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Even though it’s set in a chaotic, futuristic world, so much of what it shows feels familiar: the fear of losing control, the pressure to prove yourself, the way power can twist people. Tetsuo’s breakdown hit especially hard. His struggle to feel seen, to have control over his own life, reminded me of how a lot of young people feel today, lost in a system that doesn’t seem built for them.

What really stayed with me is how Akira doesn’t just show destruction for the sake of it. It uses the collapse of Neo-Tokyo to reflect real anxieties

Akira

Watching Akira was like entering a chaotic, dystopian future that somehow captures contemporary anxieties in Japan and around the world. The trauma of nuclear destruction, which has a long history in Japan, is discussed in the movie. With its chaos and corruption, Neo-Tokyo represents a society gone awry, reflecting worries about unbridled governmental power and the speed at which technology is developing. Akira discusses the effects of militarization, youth rebellion, and scientific overreach on a global scale. These topics are still pertinent in light of environmental crises, the development of artificial intelligence, and social upheavals. Not only is the devastation in Akira physical, but it also reflects deep societal anxieties and is cultural and personal. I was particularly struck by how much I could identify with the younger characters' sense of insecurity and annoyance, particularly that of Tetsuo and Kaneda. There is a similar sense of tension in real life, even though I'm not riding a motorcycle through a post-apocalyptic city, particularly when it comes to finding meaning in a system that frequently seems rigged. Tetsuo's battle for identity and control made me think about the pressure, insecurity, and comparison that today's youth face. Akira's examination of power and how individuals seek it, abuse it, and are destroyed by it, and in the end they feel emotionally authentic and painfully familiar.

[stephst]

This anime is a raw, emotional exploration of grief, fear, and what it means to carry invisible pain. What really stuck with me is how the show flips the idea that we should hide our emotions to keep the peace. Instead, it shows how unspoken pain doesn’t disappear—it grows and hurts not just us, but the people around us. That theme feels incredibly real, especially in cultures where emotional restraint is the norm.

I connected with Yuji’s struggle on a personal level. After loss, he keeps asking: What does it mean to live a good life?That hits hard!!

JJK

More than just a captivating action anime, Jujutsu Kaisen is a potent meditation on trauma, fear, and grief. The idea that negative emotions, such as pain and resentment, can literally materialize into curses is one of the main themes. When you consider Japan's cultural emphasis on repressing emotions in order to maintain social harmony, that idea strikes particularly hard. This concept is reversed in the anime, which claims that unsaid pain festers and grows instead of going away. This message seems equally relevant on a global scale. Mental health issues affect people all over the world, and Jujutsu Kaisen transforms those internal conflicts into physical form. I can relate to the show because it avoids romanticizing loss or suffering. After losing those he cares about, Yuji Itadori is always wondering what it means to live a good life. I believe that many of us experience that internal conflict—wanting to do the right thing but not always knowing how—especially in college when we're still developing our identities. The program also highlights how our relationships—friends, mentors, and even adversaries—influence our development. Seeing the characters persevere in the face of their trauma serves as a reminder to me that resilience is about learning to move forward while bearing the burden, not about being emotionless. Jujutsu Kaisen links this anime to texts about identity and accountability by posing the same queries: Who am I when no one is looking? In a world full of suffering, what am I supposed to do? This anime questions the notion that having power automatically makes one good, much like the readings that examine duty and selfhood. Rather, it emphasizes choice and how individuals choose to behave in high-stakes situations. Jujutsu Kaisen is ultimately about facing our inner darkness and deciding to protect others despite the fact that it isn't just about fighting monsters.

[stephst]

Violet Evergarden really moved me in a quiet, personal way. Watching Violet learn to express emotions she never understood before, grief, love, even guilt, felt so real, especially in a world where we’re often expected to hide what we feel. The idea of writing letters to say what words can't quite reach hit home. It reminded me how healing often comes in soft, slow moments, and how empathy can bridge even the deepest wounds.

