It’s a strange thing, how the process of describing history seems to fundamentally transform it. Fitting the events of Evangelion’s first half into a historical record lends its battles clarity, coherency, perhaps even a sense of purpose. New trials are announced through stark title cards, and their resolutions are conveyed just as cleanly, twenty minutes of hardship transformed into thirty seconds of recap. The picture that emerges depicts an inexperienced but talented team, rushing to improve their defensive capabilities, but handling each new challenge with absolute professionalism.
It’s a lie, of course. The story being woven across episode fourteen’s first half is an intentional fiction, a comforting fabrication conveyed from Gendo and his team to their overseers in SEELE. Most of the tangible, battle-oriented bullet points of Eva’s first half are represented, but none of the suffering; Shinji’s flight from home is omitted, and even his horrific first battle earns only a note of commendation from Misato. And along with being stripped of the human element, Gendo’s summary also excludes NERV’s own most unsavory actions; JET ALONE is never mentioned, NERV’s blackout never happened, and the virus that so recently struck NERV headquarters is downsized to some kind of technical glitch.
Episode fourteen’s first half establishes the depth of the rift between NERV and their superiors, as we learn just how much Gendo is concealing from the council, and just how much they distrust him in turn. It also offers fragmentary new perspectives on the events so far, with characters like Shinji’s classmates offering alluring ground-level commentary on these titanic battles, while Gendo and Fuyutsuki give more cryptic hints like “this battle was not in our predictions.” But ultimately, there’s no getting around the fact that episode fourteen most clearly exemplifies one of Evangelion’s scrappiest talents: its ability to conserve animation and man-hours in such a way that actively promotes its ongoing drama. In this case, that conservation takes the form of the most dramatic cost-cutting measure available: the dreaded recap episode.
Recap episodes are a common sign of a struggling anime production. Simply postponing a show that is falling behind schedule is often not realistic; shows are booked for specific on-air time slots, and if they can’t be completed in time for those time slots, they’ll often just not air at all. Half-finished anime rarely make for great advertisements for tie-in products, so delays in production can have a cascading effect across every company invested in a given production. In light of that, constructing an episode out of existing footage and adding new voiceover, then billing it as a summary of the story so far, is often the only way the production staff can buy enough time to complete the next episode, and the next, and the next.
It’s an unfortunate fact of anime production, and Evangelion, with its ambitious structure, lovingly illustrated battles, and relatively inexperienced production team, is uniquely susceptible to the consequences of poorly scheduled anime production. Fortunately, Evangelion is also lucky enough to possess one of the most talented core staffs of any anime ever produced, with a director who’s consistently capable of turning extended still frames or repeated footage into compelling new drama. And so, as much as it pushes Evangelion’s story forward, episode fourteen also demonstrates the harsher realities of anime production, and the ways that production teams work to craft compelling narratives out of difficult circumstances.
In the first half, that compelling element comes in the form of how Evangelion’s early episodes are reframed, as well as the details appended to the historical record. New voiceover is cheaper than new animation, and so we receive commentary from all across the cast, excepting the actual pilots themselves. As I mentioned, the one reference to Shinji is offered by Misato, who notes “his” victory against the first angel is “deserving of special notice.” An excerpt from an essay by Toji Suzuhara carries us through episode two, while inherently revealing something else: that all of Shinji and his classmates’ schoolwork is being confiscated and studied by NERV itself.
Other excerpts seek to broaden our perspective on the story so far, like class rep Hikari’s civilian commentary on evacuation procedures. Clips like these naturally enhance the sense of Evangelion’s world being a genuine living place; it’s not just the venue for a specific narrative, it’s a world occupied by millions, with on-screen actions provoking repercussions all across their society. And hearing from classmates with no power to impact these situations helps emphasize the true terror of the angels, and the helplessness of knowing they are forces of violence beyond our understanding.
Episode fourteen’s second half is technically “new material,” but it too is largely constructed out of old footage, once again employed in a way that recontextualizes what came before. We open on Rei free associating as the team conduct a new compatibility test, having placed her inside Unit 01 for the first time. Her mind flickers through concepts like mountains and fields, accompanied by images that seem strangely familiar – because basically all of them were first used back when Shinji ran away. Rei’s doubts regarding her own identity fuse neatly with this repeated footage; as she looks at a field of sunflowers, she thinks to herself “so many of the same. And so many unneeded.” Rei’s insecurities seem to mirror Shinji’s, at least in that aspect: NERV might need someone as a pilot, but neither of them can believe that anyone needs them specifically.
