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Mar 15, 2025
Storytelling is a force, distorting life and reality. The picture book shows how stories can define and destroy individuals. This myth is a weapon, as myths always are, a reflection of collective and inherent fears. Myths, intertwining with personal narratives contribute to the making of a monster. The nameless monster—a mythological blueprint of a becoming. Johan is a being defined by absence. By believing one can become it, Johan’s belief in the narrative of a destructive empty entity, by the will of it, must turn into myth come-true.
The cause of evil is not to be found at the end of the story, and it is
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not confined to a single antagonist; it emerges from our nature, societal structures, and the narratives we create. How do we fight evil without becoming evil ourselves? Evil is not something that can be defeated, so it must be understood. Kinderheim 511—a great example of Arendt’s concept of the banality of evil perpetuated by the means of modern society and those on the heights of it. Johan forces questions that will never really be answered. Nature or nurture? Nina, who went through so much trauma, did not become a monster, so is evil an inherent predisposition in some people? Nina’s struggle is a struggle of ours as well, because it is determining whether her past defines her. Johan—a truly well-written character, with the discovery of his personal history, leaves ambiguity about his monstrosity. But what is suggested is that both nature and nurture play a role in the making of a monster, which seems to be the most comprehensible answer to all questions of human evil.
Our history is easily malleable, shaped by the stories we tell and are told by others. Beyond individual lives, historical narratives have always been obscured, the Kinderheim 511 experiments mirroring our very recent history of bureaucratic evil. Another thread through the narrative is trauma, which echoes through the story, but Monster again shows the great force of human resistance, as healing is, indeed, possible. Despite the ability of “large” narratives to corrupt, Urosawa’s protagonist tells the tale of profound resistance to nihilism by keeping himself in his own moral narrative. Johan’s killing to prove that our lives are meaningless could only be countered by Tenma’s belief in the sanctity of life, and the means of it, evil is at least in some way, proven to be a fault. His resistance and search for Johan is proof of life not being dictated by a grotesque script.
“Killing people is simple. All you have to do is forget the taste of sugar.”
Reviewer’s Rating: 10
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Mar 7, 2025
The end is a violent tear of Evangelion, a dismantling of its own world through a cleansing of humanity with divine apocalyptic imagery, a projected scream of psychological breakdown and cosmic collapse. There is no closure, death is not the end. Death is a rebirth, it is the extinction of the self and return to uncertainty. A horrifying erasure of barriers between Us and the Other. We are larger than the world itself, and yet will not stand up to death. Shinji's death is the ultimate fear of modern man—dissolution of ourselves into the Other, an immeasurable negation of our identities. The rejection of that
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rebirth is the choice to return to the inherent pain of living, and it makes the entirety of our world.
My Neon Genesis Evangelion review -> https://myanimelist.net/reviews.php?id=553746
Reviewer’s Rating: 10
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Mar 2, 2025
An architecture of identity beneath sci-fi mecha anime and apocalyptic battles, this world is shaped more by dreams, psychological repression, and human fragility than by external conflicts. At its core, this is a study of individual existence. Exploring the subconscious, we do not come to truth but expose the fragile illusions upon which our identities, emotional stability, and relationships are built.
Earlier mecha fiction often presented their machines as symbols of progress and human resilience, but Evangelion strips away these comforting illusions, revealing the genre’s greatest fear: losing control. These Evas are cages, binding pilots in cycles of pain and dependency. The Evas embody our
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fear that evolution might mean losing one’s humanity altogether, transforming into something unrecognizable. They are a testament to the failure of science to comprehend the soul. Knowledge alone is insufficient because human connection and the search for meaning lie beyond the reach of technology. Technology, which most likely will never be the key to progress, is an attempt to play God that could only lead to greater suffering. This nihilism is the antithesis of the usual mecha narrative, where our perseverance is celebrated. What if the ultimate fear is not extinction, but existence itself?
The imagery of water is recurring, as water is ever-present, fluid, and unknowable, just as the subconscious exerts an influence that we cannot resist. The closer the characters come to understanding their own desires and fears, the more they disintegrate, a horror of losing themselves entirely crawling from the burden of perception and knowledge. It lingers in the spaces between dreams and the waking life of the pilots—these are the haunting feelings that to be human is to forever struggle against the depths of one’s own mind.