Violet Evergarden

Violet Evergarden: Recollections is a stunning and moving journey that explores the aftermath of war through its characters' silent grief and healing rather than politics or combat scenes. Violet's story reflects cultural values of perseverance, responsibility, and emotional control in Japan, where postwar identity has been shaped by introspection and reconstruction. The difficulty of dealing with loss and the value of empathy are universal themes that the anime touches on. Particularly in a digital age where genuine emotional connection is more difficult to find, the notion of someone writing letters to express emotions that others are unable to verbalize is ageless and universal. Violet's emotional development struck a deep chord with me personally. She begins the story as someone who is emotionally distant from herself and unsure of how to relate to other people, which I believe many people can identify with, particularly after experiencing hardship or trauma. I was struck by how crucial it is to confront your emotions rather than repress them as I watched her gradually come to understand love, grief, and even joy. Her experience served as a reminder to me that healing is a gradual, painful, and educational process. Violet's story fits in nicely with the readings' themes of memory, communication, and the need for human connection. This anime takes that same discussion into a more poetic realm, much like the articles that examine how technology is altering our means of self-expression. Although it may seem archaic, writing letters can be a potent metaphor for expressing emotions. Violet Evergarden demonstrates how empathy and storytelling can help heal divisions, between individuals, generations, and even cultures, even when they are quiet or straightforward. It's about us all rediscovering how to feel, not just about one girl.

[stephst]

Jujutsu Kaisen

At first glance, Jujutsu Kaisen is a fast-paced supernatural action anime with curses, flashy fights, and over-the-top abilities. But beneath all that energy is a show grappling with deeply human issues that feel relevant both in Japan and across the world. One of the most striking themes is the way it addresses emotional repression, trauma, and the societal pressure to “just keep going.” In Japan, where talking openly about mental health can still be really tough, the idea that bottled-up emotions can turn into actual curses feels especially powerful. It’s such a smart way to show how pain that goes unspoken doesn’t just stay inside, it can spill out and hurt others, too.

And on a global level, Jujutsu Kaisen captures the feeling so many of us have right now, like we’re growing up in a world that’s unstable and unpredictable, constantly trying to make sense of the chaos around us. The characters are young, overwhelmed, and forced into situations they never asked for, whether it’s Yuji Itadori grappling with death and morality,or Megumi and Nobara trying to define strength on their own terms. Their world is violent and unfair, and yet they still try to protect what matters. That sense of fighting back, even when the odds are against you, resonates with me.

Personally, watching Jujutsu Kaisen made me think about how we’re all carrying invisible burdens, grief, fear, pressure, and how often we pretend we’re fine just to get through the day. The show doesn’t offer easy answers, but it does offer hope through connection. These characters don’t just survive because they’re powerful, they survive because they rely on each other. In a world that often celebrates individualism, Jujutsu Kaisen reminds us of the strength found in shared struggle. That’s something I won’t forget.

[stephst]

AKIRA

Watching Akira feels like stepping into a world that’s both futuristic and disturbingly familiar. Set in Neo-Tokyo after a massive explosion decimated the city, the anime reflects Japan’s post-war anxieties—especially the trauma of the atomic bombings and the rapid modernization that followed. The ruined cityscape, the unchecked government experiments, and the youth gangs all speak to a society grappling with control, identity, and collapse. It’s no coincidence that the story is filled with chaos. Japan’s history with militarization and the destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki lingers beneath the surface, and Akira turns those fears into something visceral.

But the relevance of Akira isn’t limited to Japan. Around the world, especially in major cities, we’re seeing unrest, inequality, and generational tension. The frustration of the young characters—particularly Tetsuo, who transforms into something monstrous after being experimented on—feels universal. His desperation to prove himself and escape vulnerability mirrors what happens when systems fail young people. It’s a powerful warning about what happens when society values power over empathy.

Personally, I’ve never experienced the kind of dystopia Akira shows, but the themes, such as the fear of losing control, the pressure to conform, and the need to find your place in a chaotic world, hit close to home! 

[stephst]

VIOLET EVERGARDEN

Violet Evergarden is a story that cuts deep. Set in a world that’s just emerged from a devastating war, it centers on Violet, a young girl who was once a soldier and is now trying to find out who she is without a uniform or orders. She becomes an Auto Memory Doll—someone who writes letters for people who can’t find the words themselves. Through this job, Violet starts to connect with others and slowly, painfully, begins to understand her own emotions.

What struck me most is how this anime handles the long shadows left by war—not just on nations, but on individual people. Japan has a complex history with militarization and emotional expression, and Violet’s journey reflects that struggle. She’s trained to follow commands, to suppress all feeling, and when that structure disappears, she’s left adrift. This isn’t just a Japanese issue; it resonates globally, especially in places where people return from war, abuse, or loss and don’t know how to live as anything but survivors.

