Review: Evangelion 2.22 You Can (Not) Advance

Any particular story exists as a concept, as a tapestry of ideas skillfully woven together by a caring author whose purpose is to communicate a core message, an infinitesimally precious and delicate realization of truth. The author notices a something, a real, and carefully guides the audience towards an understanding of that aspect of reality to which we cannot speak, but only gesture and hope with a shared yearning and eagerness to understand. Neon Genesis Evangelion, in its previous iterations, gestured at one key aspect of life, a primordial feeling of a wrinkle in our being, that resonates with all, but seemed fundamentally incommunicable. The remake, represented by these first two films, may be the closest we as a species have ever come to saying what that wrinkle is.

The first movie blew me away. If you read my review, you know that my initial reaction was to loudly exclaim, “WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?” in inexplicable shock. 2.22 makes that reaction seem tepid, commonplace, boring. 2.22 redefines the series; it takes the series somewhere for which there are no words.

We enter the story where we left, at the point of deviation from our core canon. The narrative skillfully shifts to accommodate new characters, new angels, and new relationships while still maintaining precious core components of the original series. We are in Tokyo-3, but it is not the same. We encounter Shinji, Misato, Rei, and Asuka (voiced by the blessed return of Tiffany Grant) and recognize both their familiarity and their novelty. Asuka’s entrance and initial, “What are you, stupid?!” somehow communicates both that this is the same character, and that she is undeniably different. Somehow a new Eva pilot is added to the mix in a manner that makes her seem familiar. When she first appears I am not shocked or jarred but, rather, I think, “Oh, hey, it’s Mari. It’s good to know that she is back.” despite the fact that she has never been here before.

Actually, think of it this way: Take the relationships Shinji had with Misato, Rei, and Asuka. Now divide each of those relationships into their core features. Alright, now take all of those features and divide them between Misato, Rei, Asuka, and Mari. By redistributing and redefining these relationships, the series is tightened and eloquently restructured to more acutely communicate that which the television series, at best, implied. Shinji’s relationship with femininity is honed with far greater precision by dividing it between four characters rather than three. Through these redefinitions and subtle changes, the characters in 2.22 seem more core and foundational than the characters from the original show. 2.22 gives us the real Asuka, the true Rei, 16 years after these characters were created.

The story of 2.22 covers episodes seven through nineteen, or at least moves us along the path from seven to nineteen. With all the additions I thought the series would fully deviate from the established path. But the beauty of 2.22 is its ability to weave between novelty and canon to finally place us at a precipice that is, in one word, astounding.

The finale puts us at the battle from episode 19, that quintessential moment at which Shinji finally actualizes his own volition and maniacally defends the Geofront from Zeruel. This reimagined battle loosely mirrors the original and then, in one moment, drastically shifts everything we knew about the series into a fundamentally new framework and direction by hurling the viewer into an event of the most fucking-epic-of-fucking-epicness you have heretofore been incapable of imagining.

That is not hyperbole; this shift is fucking amazing.

We make the turn, we take the plunge, and we’re gazing into a void of unknown, unimagined futurity that deviates entirely from any semblance of a track known to prior canon. Then the action, the scope, the possibilities get bigger, and we mutter in amazement, “Ho-ly shit, they just cranked it to 11.”

Then it cuts to black.

As the credits roll we fill with a bittersweet adrenaline high as we realize that what we witnessed cannot be topped. We know what the manga did, what the television series did, what the End of Evangelion gave us, and there is nothing in any of those stories that can match what we just witness. This reimagining has reached the ceiling, and with two movies left, all they can do is match this height.

Then the credits stop. And something happens.

You do not utter a syllable. You do not think. You do not applaud.

Your mouth falls open.

You stare at the screen in unintelligible amazement, incapable of processing what you saw. And then you slowly come to realize what just happened: They broke the ceiling of what Evangelion could be. They redefined the scope of this tale.

Hideaki Anno just said, “Fuck 11. Fuck 12. We are cranking this story to all.”

And there are two more movies to go.

I cannot stop smiling.