Half-Abashed By Interest in Anime

I've recently watched several anime movies and series, after having put away this interest for several years. Shortly after watching 風の谷, my mother borrowed もののけ姫 from her school video library. I've already done my rave review on both of these, so I'll avoid talking about them. I made a foray into Grave of the Fireflies, which cost me a bout of mini-depression and introspection... then I did the unthinkable:


I took a dive into the notorious "Neon Genesis Evangelion." Needless to say, this series was written after its director had walked out of clinical depression, and aside from the portions clearly marketed to pubescent teens, this is one of the most baffling and (if you can bear with it) intellectually rich series that I've found so far. The imagery is seriously disturbing, and at least in the anime subculture, its unresolved ending has had people bickering for ages. Its experimental nature makes it difficult to understand, but it remains a landmark work in the medium of anime.

Disclaimer: I'm about the trillionth person to write about this anime.

Here's the one sentence summary: a bunch of fourteen year old kids have to pilot mechas built by a secret society and save the world from a bunch of monsters invading earth. With a summary like that, I admit part of its intellectual richness is self-deception. The Judeo-Christian imagery is ridiculous in my opinion, because it goes nowhere. It's parallel to how American media sometimes use eastern philosophy in movies, but portrays it completely out of whack and then fails to integrate it meaningfully.

The redeeming feature of the anime occurs at the latter half, when it uncharacteristically collapses inward into the psyche of the three fourteen year old pilots and their adult guardians, dissecting their motivations for piloting. Here is a priceless moment where they come to life, recognizing the sheer ludicrousness of being mecha pilots who are needed to save the world. Most importantly, it makes unbelievably good use of anime as a medium.

Like Miyazaki, I believe the artists understood anime's advantage over movies as being a flexible medium. The images can be aptly "imagined," rather than constructed. Evocative, disturbing, and thought-provoking all at the same time, this series makes images that gets at essences. The essence of feeling abandoned by parents is captured by closed doors, dolls with decapitated heads... The essence of Rei's identity crisis is captured by the fact that she's a clone: with thousands of naked replicas floating in a chamber bathed in golden light. Freudian psychoanalysis is also rampant. The characters Rei, Asuka, and Shinji represent (I think) the Id, the Ego, and Superego.

Of the whole series, I recommend seeing the last two episodes. Mind you: it's disturbing and, without context of the rest of the episode, utterly unapproachable. Well, even WITH context of the rest of the episode, it's a depiction of clinical depression...

I raise these two as the epitome of what Evangelion set out to do: experiment. This was drawn on a short budget, but for once in anime history, a small budget helped to cut out some of the crap (if making the ending doubly confusing!). Reminiscent of La Jetee, it's a series of sketched pieces interspersed with bits of interrogation directed at the characters. It doesn't aim to provide a coherent picture, preferring to baffle you with bits and pieces: but this is precisely how one feels when you ask yourself questions of existence.

My absolute favorite part is when the anime becomes, well, meta-anime. With a sketched image of Shinji floating on a piece of white paper, he questions himself: "who am I? isn't this image just what I project to others?" In proper existentialism, uneasiness sets in. Without limitations, he is just floating in space: he is meaningless. Without a horizon, a context, a mecha, other people, needs, wants, desires: he might as well disappear. A line appears on the sketchpad, and Shinji suddenly figures up from down.

Another delightful piece is when Shinji discusses his own identity onstage. There's the clear allusion to "all life is a stage." Implicit question: "as a human being, everyone has a different image of you in their minds, aren't you just acting onstage?" Moreover: isn't this why you have meaning in your life?

I am left disturbed by the themes of this anime: barriers, the hedgehog's dilemma, meaninglessness... The ending seems to be uplifting, but then you turn in on yourself as well, and your crystal clarity begins to crack as well. Of all the themes, I was delighted how they semi-redeemed the parts marketed to pubescence by suggesting the conflict inherent in our sexuality: we seek to be completely united with those who are so utterly different from us (and fine... also because much of this was Freudian, and we know what he thought about sexuality).

I stop here because there's so much to analyze. But, as I wrote in the title: I'm only half-abashed by my interest in anime. Aside from (actually still a good many) pieces clearly used as marketing to earn cash, I think portions of this series is mature, philosophically rich, and artistically avant garde. The last two episodes are gems: not seen for pleasure but rather like watching La Jetee.

On second thought, maybe a little bit like Watchmen as well.

I recall grabbing a whole bunch of series from none other than James Liu (where are you, anyway?) when I was still in high school. Hilariously, it is the single most important reason that I've continued working very hard to consolidate my Japanese abilities. But little would I have known that I would be writing this about *anime* today.

Ludicrous. But isn't the whole world like that sometimes?