Analyzing the Tragedy of Asuka in Evangelion’s Darkest Episode

“Look at me!”

Let’s review Asuka Langley Soryu, shall we? She’s—

Film cuts like a frozen VHS tape. The player tries spitting it out; Jir0 uses the bottom of a bottle to force it shut. The screen buffers as he sits on the couch. It picks up where it cut out.

She’s a self-styled brat obsessed with her own image, suffering from a masked inferiority complex and craving romantic validation. For twenty-one episodes, she exists as a subversion of the heroic archetype, everything our protagonist Shinji ought to strive for, excepting her attitude. Beneath her confident veil lies an abrasive demeanor, short temper, and self-destructive pattern. How, then, did Asuka transcend her role as a literary shade to become one of anime’s most polarizing characters? And when does independence devolve into isolation?

Well, those are the questions we’re seeking to answer in Episode 22 of Evangelion.

Tape cuts out, going to static. Focus on Jir0 on the couch, finishing the last of his bottle.

Yeah, we’re talking about Asuka again.

Intro

The second episode in our fifth and final act, the Director’s Cut of Episode 22 is by far the most revised. According to sources, a hundred and ten previously unseen cuts were added, over a third of the entire episode, in addition to the already numerous redrawn and recomposited shots. Much like Episode 21 before it, we’re gifted a cold open and nearly five extra minutes of runtime, another obsoletion of formula all in the service of dissecting one of the show’s most divisive characters. So, with nearly thirty minutes of footage to analyze, let’s waste no time in learning what it is to be human.

Episode 22: At Least, be Human/Don’t Be

Our cold opening, like the last, is a flashback, bringing us this time to the night before Gaghiel’s Episode 8 attack aboard the convoy from Germany to Japan. Here, Asuka and Kaji bask in the moonlight as the former attempts seducing the latter. She advances to the left, typical regression framing which we can interpret as her inability to let go of Kaji as a romantic interest. We see in Kaji’s expressions here that he’s never viewed Asuka as a potential partner (unlike Misato and Shinji), and despite his gentle handling of her seen in previous episodes, she never stood a chance with him. At the prospect of this already-sealed rejection, Asuka boldly offers her body to him, an uncomfortably close shot from Kaji’s point of view highlighting the unnerving intimacy attempted here. The scene itself is working against Asuka, painting her in childish and ignorant moonlight as she demands to be desired, a frantic montage of negatives foreshadowing the frenetic doom of her arc before a monochromatic title splash, usually only seen during midpoints, bookends our introduction.

One minute, nineteen seconds. Everything we need to know is shown here. Such a complete encapsulation of her character, the sequence is so tightly edited, I daresay we could do without the rest of the episode if we knew the motifs to pick up on. The opening shot, the moon, we know is associated with Rei, not Asuka—not only is the Second Children out of her element here, but the sigil evocative of her nemesis brings out the worst in her. Asuka’s fixation on inculcating intimacy is a perverse endeavor at preserving her identity. We’re given hints to her self-obsession in the montage, every frame focused on her, and, of course, the infamous doll, her greatest fear highlighted in a spotlight not unlike the moon this sequence opened with. Asuka herself even shouts aloud her cardinal sin “Look at me,” as the doll and moonbeam play to the audience, both representing an absence of agency, and stealing attention away from the girl who demands it.

Our introduction confirms the existence of Asuka’s desperate cancerous self-hatred; the rest of the episode fleshes out where it grew from.

The show wastes no time, the Director’s Cut moving from the splash screen to our next shot without playing our typical intro, which means, Episode 22 is the only episode in the series not to include the iconic opening. Now remember, in the Director’s Cut, time is not a limitation—the episode is still nearly thirty minutes due to extra scenes, so why exclude the peppy intro? The only reason I can think of is to preserve the established tone and prevent dissonance or whiplash. In the previous episode, our intro rigidly separates past and present events, acting as a sort of substitute timecard like we see throughout the rest of the episode. Here in the intro, however, three types of shots have already played to us: established relative present in Asuka’s seduction, narrative past in the flashbacked negatives within the montage, and visually symbolic conceptualizations, as shown with the doll and spotlight, so there’s no need for a hard break in tone as these three structural considerations are already bleeding into each other, foreshadowing this episode’s chaotic and frequent fluctuation in reality who’s dour tone is best left untouched.