Personally, I found parts of Violet’s emotional journey painfully relatable. There have been moments in my own life where I’ve felt disconnected, like I was going through the motions but not really feeling anything. Watching Violet try to figure out what “I love you” means hit hard. It reminded me that healing isn’t linear. It’s awkward and slow and sometimes doesn’t look like healing at all.

The anime also ties in beautifully with some of the emotional theories that I'm exploring for my essay, like Sara Ahmed’s idea that emotions are not just personal—they’re social, shaped by history and relationships. Violet is learning not just how to feel, but how to belong. And in doing so, she helps others heal too. That’s what makes this story so moving—it’s about learning to be human, one letter at a time.

[stephst]

Your take is so sharp! I agree, Hetalia walks a strange line between satire and stereotype, and while it oversimplifies complex histories, it still somehow manages to be entertaining. It made me laugh, but also made me uncomfortable, which I guess means it did something right, intentionally or not.

Watch Out Europe, We're Going on TOUR; "Hetalia: Axis Powers"

“Hetalia: Axis Powers” is an… interesting piece of media commentary. For the most part, it centers on the events of World Wars One and Two, albeit through a rather unconventional lens. Consisting of satirical stereotypes of many of the world’s nations, Hetalia seems to go out of its way to portray each country in the most unflattering light possible through the use of said stereotypes, while also skirting the very things that brought said stereotypes into existence in the first place.

Take Hetalia’s portrayal of Germany: a blonde, blue-eyed, muscle-bound behemoth with a feverish dedication to authority, structure, and order—the very definition of an Aryan Ubermensch—and yet, Germany’s more…sensitive behaviors during WWII are all but glossed over, if not played for laughs. The same can be said of France, painted as a flamboyant Casanova-esque libertine who drapes himself along furniture, wine glass in hand while muttering to himself about former glories, only to be rebuked with commentary on how quick he is to “surrender.” However, the worst offense, by far, is that of the anime’s portrayal of Italy.

Depicted as a sniveling wreck who clings to Germany’s coat-tails, Italy is presented as if he is little else but a weakling who breaks down into sobbing fits and mewls to the heavens for his “big brother” whenever faced with any issue at all, devoid of any ability to stand up for himself. This depiction reaches its most heinous when it comes time to examine the events of WWII. During this time period, Italy wages war on Greece, invades Ethiopia for the second time in fifty years, and under Mussolini, literally invents fascism, which ironically is what inspires Hitler to found the National Socialist party and carry out the atrocities that go on to plague Europe.

In the real world, Italy is the birthplace of the ideology that results in Germany attaining their reputation and/or stereotypes that are played up in Hetalia- iincluding the "Roman" salute, also invented under Mussolini- and by all rights, the anime’s depiction of them both should be on relatively level ground; however, Germany is presented in a seemingly sympathetic light, as a stalwart, practical force, while Italy, the birthplace of one of the greatest art movements in human history, the cradle of the Roman Empire, and the originator of fascist thought, is reduced to “Pasta!!!”

Could you reasonably make the argument that Hetalia’s treatment and/or portrayal of each nation is a carefully curated effort engineered to point out the irrationality of basing your understanding of a country on its stereotypes? Of course—but doing so would inadvertently run counter to the very idea of a national identity. Despite the fact that stereotyping is an illogical practice at best, one cannot refute the fact that a great deal of them are based in truth or have a foundation in national identity.

Hetalia’s personification of France is a licentious philanderer who often fondles anyone in his line of sight—this is obviously the integration of the stereotype that France is a nation of sensuality and closed-door depravity, which in itself is patently false; however, France does have a history of being relatively liberal in terms of sexuality. The French Revolution resulted in the decriminalization of homosexuality at the back end of the 18th century, and the feminine desire for intimacy, physical and domestic, was all but legitimized in the 19th century with the advent of the "ménage à trois," or “household of three,” denoting a dwelling consisting of a man, a woman, and a lover to be enjoyed by one or the other, if not shared between the two.

Attempting to dismiss Hetalia’s portrayal of national identities would require one to denounce the concept of unifying national characteristics as a whole, which in itself would be a demonstrably unintellectual act, so while I cannot say I support Hetalia as a work of commentary, it is nonetheless a phenomenal work of art that put a smile on my face more times than I expected.

