We begin on an ominous cold open, as Unit 03 is transported from the remains of the US base to Japan, a grim specter lurking within the clouds. The Eva units have never felt exactly comforting; in fact, our very first image of Unit 01 comes as a terrible shock, a monster that our young Shinji is somehow supposed to bend to his will. The arrival of a giant robot, particularly one with a young human pilot, has traditionally been a moment imbued with optimism and excitement, the moment our proud technology rises to rally against the chaotic forces of the universe. But while the angels are certainly ominous in their own unknowable way, the Eva units are clearly monsters, creatures with cold eyes and cruel teeth and uncertain wills of their own.
As such, Unit 03’s approach feels like the ride of a hateful harbinger, a fresh horseman of the apocalypse approaching our demon-scarred home. As its bearers converse in refreshingly fluent English, we see its grim eyes sink into a cloudbank, followed by a brief flash of lightning through the atmosphere. With each angel in turn having further stretched their form and definition, and with the show having never gone more than one episode between each angel attack, Evangelion immediately has us jumping at shadows, only certain the next act of violence will emerge from wherever we least expect it. In this way, Evangelion instills in us a tremendous fear for Shinji’s sake, a sort of structural dramatic irony that even in its insistence on approaching violence cannot hope to prepare us for the horror to come.
Meanwhile, Shinji remains, if not blissfully, at least passively oblivious to the coming storm. Collecting his school supplies, he casually remarks on Asuka’s disappearance, to which Misato responds that Asuka is apparently trying to avoid her. When Shinji asks why, Misato replies that “I guess you’re still too young to understand a woman’s feelings.” Misato’s idle reply points to a truth of Evangelion more generally: as a story largely fixed on Shinji’s shoulder, we frequently receive only fragmentary, half-glimpsed information about the personal dramas surrounding him, and much of that is frankly indecipherable to Shinji himself. Evangelion the show possesses a keen understanding and sympathy for the women of its universe, part of which is almost contradictorily articulated through other characters’ lack of understanding – Shinji, Gendo, and even Kaji frequently misunderstand, misinterpret, or simply ignore the signals they are receiving from the people around them, especially the women.
And so, wholly unaware of the need to assert herself as a woman that has driven Asuka into such frustration with Misato, or even the revelation of the pilot that further turned her against her surrogate mother, Shinji stumbles into another live wire of a topic: the fate of Unit 04. His words stumble over Misato’s own, who in keeping with her general soft approach to Shinji’s care urges Shinji to speak first. One more tiny tragedy in a long line of errors; Misato was actually just about to reveal the truth, to break the news of Toji’s candidacy here in this neutral venue, and it was Shinji himself who blocked that revelation. For two episodes straight, every facet of this world accidentally conspires to ensure Shinji only learns about Unit 03’s pilot at the worst possible moment..
Even with all that, Misato is given one last chance to reveal Unit 03’s pilot after Shinji directly asks. The storyboarding emphasizes the delicacy of this moment. We first see what Shinji sees, as he stares down at Misato’s luggage while probing about the activation test, unwilling to actually meet her gaze. Then when Misato is forced to answer the key question, we shift to an unsettling fisheye overhead shot, complete with a sickly spin that creates a further sense of ominous disorientation. And of course, right before she actually speaks, the opportunity again vanishes – this time stolen by Kensuke, who arrives with a request to be made Unit 03’s pilot himself.
Heading to the activation site, Ritsuko chastises Misato for her inability to talk frankly with her ward. Of course, that was before everything; before she knew Shinji as a person, before she even really saw him as a person. Since then, things have become awkward and intimate and endlessly complicated. With no known mother of her own to draw on as example, Misato has been forced to grow closer to Shinji in whichever inelegant ways she can muster, at times treating him like a little brother, a lover, or even a reflection of herself. And all this while she most fundamentally remains his taskmaster, working not just to help him flourish as an adolescent, but to specifically pilot the Eva unit – a task that itself likely demands pilots be a little broken, whether desperate for approval like Shinji and Asuka or simply indifferent to life like Rei. Little wonder she doesn’t know how to deal with him. What healthy relationship of her own does she have to draw on, and how poorly can any such example map to the relationship of an Eva pilot and their commander?
