Neon Genesis Evangelion is a terrific work of art, but it’d be a stretch to describe it as a generally “fun” show. Instead of embracing the sense of exhilaration, freedom, and power that you might expect would come with piloting a giant robot, Evangelion instead emphasizes the great terror of that experience, and the sense of shame that would compel a depressed young boy to pilot such a thing. Given that general tone, Evangelion’s eighth episode stands as a stark break from our prior journeys through anxiety and isolation and depression and betrayal. For the first time, Evangelion proposes that maybe, just maybe, action could be fun? Could be cool? Could be genuinely validating?

A sense of fun pervades this episode, reflected both in its prominently foregrounded comedy and unique narrative structure. After a brief dash of menace revealing Gendo once more as the architect of this episode’s drama, Misato quickly swoops in to frame their current adventure as a fun field trip, even allowing Shinji’s school friends to tag along on their latest mission. Inviting them feels like a classically Misato maneuver; not only is she less hung up on protocol than her superiors, but she’s also personally invested in making sure Shinji has a happy and socially rewarding life. Her favor thus allows Kensuke to perform his usual old-school mecha fan routine, with his running commentary acting as both a fond sendup of Evangelion’s predecessors and a consistent dash of earnest, mechanically-oriented enthusiasm

This episode doesn’t belong to Kensuke, though – this is Asuka’s territory. As our crew land, they’re met by the Second Child and third Eva pilot, in one of the episode’s most iconic sequences. She arrives framed almost as if she were an imposing angel herself, before quickly asserting her dominance over Shinji and his dorky friends. All the confidence and determination Shinji lacks, Asuka seems to embody in totality. She is proud and confrontational and utterly uncompromising, the precise opposite of our wilting, deeply anxious hero.

Asuka’s entrance both gestures towards and then immediately dismantles some easy assumptions about her personality type. When Toji accidentally gets a flash of her underwear, Asuka doesn’t shriek or look embarrassed – she slaps him, declaring “that’s the viewing fee. Quite a bargain, don’t you think.” As with the scene with Rei and Shinji in Rei’s apartment, Asuka’s first major act to is to reinterpret a tired fanservice gag in a way that reflects that her own personality. But while Rei simply didn’t respond to Shinji falling on her at all, Asuka is quick to defend herself, unperturbed, and still in command of both the situation and her own sexuality.

An outside observer might define Asuka as the tsundere counterpoint to Rei’s kuudere, but Asuka would kill you if you described her that way. She doesn’t act tough to hide her inner sensitivity and romantic nature – she’s just a tough-as-nails person, and that abrasive, confident persona is truly who she is. Though she obviously has her own weaknesses and sources of vulnerability, her personality also isn’t some arbitrary switch designed for an assumed male audience to “win over.” She is brash and aggressive and talented, and the only even potentially romantic feelings she expresses this episode are towards Kaji, the confident adult man who actually validates her lofty self-image.

With Asuka’s dismissive “he looks kinda dull” assessment of Shinji, along with Misato’s introduction to the fleet’s admiral-slash-head-babysitter, this episode’s central conflicts are at last established. This episode’s core conflicts don’t concern Shinji’s battle with an Eva, or even Shinji’s battle with himself – they are Misato versus the captain, and Shinji versus Asuka. It’s no wonder this episode is such a funny, energetic lark; in genre terms, this is essentially two simultaneous buddy cop comedies. Our heroes bicker and huff with great enthusiasm, demonstrating that for all its psychological ambitions, Evangelion is also remarkably good at conveying grumpy idiots being comically mean to each other.

Of course, an angel ultimately does attack, finally giving Asuka somewhere to direct all this energy and pride. And between Kensuke’s military obsessions and Asuka’s classically hot-blooded heroic energy, this battle turns into an impromptu celebration of all the giant robot staples Evangelion tend to avoid. Kensuke holds down the technical jargon, acting as a replacement bridge chorus as he rattles off the finer points of their various weapons and vehicles. Meanwhile, Asuka tears after their opponent with gusto, responding to complaints like “but we have no weapons” and “the Eva can’t swim” with gleeful dismissal. Asuka is simultaneously a rich, multifaceted character and a living embodiment of the parts of its genre Evangelion has until now discarded, here to shake Shinji’s shoulders and demand why he can’t see how cool this is.

It’s not just Asuka’s personality that emphasizes this shift. Both episode eight’s visual storytelling and the tactical beats of its fight lean into mecha’s thrilling, empowering potential. As Unit 02 rises, it’s covered by a tarp that essentially transforms into a tattered cape, first presenting the awakened 02 as some kind of graceful cowboy. The battle is peppered with shots intended not to convey the terror of the angels or the claustrophobia of the cockpit, but instead celebrate the sleek cool of the Eva itself. There are lots of dramatic poses, and the conflict centers less on the threat of the angel itself than the funny disagreements between Shinji and Asuka. And in the end, the fight comes together in a desperate gambit that feels far more “caper” than “tragedy,” as Misato gambles their remaining ships on a dramatic and incredibly stylish deathblow.

Though Asuka and her genre-warping enthusiasm dominate this episode, Misato also gets a chance to demonstrate her multifaceted personality. Early on, her decision to bring Shinji’s friends along speaks to her growing competency as his caretaker, while her initial disagreements with the captain demonstrate her professionalism and ability to push back against domineering rivals. But the second her ambiguous ex-boyfriend Kaji appears, her petulant attitude reminds us she’s only a few years removed from adolescence herself, while her arguments with the captain deteriorate as well. Basically every member of Evangelion’s cast is actively aspiring to a confidence and competency they can’t always possess, but ultimately, both Misato’s mature strategizing and youthful brashness are necessary for victory.

That union of mature reflection and gleeful energy might well represent this episode’s ultimate argument. Though Evangelion’s reinterpretation of mecha action as a psychological drama is the crux of its dramatic power and lasting influence, that inquiry would feel hollow if the show didn’t genuinely love bombastic mecha action in the first place. Both the joy and the sorrow, the pride and the trauma must be present; life is not all one thing, and even in our moments of greatest despair, there is always a light. Or, to put it in the bluntest possible terms, embracing mature storytelling and nuanced themes doesn’t have to mean denying that giant robots are really, really cool.

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