Neon Genesis Evangelion’s first several episodes all essentially slot into their own two episode arcs, each centered on their own emotional conflict, and each with a unique Angel used to better illustrate those conflicts. The first two episodes centered on Shinji’s introduction to NERV, and being introduced to both his new caretakers and the threat he would be facing. The second pair center on his feelings of depression, and his slow process of coming to terms with living in Tokyo 3. And here in our third mini-arc, we at last find ourselves with enough grounding to expand our focus outside of Shinji Ikari. In this third arc, we focus for the first time on the mysterious Rei Ayanami.

We open with Eva’s classically stark white-on-black title shots, as we’re informed of a jump back to a NERV Activation Facility from twenty-two days ago. The episode’s first true shot is that familiar closeup on Gendo, highlighting his confident expression against a minimalist two-tone background. The constant centering of Gendo’s face throughout scenes like this naturally implies his power in this place; Gendo comes before all else, and his commands are final. Though the pushing of glasses up the bridge of the nose has come to most often be used as a tongue-in-cheek cliche, in Gendo’s hands it conveys its original intent: calculated confidence and assumed superiority.

Pulling out from Gendo, we find ourselves in a room we’ve witnessed only briefly – that same destroyed control center where Gendo and Ritsuko discussed the first battle’s aftermath. It’s an unspoken payoff that feels characteristic of Evangelion’s general subtlety when it comes to its dramatic threads. Evangelion isn’t a show that relies on mysteries or cliffhangers, though it certainly has plenty of both; instead, it consistently raises threads with no direct assumption of payoff, and allows its natural narrative progression to seed in old answers and new questions over the course of scenes with their own separate narrative momentum. The characters themselves don’t overemphasize these seeds and mysteries; they have their own concerns, and their focus on their own priorities makes the overall production feel far more visceral and real, while still benefiting from the catchy appeal of all these unspoken questions.

Given the context of our previous visit, it’s clear that something here is about to go horribly wrong. The patter of the bridge crew and progression of the monitors naturally conveys the dramatic progression here, as Rei Ayanami tries and fails to activate Unit 00. As during Shinji’s first battle, though this scene is exciting in its own right, its most important purpose may well be to establish the dramatic language of the Eva’s bridge readouts. We obviously can’t directly parse the intended scientific meaning of all these readings, but their shifting bars and the clear focus on “syncing latches” collectively offer a crystal-clear image of the Eva’s state. Evangelion is teaching us how to read the Eva’s moods, a fluency that will pay off even before this episode is done.

Those panicked exclamations and flashing readouts also offer a natural contrast with the actions of the Eva itself, which struggles against its bonds and roars like some captive beast. The nature of the Eva unit seems to echo a greater struggle across Evangelion – the inherent conflict between human science and the natural world, or clinical analysis and emotional truth. Gendo, as the avatar of NERV, seems to be uniquely hated by this unruly Eva unit, which breaks free of its bonds only to pound against the safety glass directly in front of NERV’s leader. Gendo seems unmoved by this display; whether he simply fails to value his own life or is unimpressed by the Eva’s attack, he stands firm as glass rains down around him. Ultimately, this opening scene ends on one last contrast, as Gendo’s implacability when it comes to his own safety shatters in the face of Rei Ayanami’s potential injury. Searing his hands in order to ensure Rei’s safety, Gendo demonstrates emotions like panic and relief for the first time in this series. And as his glasses sink in the LCL below, we’re left to wonder what his actual connection is to this strange, elusive girl.

After a title screen once again centering us on Rei Ayanami, Ritsuko begins by offering us Rei’s official designation. “Rei Ayanami, fourteen years old. The first subject chosen in accordance with the Marduk Report. The First Child.” It’s a classification that only seems to amplify her sense of mystery, with the vaguely evocative title “Marduk Report” implying a combination of martial professionalism and mysticism. I’ll let you know right now that we’re never actually going to get a satisfying explanation of the “Marduk Report,” nor learn the specific reasoning behind the First/Second/Third Child designation for Eva pilots. The “First Child” titles feel simply like an evocative play on Eva’s vague Christian symbology – as if even the stars of this show are aware they’re actively living through a new testament. But the Marduk Report’s inscrutability points to something more generally important for speculative fiction – the existence of “mountains beyond mountains,” a mystery and presence in this world that goes beyond everything which is actively explained.

Viewers have a tendency to demand explanations for things, which is natural. They are watching a show because they are invested in what happens, and want to learn the secrets of this people and the world they inhabit. But great speculative fiction demands leaving certain questions unanswered, and gesturing towards concepts or places that aren’t entirely defined within the work itself. Great fantasy works create worlds where even after the story is done, you still feel an urge to explore the untamed reaches of these places – great science fiction creates an alternate reality whose pieces we can see all seem part of a greater whole. In light of this, while it is crucially important to respect your audience’s investment and provide some answers or payoff for story-critical mysteries, it is nearly as important to also maintain some degree of mystery and larger, unresolved context, or else risk creating a world that feels more like an artificial sandbox than a living place. Audiences crave resolution, but ambiguity is important in its own way.