[stephst]

Hetalia: Axis Powers

Watching Hetalia: Axis Powers was honestly a strange experience at first. It’s not like most anime—it doesn’t follow a traditional plot or stick to serious storytelling. Instead, it takes major historical events, especially from World War II, and turns them into quick, comedic skits with countries personified as characters. On the surface, it’s lighthearted and silly, but underneath the humor, it brings up some pretty big questions about how we talk about history.

What stood out to me is how Hetalia simplifies extremely complex and painful events. As someone who grew up learning about WWII from a very serious, often somber perspective, it felt odd to see those same events turned into jokes or punchlines. But at the same time, it made me think about how different cultures remember and process the past. In Japan, where nationalism, shame, and memory around the war are still complicated topics, using humor might be a way to approach that history without reopening old wounds. That doesn’t make it right or wrong—it just shows how layered these conversations can be.

Personally, I did connect with the idea of trying to understand different perspectives. Working in a multicultural environment, I’ve learned to be aware of how countries, people and the different cultures often misunderstand each other. Hetalia exaggerates those stereotypes for comedy, but it still reminds us that every country has its own identity, habits, and history—whether accurate or not, it’s a starting point for dialogue.

Overall, Hetalia is weird, funny, and sometimes uncomfortable. But it’s also interesting because it pushes you to question how we represent history, and how humor can either open up or shut down important conversations about the past.

[stephst]

I really liked how you broke down the deeper meaning behind Your Name. The way you pointed out the contrast between tradition and modern life is really nice. It’s cool how the story blends something so personal—like identity—with something huge, like a comet. It all just feels very real.

Blog Post: Your Name

Your Name is a unique mediation on many ideas relevant to Japan and beyond. Despite its plot built around and impenending cataclysm and time and space dilation, at its core it’s a rather grounded story about memory and contrast. Contrast on terms of geographic location, but also gender and sex.

The anime follows high school students Mitsuha and Taki, as they begin mysteriously swapping bodies. This isn’t initially played for drama as the two struggle to comprehend the shift. While inhabiting each other’s bodies, they indirectly help improve the other’s life in minor ways. Their swap also exposes some of the two’s similarities and differences. Both Mitsuha and Taki are shown to be dissatisfied with their lives and homes, yet struggle when faced with the new expectations of the swap. Mitsuha grow’s increasingly assertive, as Taki compels her to stand up against her father. Meanwhile, Mitsuha’s experience in Taki exposes some struggles of gender performance, as she uses incorrect honorifics when hanging out with his friends.

One of the larger ways they eventually help which becomes the crux of the conflict, involves an approaching comet. Due to time dilation brought on by the body swapping, Taki learns Mitsuha’s town is doomed by an unexpected collision. By reconnecting with the spiritual ways of the small town, he’s able to briefly cross over into Mitsuha’s timeline and warn her of the calamity. Though the asteroid still hits the town, much of the population is saved by Taki’s warning and Mitsuha’s efforts. This isn’t however until Mitsuha convinces her father the mayor to overcome his corruption and adequately warn the town. Both leading up to the collision and after the fact, Taki questions why he should care so much about the rural town where he really doesn’t know anyone. To me this is a reaffirmation of the anime’s message, of the importance of learning from those of different backgrounds. The anime is certainly rooted in a conservative respect for tradition, but without undermining the value in cooperation between old and new. 

[stephst]

Your Name

This anime starts and seems like just a fun, light story, two teenagers swapping bodies and trying to deal with the weirdness of living each other’s lives. There are some really funny and awkward moments that make it feel easygoing. But little by little, it turns into something deeper. It’s not really about the body-swapping, it’s about missing someone you can’t quite reach, about time getting in the way, and that quiet, painful feeling of trying to hold on to something that keeps fading no matter how hard you try.

One part that really stuck with me was Mitsuha’s small town. You can feel her frustration, she wants to leave, chase something bigger, live a life that feels more hers. I think a lot of people can relate to that, especially those who grow up in places that feel slow or forgotten. The comet scene and everything that happens afterward hit even harder when you realize it reflects real events, like the 2011 earthquake and tsunami. That kind of sudden loss and grief is something Japan, and honestly many other places, have lived through. It made the story feel more real, even in the middle of all the magic.