Shinji's path as a pilot reveals the existentialist truth that meaning cannot be assigned because it must be created from within. Rather than glorifying heroism, this is a tale of the notion of destiny itself being cruel.
Religious symbols are, more than anything, symbols of the lack of human comprehension. With a promise of erasure of suffering, Instrumentality consists of religious concepts of spiritual union, not unlike the Christian idea of heaven—the return to divine oneness. This conflict between the Angels and humans is not a war between good and evil, but a struggle between competing evolutionary paths, two different seeds. The biblical symbols are instruments of ambiguity where salvation and annihilation become one, and the divine is an incomprehensible force, indifferent to humanity. Here humanity is born from Lilith rather than Adam, a fault, an accident that survives not through divine favor but through relentless self-assertion. By stripping the Angels of their religious role and presenting them as unknowable forces, what is brought up is the idea that divine beings may be completely indifferent to human suffering. The very existence of Angels challenges the assumption that we are the rightful and true subjects of this world.
The apocalypse is a personal incident, the final reflection of human fear in a collapsing world, which is an event orchestrated only from within. Evangelion masterfully blurs the boundary between external warfare and internal collapse. The apocalypse must be the logical conclusion of human isolation and the failure to connect. Every character exists within their own impenetrable shell, longing for connection yet running away from it, inside the purgatory that is forever self-imposed yet inevitable. Few characters in anime embody depression as well as Shinji. He does not fight because he wants to but because he sees no alternative, he does not seek connection because he desires it, he does it because the isolation is unbearable. Even in our bleakest moments and our most desperate, stumbling attempts to reach out are what define us, as it is perhaps the only thing we can do. The world where reality is uncertain and where pain and misunderstanding exist is the only world where we can exist as individuals.
Humanity’s growth has paved the road to unbearable loneliness, and therefore, the next stage is not expansion but a regression into a single, undivided entity. The dissolution of the self, framed as the final step in evolution, a transcendence and annihilation. If human nature is defined by suffering, then true evolution might mean erasing any trace of our nature and self. Instrumentality is, in theory, the solution to human suffering. But it is not presented as the rapture, as it is a horror.
The depression in Evangelion is the Human Instrumentality Project, the final disintegration of self, the erasure of all loneliness and pain. Instrumentality is the terminal promise of depression, which is an end to suffering, and not through healing, but through oblivion.
Reviewer’s Rating: 10
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Mar 2, 2025
“If you’re not remembered, then you never existed.”
As Lain transcends beyond human limitations, she becomes more connected than ever before, and remains thoroughly alone. Omnipresent, intangible. She can access infinite knowledge, but no longer knows herself. If identity is shaped by memory, then what happens when memory itself is fluid and unreliable, when the past can be rewritten, when presence can be erased at will? Lain’s shifting identity raises the question: can the self ever be singular? If others perceive different versions of me, does that mean my identity is a collage, a projection, a construct without essence? Here identity is impressionable, shaped by perception,
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by the technology of the new world. We create multiple personas across different online spaces, each one distinct yet interconnected, each one just as “real as the other”. And are personas a genuine part of our being? Lain erases herself from the world, a sacrifice and a transformation. By dissolving her selfhood entirely, she paradoxically achieves a kind of omnipresence, existing as a deity outside of reality, unseen yet always watching. Who is the real Lain? Who am I, when my existence depends on how others see me? If identity is untrustworthy and plural, can I ever believe to have a singular, true self? Serial Experiments Lain, being well ahead of its time, leaves these questions open and urgent. Godhood in the digital age is not a state of enlightenment but of fragmentation. She does not ascend to a higher plane of being, she dissolves into it. The paradox of deification is that in gaining ultimate presence, the ability to be seen is lost. Memory is revealed to be an illusion. Memory is an illusion. Our existence is not established; we, the shifting signals in an endless web, are ghosts in the machine, echoes in each other's memories. Lain’s ultimate erasure from the collective consciousness is a new kind of death; a conceptual death. If one is not remembered, was one ever real at all? It is strange to be.
“Don't you feel the same way? When I cannot see myself, even though I touch myself, I wonder if I really exist.”- Sartre
Reviewer’s Rating: 10
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