Be aware, this episode deals heavily in contrast, particularly against Shinji’s internal self-diagnoses in Episodes 16 and 20. This is obvious even in our first shot following the intro, a church’s steepled cross hinting at the burdens this episode aims to uncover. We’ve established crosses play a prominent role throughout the series, both as stylized emphasis and metaphor for burden, but the steepled crosses especially herald a critical internal struggle. The long shot of Asuka, hand in hand with a father who is literally not in the picture, while outsiders discuss her mother Kyoko’s death, is a horrifying start quick to pale in comparison to the actual sight of the insanity that led here. We’ve spoken before on the possibility that Kyoko, Asuka’s mother, had her contact experiment before Yui and remained mad for a prolonged period afterwards. One such evidence is no mention in off-screen dialogue about Yui or her results, and the fact we never see any memory of Asuka’s from before Kyoko’s insanity could be because she doesn’t remember a time before her mother’s condition.

The condition itself leaves Kyoko conversing with a doll she thinks is Asuka, which explains Asuka’s fear of being replaced, and hatred of hollow persons. We see this fear immediately worsened when voiceover insinuates Asuka’s father abandoned her to begin an affair with one of the attending physicians while Kyoko was still alive. And if you really want to read into that detail, the camera pans to the right to show an open door as this dialogue plays, then cuts to Asuka staring left as moaning ensues. The camera builds out a space in just two shots to infer not only was Asuka clearly aware of this affair as a child, but that it stands directly in the way of her emotional advancement as she’s forced to face left of the door. This further compounds as an adult at Kyoko’s funeral hypocritically assures Asuka it’s okay to cry and be vulnerable, saying so while herself holding a handkerchief over her face, hiding her own emotions.

Her retaliation to these hypocritical restraints is understandable and would be admirable if it didn’t catapult her into a self-destructive spiral. She breaks from her imposed role as a griever when opting not to cry, keeping her emotions hidden while searching for an escape from the treatment she’s receiving. Forsaking her appointment as a griever is the steppingstone to her forsaking her appointments as leader, lover, and colleague—all of which work to keep her from the only role she ever actually wished for: an adult.

In fact, you could say we’re witnessing a premature rejection of self-involvement, relationality, and self-improvement—the three themes defining the first three acts of the series which Shinji needed for his own development. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

With her rejection of expectations and assertion of self-provision, we’re catapulted into the present, where these thoughts, among others, drag her sync rate to new lows. Having lost her previous Angel engagement, and now on a losing streak of four, Asuka’s entered a cycle of self-destruction: her inability to accept defeat feeds into anger and distraction which lowers her ability to win. And a defiant shout in the face of this brings us to our first title: At Least, Be Human.

With Ritsuko expressing doubt in Asuka’s piloting abilities, we see all three Evangelions in the latter stages of repair following Zeruel’s attack from Episode 19. Although the time between their savaging and salvaging is indeterminate, having a three-episode gap between the attack and regeneration facilitates a sense of sluggishness in the process. Just like Unit-00’s previous four-episode long repair (EP6-10), the show isn’t afraid to remind us of realistic consequences.

After these shots of Units-00 and -02, a cleverly framed close-up of Unit-01’s newly reinforced teeth remind us again of exactly how that last skirmish was won, and the literal bearing of the fangs is an all-too-obvert warning of what the ascended Evangelion might now be capable of.

We’re then teased information about additional Evangelion units under construction, although this is leaked through nonofficial sources to Hyuga and then Katsuragi. Normally, we’d expect classified information like this to come straight from Gendo or SEELE; instead, we see the once tight-knit networks breaking down and intelligence leaking out, as those higher channels, Gendo especially, further remove themselves from both on-the-ground situations and the audience. The distancing from humanity and us leaves Misato as our new surrogate, further ascending to her role of motherliness by providing us with the hints we need.

At the train station, a passing transport reveals Asuka, framed so far right it reminds us of Kaji’s framing in the previous episode. Not a coincidence, as both fail to make calls to their respective lovers—a subtle hint reminding us that Kaji’s death is still largely unknown. When she spots Shinji, back turned to her, the scene traditionally blocks them as nemeses, wherein she categorizes the previous battle’s events as a personal loss and laments his ability to adapt, mature, and move on. In fact, the scene mirrors Shinji’s eavesdropping from Episode 5, when he grew jealous and confused by Rei and Gendo’s unheard discussion.

Wait, can you eavesdrop on a conversation you can’t hear? I guess that’s just…spying?

In this situation, though, Shinji has ascended to replace his father, and Asuka’s taken Shinji’s place as the bewildered and envious onlooker. And let’s not forget how that ended for Shinji in his following battle. (Ramiel’s attack.)

