot and save humanity. We see none of this proposed action, but we don’t need to. The conversations – coupled with obtuse, oddly beautiful imagery – are more than enough to sell us on the idea that Shinji is finally accepting some form of happiness, even his own father is willing to recognise his presence in the world. It’s a wonderful conclusion, but in 1995, fans were outraged. Back then, it mirrored Hideaki Anno’s own troubles with depression, something that would materialise once again with End of Evangelion.
Like I said before, this film emerged after Anno was ambushed with personal attacks and death threats in the wake of Neon Genesis Evangelion. The tone and execution of its narrative is a direct response to this vitriol. Gone is the happy ending, replaced with a disgraceful rendition of Shinji Ikari who masturbates over comatose teenagers and causes everyone he ever loved to die as the world around him falls apart. The Third Impact arrives, and he’s too useless to do anything but wallow in his own insignificance. In the end, he’s left on a bloody beach as the apocalypse begins, with Asuka, the object of his immature desire, beside him as the screen fades to black.
For years, that was the ending we were left with, a conclusion of our own making. The irony is that fans loved it, viewing it as a work of art unlike anything that had emerged before. It set the tone for fan expectations and the impact they would have on creators for years to come, something that has become all too common in the medium of games. Don’t like something? Just scream from the rooftops until someone listens to you. They might not, but harassing them with a chance of getting your own way is preferred to sitting in silence. It worked on Sonic the Hedgehog, after all. Following the film’s release, Anno focused on other projects, with Neon Genesis Evangelion becoming a monolithic footnote in his history. It remained a cultural icon, making over a billion dollars in DVD sales, merchandise and syndication across dozens of countries as its significance grew more and more profound. So, in 2007 – he returned to the world he created with Rebuild of Evangelion.
What began as a faithful retelling of the original series evolved into a contemporary expansion of its world and themes. Anno expected viewers to have prior knowledge of the television anime, alongside the culture and warped expectations that formed around it. Rebuild is a re-examination of these ideas from a more optimistic perspective, with Shinji Ikari and company finding hope amidst the ruinous apocalypse as they seek to usurp grief, melancholy, and the unfair destiny thrust upon them by immature adults. Thrice Upon A Time is more optimistic than it has any right to be.
Asuka and Rei spend much of the film discovering themselves, coming to terms with their place in this world and the sacrifices that must be made in order to take hold of their own agency. Shinji Ikari occupies a similar realm, spending the film’s first hour grieving the loss of Kaworu before stepping up to the plate to face his father. He begins the film as a character we’re eternally frustrated with, desperately hoping he will stand for something instead of dooming himself to pitiful oblivion. When he does, the atmosphere is triumphant, and our teenage protagonist grows from an empathetic nuisance into a hero we can be proud of. He faces his father, wins, and literally changes the world into one where Evangelions never existed.
Without their presence, he and all of his friends are no longer doomed to a cycle of misery, one where adults demand them to pilot robots and throw their lives away in favour of a fruitless endeavour. He can finally be happy, the closing moments featuring an older version of his character in a loving, flirtatious relationship as other key characters are teased in the background. This is the new normal, a place where we can finally say goodbye to Neon Genesis Evangelion. The final scene has Mari detaching the explosive collar from Shinji’s neck, a concrete indication that this place is different, one where NERV, Angels, and Evangelions are little more than constructs of the past doomed to irrelevance. As the collar vanishes, a smile erupts across his face and the duo rush out of the station, the camera panning upward as the animated landscape morphs into a live-action counterpart.
This transition is an indication of the series’ long-awaited conclusion, a neatly tied bow on an ending we’ve been waiting literal decades to see. It was worth the wait, and already holds a special place in my heart because it realises that these characters deserve to be happy. Hideaki Anno created the original series in a state of perpetual depression, while Rebuild of Evangelion was conjured up as a direct reaction to that mindset, aiming to tackle its themes, characters, and underlying message with a more positive outlook. Hideaki Anno wants these characters to move on and be happy just like he has been able to. We should take that advice, and acknowledge that Neon Genesis Evangelion has always been about finding light in the darkest of places.
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