Kaworu Nagisa was a mistake.
Bold words, I know, but bear with me; because according to first-hand reports of the production history, most of the character we know and fawn over wasn’t the creation of showrunner Hideaki Anno at all, but rather the brainchild of script writer Akio Satsukawa.
Satsukawa’s contributions to the series can’t be overstated. He picked Cello Suite number one in G major for Shinji’s solo, designed Rei’s apartment after a real apartment he witnessed while working as a plumber, and included the series’ signature term Hedgehog’s Dilemma—yes, he penciled that in. Following staff protests, he singlehandedly drafted the intermediary Episode 4, his character-focused philosophy front and center in other Episodes like 6, 9, 15, and 21—not only some of the show’s best, but all containing a throughline of romance, with Shinji navigating his relationships with Ayanami and Soryu, and all the nonsense we discussed in the Birth of NERV.
Akio initially opposed working on the series, telling Anno he’d never even seen a mecha anime—to which Anno suggested: “write it like a drama.”
Boy did that work out.
The most notable miscommunication between the two, however, revolved around the Fifth Children. Following the original air, Anno admitted to poorly communicating the concept of Kaworu’s character, which Satsukawa reportedly ran wild with, developing him into something of a full-on fourth love interest for Shinji. What resulted was a three-front war within Gainax, with Satsukawa defending his decisions, much of the studio’s staff opposed to it, and Anno having to completely overhaul Kaworu’s character, all while under the insane pressure of late-series production. Thus, Kaworu’s introduction was pushed back and his inclusion chipped away at, reducing him to a single-episode appearance but with many of those major relational implications still attached to his core identity.
As viewers, we’re left with is an awkwardly stilted character, shaped by clashing directions into an entity with so many subjective and equally valid interpretations that it’s honestly impressive. What began as a mistake morphed into a literary reflection of our protagonist entirely dependent on an audience’s observation—Kaworu becomes whatever you want as he plays the role of exactly what Shinji needs. A Schrodinger’s cat, if you will.
And that only gets told, of course, in—
Hard Cut to: Intro
The struggle of the subconscious: an underlying theme of the show generally, but especially in these later episodes. Rei III investigated a character inspired by Anno’s subliminal mind, an indirect answer to Episode 22 and Asuka’s darker, more forthright conclusion. Episode 24, however, features the most direct clash of actual and potential personalities: Shinji’s still-forming psyche set on the final path of maturity by Kaworu’s fully realized ambitions.
Despite their clear focus on each supporting peer, Episodes 22, 23, and 24 all work together seamlessly to conclude everyone’s individual arcs—not surprising, given all three episodes were at one point a single entry, according to Mitsuo Iso. That made it easy to pull off a typical Evangelion move in that following Rei’s reveal, we leapfrog back to Asuka, reminding the audience of her existence and priming us symbolically as well as narratively for Nagisa’s takeover of Unit-02.
And these fundamental guidelines are really the saving grace of the episode, because the brunt of production deadlines are made extremely apparent. Even with the additions of the Director’s Cut, Episode 24’s animation and pacing are, at times, nonexistent—key frames and cleanup are sorely lacking, the emotional impact of several payoffs lost in a writhing sea of momentum hurrying at triple time. It all leaves me with a bittersweet love for this entry specifically—so much potential lost in the cracks of a chapter unable to breathe and crushed under its own weight. And yet, the choices necessarily made in consequence highlight Gainax’s brilliance: their adherence to the basics of great storytelling, and sublime decisions in where to hold back, and when to let loose.
The narrative backbone built since the beginning of the series perseveres, carrying us steadily into the beginning of the end.
Episode 24: The Beginning of the End, or “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door”
A young Asuka proclaims various triumphs to her mother, her muted color palate communicating this is a past event, but the orange highlighting the subjective and unreliable nature of the introspection, like we’ve seen with Shinji’s Sachiel flashback in Episode 7 and the various train sequences. Most interestingly are the doorway interruptions, the gateways to white which we’ve previously interpreted as truth, confirming that despite the unrealism of the presentation, all of Asuka’s statements here are true. The white doorways especially were used in her extended violation scene in Episode 22, so it’s also not unreasonable to see each successive door as leading us deeper into Asuka’s subconscious, as the camera pulls in closer and closer; both shot and reverse shot drawing us to the heart of the issue here.
She makes a series of four statements and one demand. You can distill each statement into essentially a highlight on Exceptionalism, Intimacy, Community, and Independence, respectfully, with the demand, her flawed motto: look at me, being the objectively selfish comment that finally breaks the fantasy as we push into a door of red. All four statements of promise are rendered useless Asuka comes to the feet of her hanging mother.