Pen-pen helps demonstrate the tense silence now standard in the Katsuragi household, as Asuka receives a call from her mother in Germany. Brilliant little “gotcha” on Gainax’s part to see if we’re paying attention; we did just see Kyoko’s funeral, after all, so who’s calling? This is one of my favorite scenes, what with the understanding that Asuka’s stepmother is likely the doctor her father chased, and Asuka twisting off to the left when taking the call regresses like on the aircraft carrier. We have two inserts, the exterior insinuating the passage of time, and the left-facing head lift, which, paralleling Shinji’s rise to heroism, represents Asuka’s stubbornness.

There’re also the contents of the phone call itself, Asuka’s first words in German roughly translating to “Hello? Mother? We just finished eating. What about you? You want me to introduce him? Please, of course not. He’s not sociable…”—not only is Shinji at the forefront of the discussion, but it’s insinuated Asuka’s already talked about him incessantly to her stepmother. A hint that maybe she has feelings for him? Huh? Hmm?

Anyway, Asuka remains closed-off before the bathtub scene. Bathtubs are a new motif for Asuka: as opposed to the ocean where she thrives, it’s a closed, personal body of water, the opposite of unity. Asuka refuses aloud to share the same water as her housemates, rejecting any even indirect form of connection. Shots of her heated statements are interspersed with the bathwater’s reflection, inferring a dialogue between the girl and the water. There’s no shortage of equivalences between the reflection and themes we’ve seen previously: perhaps it’s a placeholder for baptism, which Misato and Shinji have subjected themselves to, or a stand-in for the human soul, to say she’s refusing connection with others. Or perhaps this scene is simply Asuka refusing self-reflection. Regardless, she doesn’t feel alone while admitting her self-hatred.

During Asuka’s introduction, she was self-confident and piloted the Eva only to impress herself—the opposite of Shinji’s crippling self-esteem and need to impress others. Now, just as he’s coming into the final stages of his self-actualization, she’s reverted into a Hedgehog’s Dilemma, slowly becoming the thing she most loathes.

Nude and vulnerable here, Asuka is open only with the audience. It’s a horrific contrast to Shinji’s bath way back in Episode 2, where not only female garments, the mention of a washing machine, and the subject’s nudity all emphasized his vulnerability and need for cleansing, but Shinji conversing with Misato and then slipping willingly into the tub displays his early openness to alteration and connection, whereas here we have only Asuka’s stubbornness, and Misato forced to watch from behind a closed door.

Others have additionally pointed out Gainax’s refusal to frame Asuka’s nudity as appealing. While most shonen wouldn’t hesitate to highlight a woman’s allure, and Evangelion itself showed off Asuka’s body even in theme-relevant moments before, the stark realism and restraint shown in the close-ups and her covered body language here emphasize an understanding of the message’s gravity.

This seriousness persists with Asuka’s continued sync failure, which causes Ritsuko to consider changing Unit-02’s core, and Asuka out as pilot. Over a half cup of coffee, marking yet another pivotal moment between Akagi and Katsuragi, the latter laments possibly altering their living situation, which Ritsuko balks at, mocking Misato’s failure to keep her “game of house” together. Understanding why Misato bites back so viciously at this isn’t difficult; “game of house” is the same phraseology Kaji used back in Episode 15 to describe an ideal, normal life between he and Misato—see, I told you we’d come back to this—an ideal which Shinji and Asuka, as children, got dragged into. When Ritsuko mocks the “game of house” falling apart, she’s unknowingly throwing shade at the prospect that Kaji and Misato could ever have a happy family together; a prospect which, now forever gone, only reminds Misato of Ryoji’s death.

In the restroom, we see Asuka further distance herself from an established role, this time shunning womanhood at the pain it brings her. As she boards the elevator, we cut from the opening doors to Asuka’s distained expression, the reveal of her annoyance delayed until a full three shots later when we see Rei in the iconic elevator longshot.

Hold.

I’m not sure I can overstate my amusement over the many distinct directorial choices not made here. Like the other holding shots of the series, every second ticking by without break or motion only multiplies the tension, a buildup of potential energy we know has to release sooner or later. On top of this, while we’ve had confrontations with the likes of Shinji and Misato, the dynamic between Asuka and Rei is doubtlessly the most antagonistic of the series, in spite or perhaps because of the unbalanced buy-in of both parties. Asuka maintains her height above Rei, but Rei is open to the audience, again like Shinji’s lambasting in Episode 4; so, we’re waiting to see which wins out: confidence or sincerity.