Rei’s reflections also tether Evangelion’s science fiction, psychological inquiry, and religious iconography, as we return once again to the blood-like LCL. “A woman who never bleeds. Man made from red soil. Man made from man and woman.” Then, “City. A human creation. Eva. A human creation. What is man? A creation of God? Is man a human creation?” The imagery of Genesis is thus directly tied to the formation of the Evangelions, as if their construction is the next natural step in mankind’s own evolution or enlightenment. The heady, lyrical inevitability of Christian prophecy is a powerful rhetorical weapon; by harnessing it to fuel their own prophecies, Evangelion separates the messy, personal nature of Christian theology from the bombastic, evocative visions of Christian imagery.
Rei continues with “the things I possess are life and soul. I am a vessel for a soul. Entry plug, the throne for a soul.” The Eva Unit is thus framed as a natural metaphor for the questions of identity Evangelion has explored all along, through Shinji’s attempts to find a happy sense of self. Both Shinji and Rei feel equally dispensable; merely fuel for the entry plug, a soul without distinction. Her sense of displacement is conveyed through one of Eva’s most iconic images: an endless line of identical Reis spiraling into the distance, a shot that simultaneously embodies this episode’s ability to squeeze fresh drama out of old, repeated animation cells. Rei repeating, Asuka and Rei in the elevator, Unit 01 holding Kaworu; many of Evangelion’s most powerful, memorable moments simultaneously reflect its brilliant cost-saving measures.
As she sits in Unit 01, Rei acknowledges “I can no longer see myself. My shape is fading.” The strange unity presented by the LCL, where our selfhood mingles with other pilots and the Eva’s own identity, seems to present at least one answer to the question Shinji has continuously raised. If he cannot live happily as Shinji Ikari, perhaps he could simply exist as a component of a greater whole. Perhaps Shinji returns to the LCL not because he feels safe or comfortable there, but because he feels less – sitting upon this throne of souls, he can become nothing more than a vibrant impulse, the connection he both fears and craves weaving through his shell, connecting with his soul, and disintegrating him into a part of everything.
While Rei politely dissociates in the entry plug, Shinji’s makeshift family undergo their own gradual separations in the control room. As this episode’s first half demonstrated, you could fairly easily frame Evangelion’s first half as a traditional giant robot narrative, with a scrappy team who must overcome a series of escalating monster-of-the-week challenges. That framing would also work well enough for Evangelion’s emotional narrative – this has been a story of a lonely boy looking for a family, and gradually finding one among the strange characters at NERV’s base. But Shinji’s coworkers are all burdened by their own suspicions and baggage, and though he has come to see this place as a kind of home, Evangelion’s second half will see a dissolution of his new world that strikes with far more savagery than the caress of the entry plug.
Asuka, at least, is still true to her old self. As Shinji admits he’s nervous about being tested in Unit 00, Asuka calls him an idiot for his feelings – which is, of course, her Asuka way of expressing anxiety about not being included in this test. Asuka is desperately afraid of being discarded, but could never express that directly, and certainly not to either Shinji or her superior officers. So she merely mocks Shinji, while silently praying this test doesn’t mean she’s less useful than either Shinji or Rei.
Ritsuko, on the other hand, is all confidence as she directs the experiment. A perfectly constructed shot illustrates the emotional distance between Misato and Ritsuko, as Misato is framed through Ritsuko’s limbs, her emotional separation emphasized by their focal separation. Later on, when Misato confronts Ritsuko about her secrets, the layouts will once again emphasize their violent distance – and the scene will end on a direct mirror of this shot, as the now-foregrounded Misato storms past the distance, unreachable Ritsuko.
Misato is not the only one with doubts about Ritsuko’s actions. Even Maya, whose respect for Ritsuko verges on hero-worship, expresses doubts about implementing the “dummy plug system” they’re apparently testing. The dummy plugs would essentially turn Evas into autonomous weapons, mindless fonts of unimaginable violence – a shift that feels somehow less human than their current incarnation, where the presence of a pilot implies a human consciousness, and perhaps even a sense of heroic purpose. Ritsuko brushes these concerns aside in the harshest possible terms: “it’s tough to have a fastidious nature and survive among humans. You’ll understand that when you feel you’ve been sullied.” Maya still believes they are heroes defending humanity; Ritsuko is simply doing what has to be done.
The test ends in disaster, as always, when Unit 00 goes berserk. After an episode constructed almost entirely out of stills and repeated footage, the animalistic animation of Unit 00’s self-destructive violence is savage and shocking (though it, too, is recycled from episode five). Fists pound against the glass right in front of Rei, in an echo of the Eva’s earlier attempts to destroy Gendo – but after being confronted by Misato, Ritsuko admits that it was likely her that the Eva was trying to destroy. While half of this cast work to uncover the mysteries of NERV, the other half seem unbearably burdened by that knowledge, from the sin-laden Ritsuko to the unnerving confidence of Gendo Ikari. Our two pilots chart the boundary lines of this world; Shinji wakes into bracing light and confusion within this building he still hates, while Rei strides below, lance in hand and the weight of prophecy on her back.
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