In a clear, direct contrast with the previous day’s shenanigans, the atmosphere of the classroom has entirely changed. Toji is distant, staring up at the ceiling, barely responding to the idle banter of his friends. Asuka is furious, clearly preoccupied with some other source of anger, lashing out at familiar targets. As the class rep and Rei watch in silent concern, Shinji’s eyes flicker between his companions, a repetition of a familiar feeling: knowing everyone is mad about something, not understanding, feeling vaguely certain that you are somehow the problem. In the space of one evening, the sense of peace and belonging Shinji felt within this classroom has been destroyed. The one place where he could actually be a kid, untethered from the demands of NERV, has been tainted, and he doesn’t even know why.
Toji isolates himself on the roof during lunch, unable to keep up his usual banter with his new responsibilities hanging overhead, unwilling to either lie to his friends or tell them the truth. Of all people, it is Rei who finds him there – though as Toji points out, her sympathies lie more with Shinji than himself, and she is merely uncertain of how to resolve Shinji’s clear discomfort at this new arrangement. Meanwhile, Hikari stares from the windows below, her hands tightly gripping the lunch she made for Toji. From an initial point of mutual distrust and play-acting of normalcy, this class has actually become a genuine community, a collection of kids who all care for each other and wish to grow closer together. But in one cold stroke, NERV has shattered the shelter they have built, emphasizing again that they are no more than surrogates and substitutes, a collection of bullets waiting to be loaded and fired by the Eva units.
By the time lunch is over, even Toji’s illusion of still attending class has dissipated, and he awaits his fate lounging out in the school annex. This school was ultimately as much of a make-believe construction as Misato’s attempted family life; a comforting fantasy while it lasted, but in truth just another tool through which to manipulate the young Eva pilots. His basketball lies abandoned in the gym, and he stares towards the sky, remembering when he once punched Shinji for injuring his sister. A short time ago, but it feels so much longer – back then, “this new kid hurt my sister” could still be framed in the context of schoolyard scuffles, could still be resolved by a swift fist and a sorrowful reconciliation. What can his fists and friendships do for him now?
Standing on the precipice of premature adult responsibilities, Hikari and Asuka share their feelings on the walk home, stopping at a nearby playground and admiring the city before them. The sandbox echoing childhood behind, the towers of Tokyo 3 ahead, our young would-be heroes in the small gap between. Within this tiny space afforded them, the two share the glimmering treasures of adolescence, discussing their feelings regarding their schoolmates, comforting each other regarding the intentions of the people they care for. So much of Evangelion is concerned with what these children are forced to become, making moments like this all the more precious – moments that emphasize what they have lost, the incidental joys and ordinary happiness of growing up alongside your friends and family. It is not enough that Evangelion articulate what is cruel and terrible about the Eva project; it must also emphasize what life could be like, how even a frail and uncertain soul like Shinji could find a place in this world, if only he were given the time and encouragement to seize it.
This sensation of paradise lost is retained as we jump to Shinji and Asuka at home, idly wasting the evening while Kaji subs in as caretaker. As Asuka angrily points out, even one or two episodes ago, a situation like this would be raucous and joyous: a chance to prove herself to Kaji as a lover, while Shinji looks on in confusion and horror. But at this moment, on this night, there is no comfort or familiarity to be found in their ordinary at-home routines. The approach of Unit 03 has stolen even the certainty of this sanctuary, casting a grim shade over this once-familiar scene. And Kaji, sensitive as he is, sees only one solution: going to bed early, and hoping tomorrow will be a brighter day.
The only person who cannot fully feel the weight of this situation, who does not understand that their era of playing school and house together has ended, is the unfortunate Shinji Ikari. Let down by everyone who should have informed him of 03’s pilot, he lives with an uncertainty that is in truth not terribly different from how things were before. After all, Shinji has always felt he doesn’t belong, always been apologizing for his presence, and always certain only that others are thinking of things beyond his understanding, and likely judging him all the while. And so Shinji asks a question that falls perfectly in line with his pursuit of greater normalcy, of a happier future beyond the anxieties of the past: “what is my father like?” He doesn’t want to hate or be afraid of Gendo anymore; he wants to understand him. A sympathetic gesture at the most inopportune possible moment.
