Shiroh Sagisu
The End Of Evangelion

In the mid-90s, something significant happened in Japanese animation. Something so colossal and central that its influence is still felt today. I am talking about the release of two titles, a film and a TV series, that once and for all demonstrated to the world how an animated product could reach levels of complexity and maturity that could make any live-action film billed as a "serious work" pale by comparison, and how anime had nothing to envy of the most prestigious American productions. I am referring to "Ghost in the Shell," a cyberpunk masterpiece directed by Mamoru Oshii and based on the manga of the same name by Masamune Shirow, and "Neon Genesis Evangelion," the most famous as well as the most debated work of the symbolic director of the GAINAX studio, Hideaki Anno.

Anno is quite a controversial figure, capable over time of evoking as much unreserved adulation as total refusal, but who in any case has marked Japanese animation indelibly. His first work as a director, after years of training as an animator, is the famous OAV Aim for the Top! Gunbuster, which proved to be, besides a classic of robotic science fiction, a laboratory where the director first drafted his complex ontological and human themes. Subsequently, he directed another great classic, Nadia - The Secret of Blue Water, a television series that confirmed his great talent in taking up all the stylistic and stereotypical elements of anime and then projecting them into a new, intimate, tormented, and incredibly multifaceted dimension. After Nadia, Hideaki Anno experienced a period of depression in which he fully developed his convictions about the figure of the otaku, a term that in its most negative sense describes a person morbidly attached to their passions, cutting all ties with other people, in a state of total incapacity to live in a world that is not their own. During the same period, he undertook numerous readings of authors like Freud, Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, and Pirandello, which greatly enriched his cultural and ideological background.

In 1995, here comes the revolution: Evangelion appears on Japanese TV, initially without much success, only to become a real cultural phenomenon still alive today (see the very recent cinematic remake of the series, the so-called Rebuild of Evangelion). Evangelion begins where all robot anime of Nagai extraction begin: the earth is threatened by mysterious creatures from space, and humanity's only hope is a colossal robot, piloted from the inside by a young boy with numerous existential problems. Here, however, the invaders are not aliens, but biblical angels, and the mecha series built to counter them, the Evangelions, are in fact organic beings created by cloning the DNA of the first and second angels, Adam and Lilith. The protagonist is Shinji Ikari, a fragile teenager marked by an indelible family tragedy, incapable of believing in his own abilities and reluctant to have relationships with other people. Over the course of the twenty-six episodes, laced with a fascinating religious and cabalistic backdrop (which, however, as specified by the authors themselves, was included only for narrative needs), many other characters are introduced, all with heavy personal problems that often lead to mental illness, and towards the end, the plot takes an absolutely dramatic and introspective turn.

The ending has sparked innumerable controversies among fans: due to significant budget issues caused by the aforementioned low popularity of the first television broadcast, the GAINAX staff found themselves in major difficulties regarding the realization of the final two episodes. This problem too was resolved: for the visual part, almost exclusively still frames already used throughout the series were employed, while the "earthly" plot was completely set aside in favor of a meticulous recap of the various characters' burning issues, reworked and finally provided with a possible solution. The anger of the fans focused precisely on this aspect, since the result is quite cryptic and not immediate, and some points left hanging in previous episodes are not explained. According to many, including myself, these two episodes actually represent the purest essence of Evangelion, the heart, and soul of a series that still has much to say and has not lost its appeal.

But the otaku had no intention of giving up. Hideaki Anno received a flood of threatening letters, sometimes real death threats, urging him to provide a more comprehensible ending to the series. Disillusioned by all these negative impressions, the director then decided to make a final film of the series, now seeing the large fund availability derived from the worldwide success of his creation, able to provide a univocal ending to the story and clarify the obscure points not covered in the final two episodes. First distributed was Evangelion: Death and Rebirth, a feature film that summarized the main events of the TV version plus the first part of the new feature film. Although this "consolation" was harshly criticized by many, it nonetheless possesses a good narrative structure, able to highlight the essential points of the work. Then, finally, the final chapter of the saga arrives in theaters: The End of Evangelion. Produced in collaboration with Production I.G, this feature film, divided into two parts, develops the plot of episodes 25 and 26 of the series as they were originally intended to be if the adequate budget had existed. Audience reactions vary widely, ranging from total disgust to the most emphatic wonder. "The End of Evangelion" represents, in my opinion, one of the most beautiful, exciting, and unsettling feature films conceived so far: a visual spectacle that is shifting, experimental, and multifaceted, accompanied by a sense of drama, immense change, and human uncertainty that must confront the divine that is absolutely unique and unforgettable.

It is also important to emphasize a specific aspect: a significant part of the success of the feature film must be attributed to the stunning soundtrack, composed by the great Shiroh Sagisu, who had previously created the music for Nadia, and would later be involved in "His and Her Circumstances," "Abenobashi," and "Bleach." The tracks used in the series were already nothing short of magnificent, extremely varied, balancing between tense minimalism, orchestral arias, pounding battle hymns, and moving melodrama. Well, in The End of Evangelion, Sagisu outdoes himself. Never had an anime had such a lively, symbiotic, indissoluble, and perfect musical accompaniment: an immense mosaic where orchestral pieces reminiscent of Bach blend with dreamlike and carnal lullabies, explosions of suffocating tragedy, and magnificent spiritual hymns. This is the triumph of emotion transposed into a score, the sonic materialization of fears, dreams, tragedies, and hopes that haunt the human soul. In particular, I cannot help but highlight "Thanatos (If I can't be yours)" and "Komm", "Susser Todd", the two most famous tracks from the film, and probably my favorite songs: the former, a resigned, desperate, vibrant request for help tinged with tribal jazz; the latter, a moving, sweet yet tragic farewell to life that, in step with the film, involves the entire humanity.

This CD can be easily found at a good price on the web, and I absolutely recommend purchasing it to those who loved Evangelion, even to those who usually think that soundtracks are not necessary objects since the tracks are already present in the visual product. There is something unique in these grooves, something that cannot be dismissed lightly, a worthy symphonic transposition of one of the most incredible products that the visual art of the late-century has offered us, something one either loves or hates, but when loved can never exit the memory.

Shiroh, Hideaki, thank you very much.