The shot is fifty-four seconds long, the first fifteen devoid of movement until Asuka blinks. Thirty-two seconds in, Asuka shivers, an outburst of energy which fakes us out—you thought she was engaging Rei, moving on with the plot, but instead we’re forced to wait until fifty seconds in when Rei makes the first comment. That’s another fake out, Asuka’s subtle but constant momentum drawing our attention to her, convinced that she as the overly engaged nemesis will bite first, but our eyes are yanked to Rei as she outplays the redhead’s wariness with a one-sentence indictment of her emotional state—and everything Asuka hates to hear.

It’s a masterclass in engagement, our attention directed and subverted over what’s largely a static image, save for minimal motion delicately designed to keep your eye right where Anno wants it.

Asuka’s immediate retaliation is necessary to her, Rei insinuating her past and current failures are her own responsibility. Asuka’s following tangent betrays her hurt regarding this subject, and she lashes out trying to elicit any reaction from Rei, which succeeds as she calls her a doll. This is what Rei chooses to rebut—she doesn’t defend Shinji like on the rooftops of Episode 16, instead ignoring Asuka until her own self-agency is questioned. Now you’ll notice, though, as the camera closes in with the rising action, Rei is the one turned from us, the audience aligned with Asuka in wanting a reaction from the first children, until the second speculates Rei would off herself if ordered to. Now, this is obviously incorrect—Rei would off herself without orders, as we saw against Zeruel—but, of course, incited self-deletion is a particularly sensitive topic for Asuka seeing as that’s the route her mother took.

Which is why Asuka slaps Rei for her affirmation, which almost hilariously parallels Rei slapping Shinji in Episode 5—again, the counterattack doesn’t come until allegiance to Gendo is brought into the equation, and Rei’s loyalty has now led her to slap and get slapped by her teammates, perhaps warranting some self-reflection.

“Paradise” flashes briefly across the screen. Jir0 gets irritated with it, waits, stands to fix it before it fixes itself. Jir0 mutters “Ah go figure… Where were we? Oh yeah.”

We’re gifted a brief five shots showcasing Shinji abstaining from school, and Hikari and Kensuke lamenting his and the others’ absences—an indication that grounded interactions and realistic stakes are going by the wayside as the series approaches conclusion.

Four equidistant spotlights press us into Asuka’s tirade, wherein she confronts Unit-02 and attempts bending it to her will. I can’t help but feel, though, that those four lights represent the Evangelion’s eyes, hinting that it’s well-aware of what’s going on despite declining to reply. Again, the camera tells us everything: even as Asuka makes demands of her Eva, it tilts down towards her and up at Unit-02, finally showcasing an entity capable of upstaging our second children. The wide shot paints the Eva looming over Asuka, not unlike how Asuka once loomed over it. The pilot is under the power dynamic here and calls this whole exercise of communing with the ghost in the machine “stupid,” just in time for an Angel to arrive and put that sentence to the test.

With that, we have our second title, Don’t Be., an imperative, judging by the period, which reflects Asuka’s demands of her Evangelion’s nature, and maybe even her own. The reveal of our fifteenth Angel, Arael, presents not only a unique challenge in its geostationary orbit, but as we’ll soon see, is also our second Introspective Angel of the series, using distance as a personal shield when interrogating our protagonist. Visually, Arael also makes up the first of the three iconic angel features, appearing as a birdlike pair of wings.

Rei is slated to take point, but Asuka, again refusing her elected position as backup, charges ahead. Misato allows this, knowing as a mother that learning through experience is all that will alter Asuka’s perspective at this point. And if she fails, well…Ritsuko makes it abundantly clear what the stakes are. Unit-01, of course, is under lock and key, neither Gendo nor SEELE wanting to activate the dormant demigoddess unless absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, Shinji sits waiting.

The ramping tension, told through strictly ambient noise, has the waiting game punctuated with shots of deliberate action, much like the counterattack on Matarael. Wait, receive, equip, arm, followed by Asuka’s acknowledgement that this is her last shot, maybe literally, at piloting. And hey, look at that! It’s the positron rifle from the shootout with best-girl Ramiel.

Unfortunately, Asuka’s disadvantage is foreshadowed in the weather, not only water raining down upon her instead of her reigning over it, but the clouds blot out the sun she’s associated with. Our fiery beacon of hope is taking this challenge in the dark.

Asuka characteristically chides the opposition just in time to get blasted, the multicolored halation we expected from Angels appearing first as sunlight refraction before all heaven breaks loose. Bizarrely, though, while we’d expect a laser or impact, we instead get a light. No heat or sparking or even cringe from the Eva, just sheer brightness.