What hit me personally was how the movie handled memory. The way Mitsuha and Taki keep trying to remember each other, even when their memories fade, reminded me of moments in my own life, times where people drifted away, or where I felt something deeply but couldn’t quite hold onto it. That longing, that feeling of "I know you, but I don’t know why," felt so honest.

Your Name is about connection, timing, and how life can feel both magical and painful at the same time. It reminded me that even when we feel far apart from others, something still ties us together.

[stephst]

I think it’s crazy how a game like Xenoblade Chronicles 2 can feel so real beneath all the fantasy. The way you tied the dying Titans to our own environmental issues hit hard. It’s eye-opening to think about how trying to control everything can actually speed up our own downfall.

Xenoblade Chronicles 2

A departure from the norm, Xenoblade Chronicles 2 happens to be a video game, as opposed to the TV shows and films that this blog has chronicled up until now—which I find to be rather delightful, as picking apart video games and their plotlines happens to be my specialty. That said, this particular game seems to have one of the most poignant commentaries I have ever interacted with, and this is coming from somebody with well over 200 hours in each of the Metal Gear games, Cyberpunk 2077, Deus Ex, and the works.I am no stranger to interactive commentary, which is part of why I am astounded that I had never played either of the Xenoblade games; so, in preparation, I decided to borrow my cousin's copy and wrench around with the game for a while to gain some additional insight.

Simply put, Xenoblade 2 takes place in a world that seems to be one ginormous ocean, inhabited by colossal creatures named “Titans” (no relation to those of Rumbling fame) who appear to essentially be dragons with stone scales. Said Titans are capable of speech and so large that they are each able to sustain life upon their backs and, in doing so, take the form of nation-states, quite literally imbuing the “ground” beneath a given individual’s feet with life, as it is, again, literally alive… although, not for long. One of the very first points that Xenoblade 2 makes is that the Titans are beginning to die out, and with them, life itself. It is here where Xenoblade 2 begins to make its commentary on the nature of humanity and its interaction(s) with the environment. 

We go on to discover that the reason the Titans are dying out is because a man by the name of Amalthus is “cleansing” the world of Blades. For clarity’s sake, Blades are beings who are effectively sentient weaponry and imbue their users with supernatural powers in battle. Blades go on to evolve into Titans, sustaining a sense of a circle of life. Amalthus, jaded and despondent with the state of the world, as well as humanity itself, possesses the belief that in order for there to be true order, true unity between humanity and the environment it inhabits, he must orchestrate a "cleansing" of sorts. This means all life must be tightly and rigidly controlled, or face eradication; a philosophy which directly results in the deaths of the Titans, and the shrinking of humanity's livable territories, which in turn drives a reduction in the human population.

The argument could be made that the slow demise of the Titans, effectively the shrinking of available, livable land, parallels humanity’s own loss of the environment. Xenoblade 2’s world is a uniform ocean, and climate change, the result of human activity, is contributing to the rising of our own ocean levels. To this end, Xenoblade 2 stands as an example of what may come to pass if current patterns continue unchanged. In this way, Xenoblade 2 posits that humanity is not only integral to nature, but that it is impossible to possess the belief that you are able to remove humanity from the equation of nature as a whole without upsetting an already extremely delicate balance, threatening not only humanity’s future, but the fate of the entire world.

[stephst]

Xenoblade Chronicles 2

On the surface, it seems like just another fantasy anime-style game with cool fights and vibrant characters. But once you get into it, you start to notice it’s saying something deeper, about survival, what people believe in, and how we connect (or disconnect) from nature and technology. The game is set in a world where people live on the backs of massive creatures called Titans, and the looming threat is that these Titans are dying, meaning people are slowly losing the land they live on. This theme immediately feels tied to real-world anxieties in Japan, especially around limited space, environmental fragility, and natural disasters. There's also an underlying tension about relying too much on a higher power or past traditions to save us, which reminded me of some of the readings on postwar Japanese identity and spiritual crisis. Globally, the story touches on issues like overconsumption, resource depletion, and even xenophobia. Different cultures in the game mistrust each other, fight over territory, and use technology in ways that feel both innovative and dangerous. These are problems we see playing out in our world every day, how nations hoard resources, how misunderstanding breeds fear, and how we look for meaning in a world that often feels like it's slipping away. I connected with Rex because he keeps moving forward no matter how uncertain things get, and his determination to protect others while questioning the systems around him felt relatable, especially now, when so many people are navigating a world that doesn’t seem to make sense.