The Christian symbology is itself a form of this; it’s never actually explained, and this show has basically zero religious implications, but it creates an evocative sense of “there is a greater force at work here that we cannot begin to understand.” This naturally dovetails with Evangelion’s consistent dabbling in horror territory; like in a slow-burning horror film, we are surrounded on all sides by strange symbology that implies a dark synchronicity in this world. And just as horror movies tend to become less engaging the moment their cryptic symbols resolve into known threats, fantasy and science fiction become less evocative the moment all their pieces settle into a clear pattern. As Misato acknowledges, “I guess there’s a whole world of things that we don’t know about.”

Ritsuko’s explanations accompany shots that once again impress upon us the absurd scale of these giant robot battles, leading into her assessing the second angel’s genetic makeup with Misato and Shinji. And while her reveal that the angels are “99.89%” similar to humans in terms of their genetic structure probably seems worth a second glance, we’re quickly recentered on Shinji’s feelings, as he asks how Gendo burned his hands. And so Shinji learns that there actually are people that Gendo cares about – they just don’t seem to include him. With that, we enter this episode’s second act, as Shinji attempts to discover what it is that makes Gendo care about Rei.

A smash cut to a girl leaping in a pool returns us to Shinji’s school life, implying both violence and the LCL of the Eva cockpit. Both the girls’ swimming lessons and the boys’ basketball practice are conveyed through violence and discomfort – the banging of a ball against a backboard, the awkwardness of sitting on the sideline. As Shinji stews in this unwelcome gym class, his new friends provide a Greek choir of horny adolescence, ogling at the girls on the hill while Shinji himself wonders about Rei. And during another Eva test, Shinji’s confusion is amplified through a stunning exchange between Rei and Gendo. Watching in silence as the two of them share smiles and even laughter, he can only wonder how to unlock this secret, compassionate side of his distant father.

Shinji finally gets his chance to investigate this mystery following a casual dinner with Misato and Ritsuko. Their dinner opens with a vertical shot aiming straight down at Misato’s apartment, a type of shot that is extremely useful for illustrating many incidental objects at once, and painting an unvarnished portrait of an environment at rest (a trick that recent Eva descendant Gridman employs all the time). Jokes about Misato’s terrible cooking go a long way towards humanizing both her and Ritsuko, leading into Ritsuko asking Shinji to deliver Rei’s new ID card. But when asked about Rei’s own personality, Ritsuko can only offer the unhelpful and anxiety-provoking “she’s like your father. She’s not adept at living.”

That non-explanation leads into a title containing its own mystery, the ominous “Rei I.” After being framed like some replaceable object, the reveal of her living situation only enhances that impression. Rei lives in a broken-down cement apartment block on a cracked street, in a part of the city that no one apparently cared to repair after the angel attacks. There are no people here; only the steady, imposing sound of an industrial press, underlining the mechanical nature of this place. A mailbox overstuffed with letters, and a track of muddy shoe prints leading to a bed that’s still stained by the blood of her prior injury. Though Shinji envies Rei’s closeness to her father, her living space feels like a physical manifestation of depression. There is only one treasured object here: Gendo’s cracked glasses, set lightly on Rei’s bed stand.

Shinji trying on these glasses leads to Rei once again demonstrating a real emotion, as her face turns to an angry grimace and she snatches the glasses away. And as Shinji falls on top of her in an intentionally archetypal romcom setup, Rei’s unexpected actions only emphasize her strangeness. Instead of attempting to cover herself or break her fall, Rei’s focus is entirely on making sure the glasses remain intact. Though she seems unconcerned by Shinji seeing her naked, she makes sure Gendo’s glasses are carefully returned to their case. Both Rei’s home and her actions all through this sequence imply that Rei attaches no importance to her own comfort or life altogether; valuing only her connection with Gendo, she comes across like an avatar of depression much like Shinji, although far more distant to us in the audience.

This bizarre sequence would probably be enough to make most people give up on engaging with Rei, but Shinji’s need to connect with his father is far too great for that. He once again attempts to start a conversation as the two of them head into NERV, in an extended escalator sequence that once again demonstrates Eva’s intelligence when it comes to preserving animation. The movement of the escalator creates an inherent sense of progression that helps alleviate any sense of stillness, and beyond that, their lack of movement also naturally amplifies the awkward stiffness of this conversation. Rei responds to Shinji’s inquiries with non-answers until he brings up the failed experiment, which she responds to by conjuring the only thing she seems to genuinely care about. “Don’t you have faith in your own father’s work?” she asks, and when Shinji responds with a bitter denial, she actually slaps him. After an episode largely spent attempting to get closer to Rei, Shinji finds himself no closer than where he started, knowing only that Rei’s connection with Gendo is far greater than his own.

Episode five climaxes on a reprise of that first scene, as Rei once again attempts to activate Unit 00. Though we still don’t know much about Rei’s interior life, our progress has at least earned us the right to now view this situation from Rei’s perspective, shifting between her entry plug and the bridge crew above. Here as well we pay off the episode’s early focus on Eva readouts – as the suit moves towards synchronization, we are painfully aware of the lines that must be crossed, and the consequences of failure. And yet, suspended in that warm LCL, Rei actually seems somehow more comfortable than in her daily life. Living a shadow of a human existence, Rei exists only in the orange blood of this artificial womb, and in the whisper of warmth held in Gendo’s “synchronization successful.”

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