It’s been a couple of weeks now since I watched Evangelion 3.0 + 1.0: Thrice Upon a Time, the final entry in director and series creator Hideaki Anno’s “Rebuild” quadrology of films. A project over a decade in the making, there was a sense of finality to it not only for the films themselves, but the franchise as a whole. This is it. This is the end. It is a definitive conclusion, and as the credits began to roll I could not help but feel a wave of satisfied completion wash over me.

This feeling did not last. Days would pass by, and as I thought more and more about the film, I could not help but feel as if it was mishandled. I had spent so long wondering why Anno had changed directions so drastically with the third film, You Can (Not) Redo, that I had hoped this conclusion would answer those questions and provide a clear throughline. The final ten minutes of the film introduce changes to the entire continuity that serve no purpose and do nothing to develop the psychology of certain characters. Further research into the development of each film reveals that Anno had no grand vision at the start – at least, not one he adhered to throughout – and had effectively made it up as he went along.

Fans have been claiming that they “finally” got closure out of this film. I cannot imagine how, as the entire franchise became more convoluted and vague in the final hour. Perhaps what they really mean to say is “I finally got my happy ending”, forgetting the rage that erupted in the fandom in the actual happy ending of the television series. I’ve seen memes that refer to the original series and films as “depression” and this final film as “therapy”, and once again point to that original series ending. Even if the original End of Evangelion film left you feeling depressed due to the tone of its conclusion, there was always the manga with its more optimistic fusion of ideas from the film and original series.

Ultimately, I don’t think it is “closure” that viewers got from this final film. I simply think that many of them have been placated.

I should first make clear that I do not believe the film is bad, nor do I want to remove anyone’s sense of enjoyment of it. In fact, I still find all four Rebuild films to be enjoyable. However, one of the things that has made the original Evangelion series so core to my love of anime as a medium is how consistent it is in focus. To summarize succinctly, Neon Genesis Evangelion is about human relationships. More specifically, it is a Japanese perspective on human relationships and how the desire to get closer to another contradicts with the fear of being hurt. Each character has a very specific and real sort of psychology going on in their minds, and they are often victims of their own self-sabotage to better their conditions and relationships with others.

I was slightly younger than the protagonist Shinji Ikari when I first viewed the show. I originally preferred the manga because Shinji seemed to have “some balls”, a willingness to behave in a way that implied greater confidence or guts. He felt more empowered within the manga than the show. As I grew older and rewatched the series multiple times, I began to realize that I had wanted Shinji Ikari to be an idealized version of myself. I related to him greatly, but I wanted to live out a fantasy life through him. As the years went by and I matured, I began to lose that desire to fantasize through protagonists and instead began to appreciate Shinji for the worst traits he and I shared. I recognized aspects of myself I had once yearned to ignore, and could relate more closely with the character because he, too, chose to dismiss them.

The characters of the television series feel real, and End of Evangelion throws a fourteen year-old boy at the lowest point of his life into an event he is simply not capable of handling. By the end of the film, he is not enlightened. His choice is a stubborn, childish reluctance, and his final actions reveal cowardice within his emotional and irrational tantrum. There are several pieces of dialogue from moments earlier in the film to suggest it is not as depressing as it first seems, that there is still hope and a future, but it is still not a generically happy ending. It is a conclusion – one that the staff themselves consider “an alternate” to the far more pleasant yet abstract and vague television finale – and it is all the more memorable because it is not generic.

The Rebuild films, on the other hand, cannot be summarized as simply. There are certainly elements of human relationships within them, but if that’s what the show has been about then the final hour of the last film does a poor job of delivering on the concept. In fact, the closer you get to the end, the more clear the message becomes that Hideaki Anno is done with Evangelion. Could it be that the entire series has been leading to this decision? If so, are many of the stylistic and narrative changes reflective of why? Precisely what is Anno trying to say with this work?

Based on what I’ve read, part of the reason there’s no clear throughline is that the films were written and rewritten as they progressed and involved potentially far more cooks in the kitchen than the series prior. Characters such as Mari were inserted by a producer, leaving Hideaki Anno to try and figure out what purpose she served in each film. By the closing of Thrice Upon a Time we still have little information regarding who she is, with only a handful of hints littered here and there between the third and final films. She has no psychology or depth like the other characters. She feels like a corporate mandate to simultaneously sell figurines to fanboys and allow an over-empowered self-insert for fangirl fan-fiction writers. She’s far closer to the Shinji that my twelve or thirteen year-old self wanted. If Shinji had been written like that, then Evangelion would have been a forgettable, uninteresting show barely worth a first examination, let alone the hours upon hours of analysis it demands.

I don’t think it’s merely the insertion of outside ideas into the project, though. After all, most creative works such as this involve the input and feedback of surrounding team members. It is highly doubtful that all of the original Evangelion were a result of Hideaki Anno’s mind alone. As the director in charge, he certainly had a hand in its execution. If you’re familiar with his other works, then you can also recognize his visual style and dialogue. The question then becomes who Anno is surrounded by.

There’s also questions of why bother with the Rebuilds at all. Based upon interviews following the latest film’s release, Hideaki Anno wanted to remake the series without the budgetary constraints of the original series. He yearned to do more with computer animation and digital techniques that were not previously possible. Though these changes in technology have no bearing on the quality of the original series’ writing or characters, the desire to keep going back and “improving” was evidently present.

New toys and weapons, constantly redesigned mechs, a focus on over-the-top action… isn’t this all just the sort of thing other Mecha anime did that Evangelion was trying to avoid?