Before we get ahead of ourselves, let’s understand this single scene and these four statements clarify everything we suspected about Asuka’s past. Firstly, the statements reveal Asuka does not or at least did not pilot for herself and her own glory; she chose to pilot the Evangelion to make her Kyoko proud and secure her affections, ideally well enough to convince her mother to do away with the doll.
Secondly, for Asuka to have been chosen, NERV must have already had a fragment of Kyoko’s soul in the Evangelion, which means the mother’s madness is a result of her soul being torn in half due to the contact experiment before her death; Asuka grows up only knowing half her mother, and NERV telling her “hey, you’re a pilot now” is synonymous with telling her they ripped her mother’s soul out of her body, and the girl just doesn’t realize it yet.
Thirdly, Asuka’s offer to discard her father and his approval confirms that Asuka was very well aware of her father’s affair, and his obvious neglect if not outright abandonment during Kyoko’s hospitalization. She’s now seeking to counter-neglect him in a show of maternal adherence.
And fourthly, and this one really stirs my brain the wrong way, the final door does not simply open, we see a European doorhandle twist, a handle remarkably like the one we saw in Episode 22 where her father and the doctor were cheating behind, which, to me, insinuates Asuka’s mother had enough presence of mind to choose to hang herself in the room she knew her husband was cheating in.
That is messed up, even for Anno.
Now, the original air ends here, but the Director’s Cut gives us a fun little transition where we’re forced not from a red door but from the door of truth, the pain of Kyoko’s death twisted into a fact Asuka must accept, and the slamming of the door is audibly replaced with a slap.
We get three shots of Misato’s kitchen, two mugs and our full pot of coffee motif insinuating a connection between two people is about to take place. That motif is subverted, however, with the tipped pot as Shinji and Asuka’s voices escalate into a fight, their relationship essentially completely eradicated as Shinji tells her of Kaji’s death, a fact she refuses to accept, just like her mother’s passing.
The scene was included to help tie-in to the End of Evangelion film, but also drives a final nail in Shinji and Asuka’s coffin before we cut to Asuka’s sun, and the infamous empty bathtub.
Well…the bathtub I always thought was empty. Unfortunately, that is not, in fact, rust. Naked and decrepit, Asuka outlines every shattered potential of her life. Curiously, she makes four statements here as well, each one punctuated by a different shot, and each line a failed conclusion of each promise she made as a child. “I’ve been chosen” becomes “I’m not worthy;” “I’ll tell you;” becomes “No reason to exist;” “Everyone will notice” becomes “Nobody notices;” and “Let’s ignore Dad,” becomes “Dad ignores me.”
“Look at me” becomes “I have no reason to exist.”
Complete reliance on community becomes utter destruction under expectation.
Asuka’s neatly folded clothes, more than anything, hint at her deliberate self-destruction here. Her left wrist is notably obscured in the tub, and bandaged later in the hospital, so I personally believe she went the path of self-harm, where others think it’s self-starvation. Regardless, the intentionality is impossible to refute—and yet she’s still unable to decide between outright death or redemption, stuck in limbo where no further development can occur. Unlike her outrage in Episode 22, in which she covered her body while railing against the water’s reflection, she’s now fully exposed to the audience, forced to confront herself as she takes the place of the hateful thing within the tub.
She would be left to self-annihilation if NERV Division 2—SEELE’s pawns—didn’t scoop her up seven days late and just in time for the Fifth Child’s arrival.
Misato continues her assumption of matronly duties over the audience, filling in for Gendo as NERV’s expositor, her presumptions of SEELE’s machinations coming to fruition in front of the neon map showing what’s left of Tokyo-3 following Unit-00’s explosion.
The next three sequences bounce between Shinji and Akagi, reflecting the emotional conclusions of the previous episode. We have Shinji speculating on Rei and Asuka, realizing the former is his mother’s clone which his father has devious plans with, and the latter is an absent emotional support pillar, wanted following the revelation of the former. The parallels with Akagi become obvious, as Ritsuko realizes she is and always will be endlessly reliant on Gendo, and no longer has her mother (or any relationship, even a cat) to lean upon. Gendo endures by betraying his pale cat—whether Shinji can endure a pale cat’s betrayal will prove a critical point of difference, but he needs one last pillar to lean on before he trying to stand alone.
That sentiment is the center of the beach scene, as Shinji and the show outline precisely how every relationship he’s built himself upon has been ruthlessly taken away. [A shattered telephone pole, framed like Asuka’s showerhead, stands overshadowed and bereft of its connections, isolated.] The same shattered telephone pole from Asuka’s scene is overcast here, totally severed from its connections. The journey from Acts II to IV is undergoing its greatest stress-test: community forced evolution to facilitate independence, and since that foundation is now gone, can Shinji take the final step in reestablishing his identity? The anxious flexing of the right hand isn’t a good sign.