[stephst]

I really liked how you broke down the different ecological ideologies represented by each faction! The way you explained the different views each group has on nature made everything click for me. I also felt that tension, like, yeah, it doesn’t give us a clear solution, but maybe it’s more about changing how we see nature. That alone can be pretty powerful.

Blog Post: Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind presents a unique and engrossing exploration of human’s relation to nature. It does so primarily by tying its world and messages back to fears of nuclear fallout, which was still a common fear at the time of its release. 

The film follows Nausicaä, a young woman living in the seemingly idealistic Valley of the Wind. The world of this anime experienced a cataclysmic man-made event, creating a seemingly toxic and uninhabitable jungle full of spores. Those in the valley recognize and respect the danger this region poses, taking largely preventative measures to prevent it from encroaching on their homes. The film opens showing Nausicaä harvesting resources from the region, suggesting a degree of cooperation with nature. By contrast, the film’s conflict is sparked by the conflict between the Tolmekia Empire and Pejite. Tolmekia also recognizes the threat the toxic jungle holds, but plans to resurrect one of the Giant Warriors to eliminate it. These warriors are the same bioweapons that initially destroyed the world. The film’s conflict stems from the Tolmekia’s occupation of and subsequent conflict with those living in the Valley of the Wind. In this way, each faction represents different ecological ideologies.

Like many ecological films, this one appears to adopt the stance of nature’s independence. That is, nature acts and will continue to act independently of humans, including healing from their exploitation. Throughout the film Nausicaä discovers that the toxins are only concentrated in the jungle by the soil, and that the plants growing in the region are actually just filtering the toxins amassed by humans. This further ties back to the film’s nuclear symbolism, while also being applicable to pollution more broadly. While this discovery does well to cement nature as not inherently malicious, it may leave the audience lacking in terms of actionable behavior. The film therefore appears to take the stance that at our current level of engagement and exploitation with nature, perhaps the best thing we can do is disengage. Though not necessarily bad advice, it’d prove practically impossible given our current Anthropogenic reliance. In spite of this shortcoming, this is still a compelling and thought provoking anime on the nature of our relation to nature.

[stephst]

Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind

Even just watching it on its own, Nausicaa feels incredibly relevant, both to Japan’s history and to what’s happening around the world today. The story takes place in a world recovering from an environmental disaster, where a toxic jungle is spreading, and people live in fear of it. I loved how Nausicaä approaches everything with compassion and curiosity. Instead of wanting to destroy the jungle or control it, she tries to understand it. That message feels deeply tied to Japan’s own environmental struggles—like the aftermath of nuclear disasters or pollution in the past—but also has this universal quality that speaks to global issues like climate change and how disconnected we’ve become from nature. It’s easy to fall into a mindset of control or destruction rather than empathy and coexistence. In that sense, Nausicaä felt more like a real-world role model than just a fictional character. I love that the film doesn’t push a loud message but instead lets us quietly reflect on what it means to live in harmony with the world around us. From a personal point of view, it reminded me to slow down and be more mindful of how I listen to others and navigate conflict. There’s something very grounding about the way this anime approaches peace, even in the middle of chaos.

[stephst]

Its heartbreaking how his self-hatred and passivity kept him frozen, and the idea that he rejects becoming “one” because he can’t accept himself really struck me. It shows how deeply our inner battles can shape how we relate to the world.

End of Evangelion (1997): Masculinity and Fear of Other

End of Evangelion presents a visually striking alternate ending to a action packed and heady series. However, in this version, Shinji reaches his lowest point, failing to find the redemption he achieved in the final episodes of the original series.

Throughout the film, Shinji behaves in an undeniably pathetic manner. At his worst, he spends much of the time curled up in a ball, crying; at his best, he remains indecisive and passive. At one point, with a gun to his head, he does absolutely nothing, needing Katsuragi to step in and save him. Before her death, she leaves him with the words: "Live your life standing up, then you can die" (19:10). Yet, it seems clear this is not what Shinji wants. He is too consumed by his internal struggles to function in the outside world, let alone cooperate with others. Even as the world crumbles around him, he remains paralyzed, unable to act—even to save others. In this way, he is not only standing in his own way but also in everyone else’s.