Kaji, as always, is full of genuine, ego-free wisdom to impart. He gently tells Shinji that fully understanding others is impossible, and that even fully understanding the self might be beyond our capabilities. But this is not to say it isn’t worth attempting – indeed, coming to a greater understanding of the self that you might better connect with others is practically the only thing worth doing, the only way you can grow into a thoughtful, sensitive individual who actually improves the lives of those around you. It is always easy to shrink into yourself, whether through Shinji’s fear or through the destructive, ego-driven certainty of those who claim dominion over the world. It is more difficult by far to admit to and work through your uncertainty – but without following that path, connection and love will forever be distant to you. And after all, “that’s what makes life so interesting.”
As the activation test approaches, Misato seems more indifferent to her duties than ever, replying to Ritsuko’s musing on Unit 03’s combat capabilities with an offhand “oh, that’s nice,” and casually reflecting on how with four Eva units at her command, she could likely take over the world. Having seen the ways NERV manipulates and lies to even its alleged leaders like herself, she can no longer bear any false pretensions regarding her loyalty to this cause, or its underlying significance as a continuation of her father’s legacy. Ultimately, her father’s legacy was leaving her behind – and at this point, she has come to see enough of her father in her own reflection to fear echoing that legacy more than anything. She is loyal to the children who believe in her more than she is loyal to NERV; tragically, it is her very concern for Shinji that made her incapable of telling him the truth, for fear of hurting him even more. But sometimes a harsh truth kindly meant is the only guard against reality’s own brutal instruction.
The hammer falls suddenly, a corruption within the Eva unit, a grim parody of Leliel’s attempt to productively communicate with Shinji. Code orange, and a disaster at Matsushiro, the Unit 03 test site. Horror and uncertainty continue to define the drama as the Eva pilots scramble into formation, with burnt-orange clouds and crows’ silhouettes festooning ominous shots over the mountain pass. Somewhere in the distance, something horrible has happened. An enemy has appeared, and the test site was destroyed – the location of Ritsuko and Misato, two stable pillars of adult certainty and support. Are both of them gone, and what nightmare might emerge over that hillside? As always, Shinji knows nothing.
“How can we fight the Angel by ourselves,” Shinji asks, to which Rei offers a less-than-encouraging response: Commander Ikari is taking over the operation himself. After idly wondering to Kaji about his father’s true personality, Shinji at last gets to engage with him on the one field they share: the operation of the Eva units. If his childhood is truly behind him, then this pilot seat embodies the adult world he is prematurely entering. So how will his father greet him, now that he has assumed the mantle of a fellow man? But first, Shinji must know the enemy he is facing.
Unit 03’s approach is slow and ominous, its visage first revealed at the same time the bridge sees it: a camera briefly capturing only a peaceful rice paddy field, before the lumbering Eva unit trudges into focus. As steady and inexorable as the end of childhood itself, a revenant coming to steal little children from their beds. The threat facing our young pilots has never been more frightening, all the more so because we know Toji is trapped inside, beating helplessly against the entry plug while this malevolent golem drags him towards destruction. And then the call comes from above, Gendo’s words even more ominous than the approaching enemy: “Evangelion Unit 03 will be abandoned at this point. It will be designated as the Thirteenth Angel. Destroy the target.”
Shinji’s haunted breaths are accompanied by an implacable piano refrain, one repeating key emphasizing tension and the approaching violence. As Shinji recognizes the profile and relays his doubts to command, both Unit 03 and that oppressive piano trudge onward, a thudding counterpoint to Shinji’s doubts and disagreements. At the moment he needed Misato most, she was absent, either injured or perhaps lost entirely. Whatever he says, the moment of truth is approaching; he cannot hide in the arms of Misato anymore, even if the truth of adulthood is more horrible than he is willing to accept.
The final approach is pure, callous horror, Unit 03 dispatching each opponent in time with implacable fury and precision. The strategy of our pilots reflects the tension of the moment: for once, our heroes are hiding from their opponent, cowering behind trees and hilltops as this bestial Eva unit marches onward. Even ensconced within their massive machines, the Eva pilots seem vulnerable, afraid to engage with this terrible perversion of the Eva system. Their strategy does not save them.