But for Asuka, who’s spent her whole life avoiding truth, the Light of God—that is, the meaning of Arael’s name—is the worst weapon imaginable. Hyuga says Arael is literally made of light, making this projection an extension of its own body. What the assault lacks in kinetic impact it makes up for with effect, as Handel’s Messiah blares the chorused Hallelujah as this exchange takes place. The mixture of God-fearing music and Asuka’s screams make for an emotional reaction some find morbid, others dissonantly hilarious. Whether this attack is truly malicious or emotionlessly curious of the Angel is a debate for another day, but we can all agree an eldritch being demanding honesty of anybody is a nightmare none of us would volunteer to experience.

The immediate effects become clear as Asuka’s mental contamination drops her sync rate, and she fires blindly into the sky in wrathful response. The shots go wide, Asuka clutching her face, and Unit-02 dry-firing. If Asuka’s not handling the controls, then does the mutual head-clutching indicate Kyoko’s soul is forced to confront herself as well?

Asuka screams to “stay out,” and “not come inside her,” words carrying a sexual undertone which adopts a new layer of horror when we remember this light is equivalent to Arael’s body, a literal forcing of the self into another. At Asuka’s cries, a barrage of three words obfuscate the frame, the most prominent and repeating of which is “nein,” German for no. We also see a nondescript sigil, perhaps smeared kanji, I truthfully don’t know—every time this symbol appears, however, understand it’s an insert from later rereleases intended to replace a frame which said “Sex.”

What appears happened is that “Sex” was the word originally designed to appear directly after every instance of “nein,” literally “no sex,” but Gainax was likely forced to self-censor before appearing on public television. When Anno had the chance to alter the footage in the Director’s Cut, they were able to substitute back in the original “Sex” frame. Once Evangelion’s popularity warranted worldwide rerelease, though, the “Sex” frame was again removed, leading to at least three different versions of the episode which may or may not contain those frames. Now understanding the intent of these frames to spell out “no sex,” however, we have Asuka’s verbal and visual defense erected before Unit-02 reels back as if peeled open by invisible hands, forced into vulnerability before another barrage of text and accompanying sound blast assault the screen.

These blasts of audiovisual interruption aren’t dissimilar to the correcting flares we saw in Shinji’s vision back in Episode 20. Then, the show itself guided Shinji to a conclusion through diegetic noise—given these similar insertions by Arael, one could deduce it isn’t just the Angel seeking to confront Asuka with truth, but the show itself. And unlike Shinji, she’s unwilling to accept these corrections. While he only experienced two blasts, Asuka undergoes seven, every instance following the same pattern: Asuka struggles, the Eva struggles, and the interruption occurs. On the final three instances, Unit-02 awakens, bright eyes showing a moment where mother and daughter are forced together.

What’s more, every one of the seven instances is shot from a radically different angle, varying in height and even breaking the line 360-degrees around Asuka and Unit-02. It’s an unconventional technique intended to inject visual chaos into the sequence, overstimulating our eyes, and narratively guiding us to interpret the attack as coming from all sides, invasive and inescapable.

Rei’s rescue efforts are in vain, leading Ritsuko to swap Unit-02 to life support, much like Unit-01 inside Leliel, before wondering aloud if Arael is attempting to understand the human mind, a tip off to the audience that what we witness immediately after is within Asuka’s consciousness.

The blast of light and cutoff of music plunge us into Asuka’s mind, her younger self crying, which Asuka’s older voice condemns. As with Shinji inside Leliel, Asuka will spend the rest of the episode contending with a caricature of her younger self. Her crying here is a rare show of vulnerability, quickly squashed by her repressive present façade.

At this point, understanding Asuka’s hatred of dolls shouldn’t be difficult: to her, they represent replacement by the irresponsible. Her childhood neglect destroyed any sense of innate value, leading her to fabricate usefulness through ability. The lackluster control of her youth led to her craving adulthood, and the thus necessary rejection of childish things. Unfortunately, Asuka views her traumatic memories as toys: provisions discarded for the ascent to adulthood, not managed properly like they ought to be.

We’re then bombarded with freakish imagery I’m not emotionally stable enough to breakdown, so we’re just going to the doors. Actually you know what, I will mention the three progressing shots of human faces, one infant, one adolescent, and one elder, interspersed with colorful words (not unlike the names calling Shinji forth as he emerged from Unit-01’s core), possibly signifying the intended progression of life? Then again, the pained and fearful expressions of every face might reveal Asuka’s apprehension that advancing to adulthood doesn’t automatically absolve her of immaturity.

