Neon Genesis Evangelion’s fifth and sixth episodes collectively form a neatly contained arc, as the battle against the show’s third angelic antagonist is contrasted against Rei Ayanami’s formal introduction. In spite of being present and even dramatically central throughout all of Evangelion’s early episodes, our understanding of this girl has mirrored Shinji’s – that is to say, we have no clue. She has been a cipher, with even sequences like Shinji’s intrusion into her apartment only enhancing her sense of mystery. In a show that’s so fully and thoughtfully attuned to the emotional experiences of its characters, Rei has stood as a strange outlier, accepting her duties with a blank stare at every turn.

Rei’s blank affectation is a natural consequence of her in-universe history, as we’ll learn eventually, but in-universe explanations are never sufficient to justify narrative decisions. Authors choose what they want their stories to be about, or how their characters want to act – these aren’t irrefutable facts of some larger fiction-world truth, they are conscious decisions we make in order to tell effective stories. And in the case of Rei, even Anno seems a little baffled by his decisions. “I have no emotional attachment to Rei at all,” he would later state, before adding that he actually forgot she existed while writing episode seven. Anno’s self-effacing and often contradictory commentary should always be taken with a grain of salt, but it’s undeniable that Rei is more thinly characterized than the rest of the cast.

Rei is the moon, strange and otherworldly, beautiful yet forever distant. Her design would inspire a generation of low-affect characters designed to echo her mild-mannered appeal, in one of the many ways that Evangelion’s critique of fan obsessions would ultimately foster a new generation of obsessions. From her icy blue hair to her emotionless demeanor, Rei would essentially set the terms for the “kuudere” archetype, appealing to fans seeking a girlfriend who asked nothing from them emotionally, but still relied on them entirely. In thematic terms, Rei herself would ultimately stand as a savage commentary on how insular anime fans felt owed a female partner who was simultaneously a mother and a dependent, but never an equal. In worldbuilding terms, Rei would serve as the fulcrum upon which all of Evangelion’s supernatural drama balanced. But in raw, human terms, Rei never becomes more approachable than now, as she stand besides Shinji in the light of the moon.

The episode’s first half doesn’t belong to Rei, though. Instead, it’s consumed by the preparations for Operation Yashima. We open where episode five ended, as Unit 01 finds itself swiftly melting under the force of this new angel’s attack. After Misato hurriedly calls for a retreat, the urgent clamor of the bridge crew and Unit 01 itself once again emphasize how Evangelion’s dedications to its scifi trappings enhances the impact of its drama. This episode’s first act wouldn’t feel nearly so harrowing or genuinely consequential if Shinji just popped right out of the cockpit – instead, the analysis of his life signs, efforts to artificially revive him, and even Misato’s rush to the cockpit are all given vivid visual illustration.

While Shinji’s life hangs in the balance, this strange new angel demonstrates it is a threat unlike any our heroes have faced before. While each of the first two angels had their own distinctive powers, they adhered to a general body shape that at least vaguely echoed what you’d expect from a giant monster. They were kaiju, essentially; in contrast, angel three is a strange, entirely faceless geometric formation, expressing “emotion” only through the wild screams that accompany its particle beam attacks. This angel is not seeking some epic gladiatorial exchange – it has come to destroy NERV, and will do so with extreme prejudice. Even as the camerawork implies this angel carries on the kaiju legacy of its predecessors, its strange geometric perfection and lack of any human features mark it as decidedly Other, something not just antagonistic to humanity, but utterly beyond our comprehension.

Shinji spends the whole first half of this episode recuperating from that disastrous exchange, meaning the role of protagonist briefly falls to another: his dubious roommate slash brilliant commanding officer, Misato Katsuragi. While Misato certainly has her own emotional issues, she is far from consumed by them, and also highly dedicated to her job. As a consequence, Evangelion’s third fight ends up being the first one we approach from a genuinely tactical perspective, as opposed to an emotional one. Earlier battles were grounded entirely by Shinji’s feelings regarding them, but here, Misato’s thoughtful perspective means we get to enjoy a fight with full understanding of its tactical constraints and larger stakes. After stumbling through two fights on the back of strategies like “have Shinji pass out and the Eva itself go berserk” or “let Shinji’s psychotic episode fuel a desperate suicide strike,” NERV at last gets to demonstrate their actual value.

Misato opens her attack on this angel by testing the limits of conventional military hardware, demonstrating both the limitations of the angel’s own ability and also the clear necessity of the Eva units. After realizing that the Evas simply cannot approach an enemy this heavily armed, she proposes Operation Yashima – a strategy that essentially boils down to “let’s get the biggest gun in the country and power it with the entire electrical output of Japan.” It’s a wildly ambitious plan that demonstrates Misato in her element, as she marshals NERV’s various departments and even seems to enjoy herself stealing resources from the SDF. And all the while, the absurd scale of this operation acts as one more acknowledgment of the desperate nature of this fight. The military has failed, and so have the Evas. Channeling all of mankind’s innovation into one night-piercing bolt of energy, Operation Yashima demonstrates in the clearest terms that if we don’t win here, we are lost.