I hope I’m not the only person suffering unpleasant flashbacks to George Lucas and his constant meddling with the original Star Wars trilogy. Restrictions to budget or possibility will often test a creator’s problem solving skills, pushing their ingenuity to the limits in order to develop fresh and effective solutions. The workarounds, improvisations, and alternate decisions often result in a more unique product that stands out all the more from comparative works. Evangelion was no exception to such decisions and moments, such as the awkwardly long and silent elevator ride between Asuka and Rei. The viewer goes from an observer to a participant in the awkward silence, caught just as much in the atmosphere as Asuka herself. Shinji holding Kaworu’s life in his hand is not much different. Though I figured out precisely how long I needed to fast-forward this moment on VHS, I now as an adult watch it in full. I want to listen to the epic melancholy of the classical track in the background while Shinji indecisively lingers upon the most heart-breaking – and in some ways, spirit breaking – decision he has yet to face.

Are these good examples of direction? I do not know, but the decision to save time and money on these particular moments reflect the creative intuition of Anno and his team at the time. These were moments you could cut costs and maintain mood and meaning, preserving high-quality animation in moments where it would matter far more importantly.

So once Hideaki Anno has far more resources to see his vision through, what do we ultimately get? The Berserker modes of the Evangelions are not only incredibly over-the-top, they instead become a sort of Super Saiyan mode of empowerment whose consequences are spoken but never properly shown or felt. What was once a terrifying reminder to the characters, and therefore the audience, of the immense power they were foolishly trying to harness under their control is now a moment to pump your fist into the air and shout excitedly as explosions fly across the screen. Oh, sure, we’re informed of how “dangerous” the berserker mode is to the pilot, but never do we witness those actual consequences in action. The original show, on the other hand, was cratered into an effective no man’s land of consequences. “Show, don’t tell”, as the old saying goes.

Don’t let the smile on his face fool you. Going from “frowning all the time” to “smiling” is not actually character development if there’s no logical cause-and-effect path that got him to that stage. This is “conveniently capable of concluding this series” Shinji, as opposed to “realistically depicted person with realistically depicted problems” Shinji.

At this stage I no doubt sound like an old curmudgeon griping about things being different, but I think it’s more a question of what, precisely, has been improved. By the final stretch of 3.0 + 1.0 Shinji Ikari no longer feels like a person. The third film had broken him absolutely, every decision made leading to disaster. Every attempt to save or help someone led only to greater pain and misery. Just as he’s beginning to recover, he seems to suffer yet another incredibly painful loss. The result is… an immediate transformation into being precisely the mature and wise character he needs to be to bring the film to its hour-long climactic conclusion.

In an interview with Time, Anno discusses how he was more interested in the “inner self” and “inner world” when he created the original Evangelion series. By the time he had been working on the Rebuilds, Anno was more interested in the “outer world”. The nature of Shin Gojira and its commentary on the Japanese government’s response to the Fukushima Daiichi disaster and foreign governments is evidence of this “outer world” he is interested in. We can see some of this interest similarly reflected in 3.0 + 1.0, perhaps addressing the current situation with Japan’s low birth rates and other potential social concerns.

This means Anno is trying to write a story originally crafted as an “inner world” narrative despite having less interest in it, working “outer world” ideas into it, and finally bringing the entire series to a close. To reiterate, he has been doing this for more than a decade, across which he has no doubt transformed and changed in regards to outlook and interest from first film to final.

I would argue that it is impossible to tell a fully coherent and consistent narrative across such a span of time, and the final minutes of this film are evidence towards that belief. It’s not just a matter of those “inner” and “outer” world themes being dismissed in favor of artistically and somewhat abstractly saying goodbye to this franchise. It’s also in how much more convoluted the setting itself becomes, how the very core of who a character is can be changed with a seemingly minor detail, or just the convoluted flood of brand new buzzwords and philosophies that confuse what was, ultimately, a far more simple concept to understand.

Why yes, I do actually prefer this ending.

Which is bizarre to say, given how many questions were left ambiguously open in the original Evangelion with only some hints or answers in materials or games not released outside of Japan. Yet despite those unanswered questions, the core of the show was easy to understand: Seele wanted to break down personal barriers and become one unified existence through the Human Instrumentality project, all while Gendo Ikari was manipulating events so that he could be reunited with his wife Yui once more. At the center of it all is Shinji Ikari, himself an unknowing tool of his mother’s own, third will towards a specific future. Though this is the core of the plot of the original Evangelion, it’s still not what the show is about. It is through these machinations that we explore the human psyche, social relationships, and our own contradictory natures through Shinji Ikari and the connections he makes while caught up in this maelstrom of agendas. That is what Evangelion is – or was – about.

I do not dislike the Rebuild films. I don’t think they’re bad. However, despite the budget and massive quantity of CG spread across them, I do believe they are a lesser work. If someone wants Evangelion but with a happier conclusion, I’d more readily recommend the manga to them than I would the Rebuilds. Even if, canonically, the films do overwrite the original series, I can choose to ignore it, just as I choose to ignore the idea that Final Fantasy VII Remake in any way overwrites the original.

The Rebuilds are better than average as far as film goes, and perhaps ten years from now I’ll change my mind and find them just as worth pouring over as I do the original series. From my current perspective, though, they are a lesser work. If this is Anno’s idea of “improving” the series, then I am glad to see him let it go and move onto other projects.