Brief montages of wording end with a series of doorways opening. The word “nein” and the substitution for sex are prominent, but we also see the German word “tod,” meaning death. This occurs ten times, the first eight doors revealing a random assortment of colors identical to the beach variations of Shinji’s introspective; the ninth door opens to red, which we’ve previously associated with pain, before the tenth opens to a space of white, which I interpret as truth. Coupled with the voiceover of Asuka and Kyoko, the former asking her mother not to leave or die, and the second actively attempting to die and bring her daughter with her—I’m now realizing I don’t know if I can cover this on YouTube—we can surmise the words and doors represent Asuka’s confusion and hesitation to embrace sex or death, Kyoko’s passing marking a painful red event for Asuka which forces her into truth: the realization that to survive, Asuka must separate herself from her mother, and let Kyoko die alone.

Following her contact test, Kyoko becomes a devouring mother, a woman obsessing over her child and unable to leave her, like parental separation anxiety taken to the nth degree. Kyoko’s madness, it’s revealed, didn’t just lead to her death but her attempting to kill her daughter with her, and as Asuka’s teenage self immediately rejects these memories, I’m left wondering if a part of her blames herself for letting Kyoko die alone, instead of dying with her.

Furthermore, while Shinji’s Episode 20 revelations were introduced by an ocean, representative of unity and his ultimate struggle with it, the doors in Asuka’s mind not only represent the mental and emotional barriers she’s built being recklessly stormed through by Arael, but, as Episode 25 infers, also hint at the way Asuka discovered her mother’s hanging. Asuka’s voiceover evolves from a desperate plea of separation into an agented rejection of childhood as her present consciousness reviles this relived trauma. The camera tightens as she does so, until her face is framed like her younger self, intentionally blurring the lines between her emotional immaturity of past and present.

In the original air, Arael’s incursion stops here. We’re catapulted out to see Rei and the continued rescue attempt, but in the Director’s Cut, we’re given two more scenes, the first opening on the hanging doll and Kyoko’s voice, reestablishing the devouring mother and her wish of dual self-destruction. Here, Asuka accepts this request, recanting on her previous aversion to death, and instead embracing the end of things on the condition she’s identified as a daughter, having missed that role for so many years now. Kyoko, however, having lost all sense of identity, poses the question “who are you?”. Given the spiral this causes, it’s obvious that Asuka’s role as a daughter, flawed as that relationship was, proved to be a key cornerstone of her psyche. Whereas Shinji cross-referenced his self-definition broadly, Asuka is unable to pursue any identity outside her role as a daughter. Her sense of self is untethered.

Asuka, understandably, spirals into an identity crisis, as she’s bombarded with four projections of false confidence, all shots from previous episodes. Another blast of correcting sound carries us to Asuka as she admits to falsifying these characteristics of herself. This pattern repeats five times, a different blast of sound and spotlight playing every time. That is, depending on the dub you watch.

In the classic ADV dub, every one of the five iterations we see is identical save for the blasting sound and spotlight. In the modern VSI dub, however, every iteration of her falsification plays out with her voice replaced by other female members of the cast, namely Misato, Rei, Ritsuko, Maya, and Hikari. Why these changes were made isn’t exactly clear, and I’ll leave it to your interpretation. If you want my opinion, I believe the VSI dub, having had more input from Gainax, was intended to show the severity of Asuka’s unguided personality as she attempts replicating the aspects of her peers she finds most desirable. That, or it shows how easily literally anyone could replace her, Asuka’s greatest fear manifested as she continues losing.

And that brings us to the train station. Quite possibly my favorite scene, the pan to left, followed by the wide shot of Asuka walking backwards, is as obvious a sign of regression as any. And whereas every other pilot—Shinji, Rei, and even Toji—have taken rides on the so-called diabolical “hell train” of forced maturity, here we have our last pilot, Asuka, tripping over the tracks, a foreboding sign that she’s missed her ride, and with it, her last chance at self-improvement.

A distant figure represents a second chance at connection, before a childish giggle heralds a crowd of faceless beings. Look closely, though, and you’ll notice the swarm bearing Asuka’s hairstyle and physique. Many interpret this as more foreshadowing of instrumentality, much like the considerably brighter and more inviting suggestions of the three women to Shinji. Given the swirl of red and doll-like smiles of the crowd, however, I believe this is less instrumentality-hinting as it is Asuka literally struggling against the monster that is herself.

Remember guys, sometimes it is just that obvious.

Her vision swaying, Asuka reaches for the distant figure, identified as Kaji, before a hard cut to Episode 15 shows Kaji critically rejecting Asuka. I find the contrast telling, Asuka stretching backwards for the man always out of reach, only to have that man as faceless and unrelenting as the crowd tangling with her. Kaji’s line from aboard the battleship, “you’re still a child,” finally and permanently separates them, as her gaze drifts from Kaji to Shinji. The background of this shot looks like the apartment, given the door, but it’s an original shot for this sequence; the show itself reminding us viewers that Kaji is Shinji’s foil, and to love one and not the other is paradoxical. Asuka recognizing this is forced to admit to herself she does and has, in many ways, always loved Shinji Ikari.