And then, Shinji wakes. None of the adults in his life are there to greet him when he regains consciousness – they’re far too preoccupied with their own efforts, making sure this operation has even a chance of success. Instead, he is greeted by the distant Rei, who seems unreachable even as she waits for his recovery. In their one shared scene prior to this awakening, their connection is directly mediated by Gendo’s glasses, emphasizing how Rei may just see Shinji as simply some fragment of his father. Here, Rei stands stiffly as she reads the mission briefing, paying back Shinji’s earlier incursion into her room with a terse “don’t show up half-asleep looking like that.” Once again lashing out in hopes of connection, Shinji responds with the petty “maybe you can be so cool about it because you haven’t had the kind of experiences that I’ve had yet.” And Rei answers with the ultimate counterpoint, her acceptance of her role underlining how Shinji doesn’t truly understand his own.

Compressed into the back quarter of this one episode, Shinji’s path towards emotionally connecting with Rei is a strange and tightly scripted journey, conveyed more through storyboarding and visual parallels than outright dialogue. Throughout their mission briefing, the floodlights offer a suitably alienating stage as Rei’s position in the frame indicates her potential feelings of abandonment. While Shinji claimed her complacency was just a result of her inexperience, her quiet interjections here reflect the unfairness of her position – in spite of being the only pilot who’s actually, consistently accepted her duties, she is relegated to being no more than a shield for Shinji’s protection. And yet, she accepts that duty as readily as any other, her objections only coming through in her forlorn visual positioning.

The next scene offers further context for Rei’s feelings, as our two pilots gear up for the actual mission. The shots in their changing are clearly framed so as to echo the shots from Rei’s apartment, from the scattered array of her clothes to the camera’s position as she shifts into new panties. Through this visual echo, Evangelion naturally demonstrates that Rei is no more or less comfortable in her own apartment than she is on the verge of almost certain death. It’s a tragic realization, but it also puts these two characters on an equal level for perhaps for the first time. From Shinji witnessing Rei naked in episode five, and she returning the favor just a few minutes ago, the two have now moved from the false intimacy of physical nudity to the genuine, humbling shared threat of actual death.

The two at last talk as equals on their launch platforms, stranded beneath the vast stars of a silent Japan, waiting for the mission call. It’s a beautiful scene; the sky may only be this bright because of the encroaching violence, but it is breathtaking nonetheless. Stationed as equals but separated by the vast emotional gulf between them, Shinji hesitantly asks “why do you pilot this thing?” “Because I’m bound,” Rei replies, before clarifying that this isn’t about his father – this is a bond she shares with everyone. “You’re strong, Ayanami,” Shinji replies, embarrassed to be second-guessing someone who seems to possess such a vast spirit of human empathy and moral duty. But Ayanami dashes this image immediately, responding with the sad “because I have nothing else.”

It’s an intimate and devastating moment, the moment which perhaps best embodies the fact that no matter her role in the show’s larger narrative, thematic argument, or even fandom lore, Rei is at this moment just a lonely girl. Rei doesn’t consider herself to be bound with all of humanity because she’s that high-minded – she clings to humanity itself as her friend because she has no personal bonds at all. No one in Evangelion is that selfless – it is a show of messy people who all want to be loved, and who only speak in language like “you are the hope of humanity” when they are trying to sell you something. Likewise, those who actually believe that language, or at least accept it enough to embrace it as their own motive, are those who have nothing else to hope for, nothing specific to protect. And so Shinji learns the terrible truth about Rei’s bond with Gendo: she doesn’t care for him because they possess such a close relationship, she cares for him because his concerned gestures are the closest thing to a family she has.

After that, the rest is fireworks. NERV’s battle against their third angel is a desperate and beautiful affair, drawing incredible dramatic energy from its core relationships, clearly defined constraints, and staggering physical scale. Shinji’s first shot curves wide, its calculated route dashed by the interference of the angel’s counter. Rei takes her position, that vast bulk shield fraying quickly as Japan’s energy charges once more. The second shot strikes home, incinerating the angel’s core as Unit 00 begins to melt into oblivion. And Shinji rushes to Rei’s side, the imagery of his movements providing one more visual echo, a loyal reprise of Gendo’s own desperate choice.

“Don’t say you have nothing else,” Shinji tells her, crying with relief as he sees her unharmed. “Don’t say goodbye when you leave on a mission. It’s too sad.” Shinji is lonely and miserable and utterly wrapped up in his own feelings, but up on that launch platform, he saw a girl who was just as alone as he was. He may not be sure how to care about others, but he absolutely cares, and Rei is now someone he wants to protect. Rei is even less emotionally self-possessed than Shinji, and actually asks Shinji how to respond to this situation. “You can just smile,” he says, and in that moment she sees a shade of Gendo’s concern, a connection the two of them would never acknowledge. And so she smiles, her face making her feelings clear even before she awkwardly embraces this human custom. Distant and unknowable though she may be, in this moment, Rei is as human as any of Evangelion’s heroes. Even the moon needs a friend.

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