And as he wonders who to confide in, the pale prince appears.
There are so many delicious details to extract from this scene, it makes a cinephile giddy. With a halo around his head, Shinji hears the infamous Ode to Joy hummed from afar, turning to see our one and only Kaworu Nagisa sitting upon the statue of a headless angel. At the edge of orange waters, Shinji remains predictably on land, still afraid to swim, as his sudden “dropped from the sky” lifeline hovers just over the surface, a final chance to take the plunge of maturity, of connection. If his literally elevated status and albino physique didn’t hint towards his true nature enough, his labelling of singing as a “Lilim” creation and also sitting on an angel statue should immediately give us warning signs. Despite that, Kaworu insists on being on a first name basis, even though (as the next scene reveals) he’s Shinji’s elder. So firstly he’s the only character not leveraging his authority over Shinji, and secondly he freely offers Shinji praise, saying they’re both “part of the design;” referring, of course, to the Dead Sea Scrolls, where Shinji is a sort of messianic chosen one, again, hint hint, halo, and Kaworu is…well, his head is also important.
While everyone’s name in Evangelion is intentionally given, Nagisa is strikingly obvious, meaning “of the seashore;” not only the literal place they meet, which represents the liminal gate to maturity as we’ve discussed, but with water so often correlating to souls and Angels, and the land perhaps more to mankind, the “seashore” meeting place of the two is yet another hint to his true amalgam nature.
The next few scenes play with that, no attempt to hide that Kaworu is different from the others as he effortlessly manipulates Unit-02 while it still houses Kyoko’s recessed soul. I also love the shot of Shinji sandwiched between him and Rei during the sync test, much like the Episode’s conclusion, and the figurative sandwiching in the End of Evangelion. Ayanami and Nagisa have their own little chat where, building off Rei’s reveal last episode, Kaworu says the two are the same, again, hiding no hint that there’s some Angel shenanigans at play here. Nagisa means seashore and Ayanami means wave—so the two are predictably crashing at the foot of mankind. Everyone at NERV is eying Kaworu: Rei, Gendo, and Misato all weary of the newcomer and deciphering his motives for their own reasons just to—hey! The original Alpine poster is back! I guess they decided not to can that one for some reason, huh?
Anyway, Misato can’t help but check on the empty rooms of her children, both empty, as she realizes she’s failed to keep any of her three pilots alive, unharmed, or comforted. Calling back to Episode 4, we’ve come full circle in the cycle of trust, and the Katsuragi household is completely divided.
We cut to Shinji jamming out, plugged into his thoughts, but instead of listening to any of the corresponding Episode-tracks of the SDAT, he’s playing Ode to Joy—lovely shorthand to show his thoughts are consumed by you-know-who. The song continues in the background as Kaworu emerges from gate number thirteen, traditionally an unlucky number of divine discord—he’s stepping in to disrupt Shinji’s thoughts, and later his life. Also, Kaworu’s undershirt is orange—the color of angelic LCL fluid and his introductory seashore—and the opposite but complimentary color of Shinji’s blue. The editing brilliance continues with just two inserts breaking up the overhead holding shot. First, Shinji explains his usual routine following tests is to shower and go home—but the mention of returning to the apartment sparks this smile from Kaworu, a tell that he can sense Shinji’s apprehension at going back—there’s an almost frightening level of emotional intelligence he possesses in stark contrast to Rei’s demure impartiality. And then, of course, the insert of Shinji when Kaworu asks if he can go with him—the look of muted surprise tells us Shinji’s first assumption is Kaworu inviting himself over for the night, until Nagisa confirms he just means to the showers.
Ah, the shower scene.
The entire bath scene is reportedly inspired by an experience Hideaki Anno had with Kunihiko Ikuhara, the director and showrunner of Revolutionary Girl Utena and the little-known Sailer Moon. Apparently the two had a meaningful conversation about personal and professional lives during a trip to an onsen, a sake-filled evening inspiring enough to remain in Anno’s consciousness and filtered into the script as we see here.
…I guess it’s finally time to discuss the scene, huh?
A green stool signals a point of connection between the two, even as Shinji glances down and Kaworu keeps his chin confidently high. Nagisa begins waxing poetic on the human heart and the Hedgehog’s Dilemma, highlighting Shinji’s aversion to human connection as a means to avoid betrayal and injury—which, you know, not unfounded the way things end up. It’s a rather blatant and concise recap of the show’s central messaging.
