30 years of 'Evangelion', the show that changed anime forever

(Bloomberg Opinion) — On a Wednesday night in October 1995 at 6:30 PM in Tokyo, animation changed forever. Neon Genesis Evangelion stunned a nation with its mix of Freudian psychoanalysis, existential angst and a metaphor for a country in the midst of an identity crisis, all wrapped up in the deceptive guise of a story about giant robot suits fighting monsters. Until recently, the time slot featured the iconic American cartoon Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Evangelion has arguably become the most influential anime of all time. Just as Blade Runner helped elevate Western sci-fi movies beyond spectacle to contemplative art, it joined Akira and the movies of Hayao Miyazaki and the late Satoshi Kon in further elevating Japan’s animation. While the Japanese medium went mainstream this year, as Demon Slayer grossed more globally than Superman or Mission: Impossible, it was Evangelion that made the world take the genre seriously. It was chosen as the country’s favorite anime in a 2006 poll by Japan’s Agency for Cultural Affairs. Contemporary artist Takashi Murakami called it an “unsurpassed milestone in the history of otaku culture,” using the word for Japanese geek subculture—albeit one that has become increasingly mainstream at home and abroad. It’s a surprising outcome for a series that deliberately broke every trope. At first glance, Evangelion seems like a show about teenage pilots in giant mechs in a post-apocalyptic Tokyo, complete with a young boy on a moon trip, destined to save the world – your standard juvenile sci-fi setup. But scratch below the surface and, dripping with Judeo-Christian religious symbolism, the show explores philosophy and the meaning of consciousness, the nature of individuality, gender and sexual identity, and the choice we face between the pain of loneliness and the risk of rejection and loss. Eva, as it’s known to fans, ostensibly focuses on 14-year-old Shinji Ikari, who was chosen by the shadowy organization NERV to pilot the titular mech and defend Tokyo-3 from mysterious monsters known as Angels. Shinji is an unpleasant protagonist: whiny, petulant and cowardly. He is a stand-in for the fears of creator Hideaki Anno, an artist who worked on Miyazaki’s Nausicaa and who struggled with depression for years. Halfway through the show, as Anno’s mental health deteriorates further under the strain, Eva takes one of television’s wildest handbrake turns to veer off into some very dark places. Monster battles give way to scenes that take place inside the characters’ own psyches – a bold decision also forced by budget cuts – as the protagonists endure battle sessions with their own egos. A plot that seemed to be building towards a definitive finale ends instead with a startling, fourth-wall-breaking finale based entirely in Shinji’s subconscious. Fan uproar led to a 1997 movie that retells the ending but also fleshes it out, using the same fan rage as part of its meta-commentary on the subculture that spawned it. Eva was a cult success outside of Japan, but at home it is an institution. Many know Godzilla reflected the trauma of Japan’s atomic scare(1), but Evangelion reflects more modern fears. The characters’ struggle to understand themselves shows the identity crisis at a time when Japan was at a turning point. The 1980s bubble economy burst and destroyed the postwar social contract. Society itself seemed in danger of collapse in 1995, the same year the Kobe earthquake killed more than 6,000 and the Aum Shinrikyo sarin attack on the Tokyo subway. Murakami again notes the similarities: “The search for a place in the world, which so torments Anno’s alter-ego Shinji, is the insurmountable challenge facing Japan. Our relief at finally putting the trauma of the war behind us was short-lived, as we were immediately confronted with our inability to conceive an independent future. Japan is now searching for a replacement for itself.” He wrote in 2005. But since then Eve has been reborn – much like the land itself. In four movies released between 2007 and 2021, Anno returned with a project that began as a shot-for-shot remake before moving to an alternative, more ambitious and commercially successful retelling(2). In a 2012 interview, Anno said he wanted to take responsibility for creating otaku who had become too dependent on what should be mere entertainment. Although it again took him years to complete, the Rebuild of Evangelion series gives another ending – one that intends a more stable Anno, perhaps as a sharp criticism of too many online fans, while also offering more hope than the original open ending. It’s one of the franchise’s oddest quirks that it leans into otaku culture, slapped on everything from pachinko machines to McDonald’s burgers, while also serving as a meta-critique of it. With its giant robots and scantily clad girls, it both caters to the fan-service stereotypes of manga and anime while simultaneously deconstructing them: the robots are terrifying, and the girls less titillating than traumatizing. Anime, in Japan and abroad, has grown beyond otaku. This may make it more difficult to make stories as incisive and popular as Evangelion. But Anno’s masterpiece will live on. More from Bloomberg Opinion: (1) Anno would later direct the 2016 Shin Godzilla, itself a scathing satire of Japanese bureaucracy during the 2011 Fukushima disaster. (2) For context, the latter movie’s domestic box office is comfortably ahead of the recent critically acclaimed Godzilla Minus One, despite opening during the pandemic. This column reflects the personal views of the author and does not necessarily reflect the opinion of the editorial staff or Bloomberg LP and its owners. Gearoid Reidy is a Bloomberg opinion columnist covering Japan and the Koreas. He previously led the breaking news team in North Asia and was the Tokyo deputy bureau chief. More stories like this are available at bloomberg.com/opinion ©2025 Bloomberg LP