Shinji’s true conflict lies in his inability to find peace with himself, which in turn prevents him from connecting with others. His persistent fear of rejection ultimately leads him to apparently refuse joining the collective consciousness at the film’s end. Paradoxically, he states with uncertainty that he would prefer to maintain the borders between himself and others. The ending carries a Buddhist undertone, paralleling the concept of enlightenment—of becoming “one with everything”—through the collective consciousness, a state where form and duality dissolve. However, by continuing to reject himself and, perhaps, his own performance of masculinity, Shinji insists on maintaining walls between himself and others, barring himself from a world without distinctions. Unable to reconcile with himself, it seems Shinji remains incapable of achieving true peace or connection with others.

[stephst]

The way you tied this to traditional masculinity and reversed gender roles was powerful. His journey toward self-acceptance felt like a quiet rebellion against those rigid expectations. Insightful and thought-provoking!

Neon Genesis Evangelion (1995): Masculinity and Self-Acceptance

[Part 2]

The Part 2 viewing of Neon Genesis Evangelion took an existential turn, highlighting significant character development in Shinji.

In my first viewing and post, I focused on understanding Shinji’s character. I determined he is timid, indecisive, passive, submissive, self-conscious, and childish. His insecurity is evident in how he makes excuses for his behavior and seeks validation from others to derive self-worth. In these four episodes, I paid closer attention to how others respond to Shinji—particularly his failure to align with traditional masculine traits.

I noticed that those around him either grow frustrated with or enable his self-loathing. Asuka (the Second Child) treats Shinji much like Katsuragi did in the Part 1 viewings—calling him a “wimp,” speaking to him condescendingly, and feeling the need to direct him due to his passivity. It almost feels as though traditional gender roles are reversed, with Shinji’s lack of hegemonic masculinity leading the women around him to adopt more dominant roles.

However, in the final episode, we see Shinji’s redemption. He undergoes an unexplained, psychedelic soul-searching experience, confronting what it means to be an individual, to exist, and to navigate the fears tied to both. Most importantly, he faces his self-rejection, which fuels his fear of being rejected by others. One striking quote from this sequence is, “You understand your own shape through examining how different you are from others” (Episode 24, 14:00). This suggests that his sense of inadequacy stems from perceiving himself as atypical compared to the masculine ideal. However, the real source of his suffering is his own perception. By shifting how he sees himself in relation to others, Shinji can ultimately choose to free himself through self-acceptance.

[stephst]

Your post really captured the emotional weight of the early episodes. I especially connected with your point about Rei, her quiet obedience made me question how often we’re valued only for what we can do, not who we are. Evangelion truly makes you reflect on identity and the pressure to perform.

Neon Genesis Evangelion

Diving Into Neon Genesis Evangelion: Episodes 1, 2, 4, and 5

Few anime dive into the human psyche quite like Neon Genesis Evangelion (NGE). Episodes 1, 2, 4, and 5 set the stage for a series that isn’t just about giant mechs fighting monsters—it’s about trauma, isolation, and the immense pressure placed on individuals, especially youth. Watching these episodes, it’s clear that Evangelion speaks to issues deeply rooted in Japanese society while also addressing struggles that resonate globally.

From the very first episode, we’re introduced to Shinji Ikari, an emotionally fragile teenager thrown into the role of an Evangelion pilot with no real choice. The pressure placed on him is overwhelming—his estranged father, Gendo, coldly demands his obedience, while the fate of humanity literally rests on his shoulders. This speaks to Japan’s culture of expectation, where young people often face immense academic and societal pressure. But it’s not just a Japanese issue—worldwide, many people, especially younger generations, feel the crushing weight of responsibility and the fear of failure.

Episode 4 is particularly striking. After piloting Eva Unit-01, Shinji runs away, struggling with self-worth and whether he even wants to be involved in this fight. His isolation reflects Japan’s hikikomori phenomenon—individuals who withdraw from society due to stress or mental health struggles. This hits home globally, too, as discussions around mental health and burnout become more prominent.

Episode 5 delves into Rei Ayanami, another Eva pilot, who is emotionally distant and eerily obedient. Her character raises questions about identity and purpose—do we have value outside of what we’re “useful” for? It’s a question that many, especially in work-centric societies, wrestle with.

These early episodes set up Evangelion as more than just a mecha anime—it’s a raw look at the burdens we carry, whether in Japan or anywhere else in the world.