She responds by declaring, not a hate for Shinji, but a rageful regret at not successfully initiating his pursuit of her. More than anything, she’s realizing her behavior, too muddled with fear and obstinance, has resulted in overly aggressive and self-obsessed ploys which only drove Shinji away. We see these ploys from previous episodes playing out as she admits this, the Wall of Jericho setup from Episode 9 not enticing Shinji, but leaving her isolated. We’ve seen Shinji’s lighted confusion; now, an original shot gives us Asuka’s darkened disappointment. Among others, we see his Episode 10 rescue, and their Episode 15 kiss, another original shot following her bathroom retreat wherein she gazes forlornly into the basin she’s spat into. Even more telling than these shots, though, is her line “you won’t even hold me.”

To “hold” somebody is a Japanese double entendre: the English equivalent is to “sleep” with someone. It means intercourse. In her misguided attempts at love, Asuka’s prevented herself from achieving her true desire: to make love with Shinji. There’s an additional and more critical layer to her failure, though, as Asuka’s not just lost her chance with the boy she truly loves, but, in her mind, abdicated her right to existence. She witnessed her father’s romantic neglect as he chased another woman, and when her mother was no longer desired, she recommitted herself. In Asuka’s mind, to be chosen as a pilot or loved as a partner is the only guarantee of survival.

And she’s just lost both.

This gives way to a flurry of scribbled images, crayoned Rorschach prints of wrath and loathing, a final bestial face replaced by an equally unseemly crying Asuka, no longer demanding but begging for attention, for salvation. Again we have our three narrative strains, present bleeding into conceptuality bleeding into past, the crayoned images either drawn by Asuka in her youth, or fabricated by the show itself to illustrate her deteriorating mentality.

Asuka, naked in the playground, scrunches into a ball to combat her vulnerability. A phone rings unanswered in the background, a rejection of community, as her younger self reaches out. In her final refutation, Asuka destroys herself, a blur of imagery and memory distorted and discarded as all that remains is the head of a doll—decapitated like Unit-02. All of Asuka’s earnestness and innocence reduced to her most hated object. The blurred montage between rejection and decapitation features distorted frames of previous episodes, most focused on Asuka, in negative, torn like photographs, blown out, flipped, even the back of painted cells. Two more montages play between her child-self asking, “do you love me?”, the simplicity and hurt of that question shown in the bouncing head, and Asuka’s insistence on isolation shown in chaotic rapidity.

She is irresponsible, unaccountable, and unable to form human connections. So what’s the difference between her and the doll?

Bathed in red, the inhuman face breaks into an assault of scribbled words, ranging from simple concepts like “Father,” “Mother,” “Privacy,” and “Invasion,” to “Obsessive-compulsive attachment behavior,” “Psychological breakdown,” and “Mental contamination;” then begging: “I am not a doll;” “Don’t violate me;” “Stop it!” “It hurts!” “I hate you so much!” “Don’t be” … “Death.”

Where Shinji’s despair was the sickness unto death that led to his rebirth, Asuka’s desire to forego existence keeps her from resurrection. What does not exist cannot die, and what cannot die cannot be reborn.

The five seconds of cacophony, Asuka’s screams, and the sound of rending material overwhelm the audience in Asuka’s anguish. The cutoff to silence is more jarring than continued chaos, as a fade-in to our huddled second children describes her mind as “defiled”, another intentional equation to sexual violence illustrating the severity of Arael’s invasion.

Paradise.

Cutting to Unit-02’s positron rifle lying uselessly by toppled cars reemphasizes Asuka’s lack of defense against Arael, a similar if not as literal disarming as when Zeruel attacked. The sudden mid-chord continuation of Handel’s Messiah assures the audience that we’ve reentered reality, Unit-02 now a barreled fish as NERV struggles to save Asuka from the brink of death. Shinji insists on intervening, but given Arael’s ability to infiltrate minds, and Unit-01’s status as ascended, the chance of Yui’s compromise leaves her and Shinji firmly rooted. Plus, NERV knows Shinji’s previous engagement with an Introspective Angel nearly cost him his life, even if they won’t admit it. Still, it’s interesting to consider if this conflict with Arael would’ve gone better with a less deteriorated mind.