Asuka’s defeat is relegated almost entirely to sound design, a harsh scream over TV static, leaving it unclear whether she even survived at all. Rei fares little better, with the imminent corruption of Unit 00 prompting Gendo to sever its arm entirely. Horror is most fundamentally a product of atmosphere, akin to properly conveying anxiety or self-loathing, and Evangelion has more than demonstrated its proficiency in articulating those. In the hands of Anno’s team, the approach of Unit 03 truly feels like the end of the world. And perhaps it is, in a way; for it is now that Shinji must entirely set aside childish things, must embrace the brutality of a committed soldier. He must destroy this innocent, so that his cruel overseers might succeed.
The two face off as the sunlight fades over the far hills. The lighting mirrors the episode’s thematic thrust, embodying the ending of these characters’ simulated adolescence, the last point where they can pretend they are children experiencing anything resembling a normal childhood. And in pure visual terms, the lighting serves a cruel second purpose, presenting the perfect opportunity for long shadows and creeping silhouettes. In the twilight, Unit 03 is almost unreadable, a tall shadow blotting out the sun. Preoccupied with its trapped pilot, Shinji cannot fight this creature – meanwhile, Unit 03 strikes with animalistic abandon, flinging itself towards Unit 01 like a beast trapped within the Eva unit, possessing nothing of the practiced, human-reminiscent posture and body language the pilots tend to employ. In fact, in its belligerent rage, the Eva brings to mind one other moment – Shinji’s first battle, when the Eva unit went berserk and ripped its enemy apart. So is this angel truly infesting and taking over this Eva unit, or is it actually setting the Eva unit free?
Shinji has no time to consider such questions. With the beast that became of Unit 03 choking the life out of him, Gendo rages at him to fight, but Shinji refuses. “I’ve got to save them,” he pleads. “I don’t care if I die. It’s better than killing someone.” And for once, we earn a clear shot of Gendo’s eyes, at his expression of anger and contempt unmediated by those distancing shades. To die is better than to kill someone? Shinji would sacrifice so little for the sake of his own life? To Gendo, who would give up the entire world to achieve his aims, such “cowardice” is unthinkable, a reflection of how this boy is fundamentally unknowable to him. How can Shinji appreciate what he is sacrificing here, all for the sake of his own childish morality? Though Gendo attempts to reason with the boy, Shinji is simply impossible. Activate the dummy plug.
Once again, sound design guides the horror. First, a brief moment of release and relief, as the Eva unit shuts down and Shinji sits in silence. Then, a steady, rising hum of some strange new system booting into action, the blood-like LCL casting the whole cockpit in a grim orange hue. Something is coming, something worse than man, worse perhaps than even the angels and Eva units. Gendo has unlocked the secret of power unmediated by conscience; removing the human element from the equation entirely, he has discovered a beast that can fulfill even his most heartless desires.
Without a human heart guiding it, the transformation of the Eva unit is sudden and terrible. The ensuing battle is not thrilling or glorious; it is swift, grotesque, and utterly without mercy. Unit 03’s neck is snapped within moments, and then the bloodletting begins. The wrecked Eva is torn apart piece by piece, eyes popping and splattering, armor ripped from undercarriage. Tokyo 03 is painted in blood and viscera, all while Shinji screams from the cockpit, begging his father to let the violence end. As the river’s sunlit orange turns a deeper red, Unit 01 raises the entry plug itself, a final act of cruelty towards this would-be pilot. The beast’s grip closes, and the fragile capsule is shattered.
We finish with a cruel cut to Hikari, still playing house within the confines of their lost childhood, still hopeful that the boy she likes might enjoy her cooking. There is innocence and beauty in this world, but the optimism of youth will always be exploited by the callousness of age. Only one person can bridge this gap, can shoulder the blame for this injustice: Misato Katsuragi, currently waking within the refuse of the activation test. Misato, who guides Shinji in life as in battle, who can perfectly understand and painfully relate to his feelings of isolation and uncertainty. It was she who drew him back to NERV, she who always welcomed him home. And now, in his moment of greatest torment, she is absent. Her voice only reaches him later, calling softly across the distance as the pilot of Unit 03 is removed from the wreckage. Shinji has destroyed his friend.
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