The Hedgehog's Dilemma - Finding Peace in Evangelion
Although jam packed with Evas, Angels, and the fighting that ensues between them, Evangelion manages to remain as introspective as any contemporary piece of avant-garde expressionism.
Through a cast of troubled characters, Eva explores the deepest recesses of our collective consciousness.
Shinji’s overburdening sense of worthlessness, Asuka’s obsessive quest for validation, and Rei’s struggle to come to terms with her humanity are depicted in such gut-wrenching detail, that they prompt us to analyze our own behavior. They are unfiltered and unadulterated mirrors of our deepest, darkest truths.
Despite all this, these characters remain endearing precisely because of their flaws. You can’t possibly justify your discomfort towards them without first taking a good look at yourself. They are embodiments of our shame, our fear and our utter confusion towards life as a whole. However, they cannot run away from these emotions as easily as we can. The enemies that threaten them, [massive alien beings referred to as “Angels”] as entertaining as their scale might be, serve primarily as conduits for the psychological scarring that fuel our protagonist’s story arcs.
Their power manifests in many different ways throughout the story. Some are capable of fighting our protagonists with powerful energy beams while others can probe their psyche and damage their brains from the inside. All while remaining impervious to most, if not all physical attempts at their person. The Angels relentlessly advance against humanity with nothing other than the Eva units to effectively stop them. Through increasingly unpredictable means, they keep pushing our protagonists into tighter, and tighter, corners. Causing them to reconcile with the often inhumane, traumatic and physically draining decisions necessary to narrowly defeat the Angels.
This narrative structure guides us to the very end of the show and of course, it’s accompanying final movie. By then, the viewer has been bombarded by pseudo-scientific jargon, conspiracy theories, and religious imagery that are sure to make any sane spectator annoyed or just plain uncomfortable.
As confusing as this all might be, it is central in emulating the transient nature of life itself. The unbearable weight of our existence, and the trials and tribulations that forge our character through living. Be these trials as simple as the fear of being left alone or the hell the show's monstrous “Angels” are capable of unleashing; sometimes, it’s just too much.
One tends to cave into the sadness. The unsurmountable sorrow of knowing that you just can’t pull your own weight alone. In that pain, much like ourselves, Evangelion characters seek for others' help; others as lonely and as helpless as them. It is in their many ego-driven clashes and trauma riddled misunderstandings that we see the true, central conflict of the show: Human connection.
Through this lens, the struggle to understand Eva mirrors its characters search for companionship and acceptance. We wrestle with the shows plotting as much as the characters wrestle to connect with each other. In this exercise, the show stops being about giant robots and alien “Angels” and starts being about us, about them, [the characters] and everyone involved in the experience of watching Eva.
Scenes like Rei and Asukas infamous “elevator scene” draw us into the action. Its unorthodox duration unsettles us as much as the awkwardness of their encounter unsettles them. During tense or emotional situations, Evangelion makes sure that we experience every inch of the characters discomfort by intentionally making the scenes irritating to watch. The abstract series finale is another example of the show's participatory nature. We are guided through Shinji's psyche just as he views it. His elaborate ego-death, him coming to terms with who he is, and the realization that comes after completing his journey all remain without careful explanation. We are trusted to follow and engage in this process just as Shinji does.
Evangelion never shies away from the many unpleasant, cruel and downright terrifying aspects of the human condition. It asks us to look inside that horror, and within it, reach out for another human hand.
Sharing the weight of living implies adopting others' pain. Oftentimes in the show, characters grow closer to each other only to discover that they’ve bit off more than they could chew, ending in an even bigger weight being placed on top of them. This is nothing to be ashamed or scared of for:
“-part of growing up means finding a way to interact with others while distancing pain.”
Misato Katsuragi right then and there, teaches us to live. To trust in hope and to seek the knowledge within the pain of others' warmth.
About the author:
Jose Duluc is a Dominican film student deeply interested in the intersectionality of art. His interests in any and all visual arts, fashion and music he finds are best expressed through writing. He is constantly researching how different mediums come overlap.