Gendo orders the use of the Lance of Longinus, forced to reveal a card from his hand as Misato realizes the lie to keep Evangelions away from Adam was another farce. We learn Gendo also knows of the mass-produced Evas and is using this opportunity to untether Lilith, giving her time to recuperate as he bends the projection to his will. Remember in Episode 14 the mission to salvage the Lance and pin Lilith with it was greenlit by SEELE, so Gendo’s doing away with that now before the committee can refuse him. Thus, Rei descends to Terminal Dogma, in doing so passing the “sixth trench of the Malebolge,” a reference to Dante’s Divine Comedy and the eighth circle of Hell, Malebolge, where souls are punished for the sin of fraud. The sixth layer of the eighth circle is specifically designated for hypocrites, which is to say, Rei and Unit-00 are cutting through the trench of hypocrisy to retrieve the Lance.

Sidenote, whether it’s called the Lance or Spear of Longinus depends yet again on the dub you watch, but I prefer the former because alliteration is lit.

In a fantastically animated sequence, Unit-00 launches the weapon with enough force to escape Earth’s orbit, displace all cloud cover over Japan, and obliterate Arael and its AT Field in the process. The Lance, of course, is lost in this process, drifting into lunar orbit never to ever be seen again. Ever. For real.

Groundside, Unit-02 stabilizes, and Asuka is required to quarantine given her mental contamination. Rei having parted the clouds not only releases Asuka but the sun she’s aligned with, Asuka watching helplessly as Unit-02 finally bows to her, obedience at the cost of seclusion, the rooftop fence a visual barrier between them. Behind her, Shinji is unreachable, blocked off not just by quarantine tape, but a puddle, although whether it’s Shinji or Asuka who’s unwilling to swim is unclear. And his modest attempt to connect is rebutted in the only way Asuka could ever reply. She’s distant, turned away, locked in regression, and beneath him—the antithesis of her once-strong stance as she rejects the only love offered her.

As with Kaji’s death, the end credits play out blackened for Asuka, a somber condolence for the girl who can’t exist.

VHS track runs out, player popping open. Jir0 sit before the blue screen before standing. Before he closes the player, the tape picks up again.

With her past revealed and her character unfurled, the signature difference between Asuka and Shinji becomes not a matter of diligence, or confidence, or even practical expertise, but the ability to recognize within themselves the need for salvation. In defining his principles and accepting responsibility over himself, Shinji has realized the limitations of his capabilities as an individual, and consequently enabled himself to seek community and intervention from others. In rejecting all definitions of self, Asuka’s been relegated to a cycle of destruction, as her mother did before her. In remaining free of expectation, she has eliminated the separation of the self and the other, barricading herself into an identity of ruthless ambiguity.

Paradise is a walled garden, designed to keep security and ambition distinct from each other. Desperate to have both at once, Asuka has torn herself asunder.

In a story about humanity and the supernatural, the space in which nonhumans exist is a telling illustration of the paths to heaven and hell. Evangelion has an afterlife—how could it not, given the weight of sin, the existence of angels, the prospect of godhood. And it’s found in the relativity of humanity. Whereas the angels exist outside the self, a force to be reckoned with in physicality, the demons permeate consciousness, cognitions and inescapable half-truths trapped within the minds of those contending with them. And these beings light the path to each endpoint, the demons of inside leading souls like Asuka’s deeper into themselves until they’re trapped there—in hell. The Angels, by contrast, lead the worthy along the much rougher road of struggle to connection, community, the interpersonal—they are the gateway to where we sacrifice ourselves to become more than us.

But that—

Tape shorts out, Jir0’s reflection in the screen.

…is a story for another day.

Outro

Wow, what a ride that was. Thank you all so much for watching, I hope you enjoyed this much deeper dive into Asuka than I was expecting to put out. This script has been in development for months now, since before my last release, which is insane and I never expected to release a video this long, but hey, here we are. I appreciate your patience, trust me, I know it took forever, but hopefully the extended-release window and runtime was worth it.

If you’re new here, check out our other videos on the Edit of Evangelion, and for the rest of you, thank you so much for the incredible continued support. I didn’t expect this video to be so long, but there was absolutely no way I could break it into multiple parts—you guys deserve better than that. I am, however, terrified of how long the next video will be—but we’ll be covering Rei, which should be tons of fun.

Please share this video with all the Asuka fanboys in your life and let me know your thoughts in the comments. I read every one, even if that’s incredibly ill-advised.

Thank you all again for your time, attention, and support. It really means more than you know, and I can’t wait for the next one. In the meantime, I’ve been Jir0, y’all have been amazing, and I’ll see you all on the bright side.

God Bless.