Kaworu then holds Shinji’s hand, the moment highlighted by the cutting of background noise and dimming of the lights, the scene visually transforming to isolate these two and draw the audience deeper into immersion. It’s a callback to Misato’s touch last episode, Shinji’s instant refusal then contrasted against a surprised by pleasant turning towards the camera instead of away—he’s opening himself up to us and Nagisa, rebutting the Hedgehog’s Dilemma, and allowing Kaworu to speak his iconic line: “it means I love you.”
Now what does that mean, exactly? Let’s break the scene down:
The script uses Japanese word suki, often translated as either “like” or “love,” although carrying a slightly different connotation as the direct English word “love,” not meant to intone so much severity. Infamously, the ADV subtitles originally said “love,” but the VSI, localized by former-Gainax Studio Khara themselves, instead opted for “like,” probably given the broader, less direct, and more mysterious application of that word, which I support.
That said, given the contextual nature of the Japanese language, the fact Kaworu is referring strictly to Shinji and using the word suki leaves very little doubt that he means it in, if not a romantic way, certainly an intimate one. And the romantic undertones established by Satsukawa rear their poignant heads here, previous drafts of this Episode infusing or replacing the shower scene with undeniably romantic imagery, even including a kiss. Those allusions aren’t helped at all by a storyboarding mistake, either, where Director Masayuki greenlit the handholding shot despite a misinterpretation because of production deadlines, originally only a gentle grazing instead of a full-on grip which goes beyond the callback to Misato. That said, Anno specifically clarified that Shinji’s blush was one of surprise and relief, not sexuality, and that Shinji, quote “didn’t experience carnal desire” towards Kaworu there. He did not, however, clarify Kaworu’s intentions in this scene, so who knows.
There are so many caveats required for this discussion, it’s insane.
Thus, the shower scene becomes the encapsulation of two clashing visions, one in which Kaworu evolves into a deeply personal emotional tether for Shinji, and another in which he’s revealed as a last minute, fast-tracked potential lover. The distinction is subtle, and the episode itself doesn’t know which one to communicate: new best friend, or new boyfriend? The contradictory subtext practically leaves it open for audience interpretation, the outcome dependent on the observer’s effect, although even I must admit there’s an overbearing lean in an intimate direction.
We get two inserts just before the splash screen, the first saying “Episode 24,” and the second “the last cometh;” both of which I find interesting as it comes across like Anno himself is breaking into the story to communicate how important this final objective installation of the narrative is, and to prepare ourselves for the climax we’re building to. It’s a shattering of the show’s format and our immersion that he gets away with only because we then cut to commercial and receive our second title: The Beginning and the End, or “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door”.
It’s a twofold title, the “Beginning and End” referring to Kaworu “The Last Messenger” Nagisa himself, both the first and last Angel as we’ll see he is Adam’s soul remade in the seventeenth Angel’s body. “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door,” with all its western slang intact, is a more obvious reference to the famous Bob Dylan song, which itself contains an Oedipal complex and paradox of needing yet fearing death, reflective of Shinji’s series-long journey.
The scene following the eye-catch, four mini-scenes altogether, continue ramping up tension as we see SEELE and Gendo working towards their final destinations, while Rei and Misato actively sever more of their personal relationships. SEELE’s roundtable of Ikari’s reckoning is nothing new, the insert of the Spear of Longinus reminding us of Unit-00’s demise as Gendo’s final slight against the council.
Also—I didn’t want to bring this up, but some of you are petty—yes, I do pronounce it Longinus with the Ecclesiastic dialect because that’s what the VSI dub opts for and it’s in line with my personal preferences for Latin pronunciation. You can carry on with your Reformed Classical dialect if you prefer, but don’t tell me I’m wrong just ‘cause I’m looking from a different angle, okay? Unus nostrum linguam quinque annos didicit, et sum satis certus non tu eras. Feel free to keep blasting my German, though, that admittedly sucks.
The Director’s Cut included the shot of the Adam embryo fused with Gendo’s hand which is A) gross, but B) shows Gendo willing to corrupt his right hand of power to achieve Instrumentality on his terms, obligatory becoming the thing he swore to destroy, obligatory power corrupts, and also C) mirrors the handholding we just witnessed, both Ikaris interacting with Adam in different ways, the father forcing the relationship, and the son inviting it.
Meanwhile, the other half of his plan, Rei, is lounging much the same way as Episode 17, in which she doubted her loyalty to Gendo and began turning to Shinji instead. She’s continuing to fight her own existence, having sacrificed her last life for the ultimate purpose of love, and was brought back for, as far as she can tell, the purposelessness of Gendo’s selfish pursuit. Between her ponderous comments we get five shots of association, from the unfamiliar ceiling of new beginnings to the beaker of water representing her only happiness, the moon of quiet identity and, of course, Gendo’s broken glasses, the old worldview she no longer holds. The final insert is a sketch of Kaworu as she considers their connection, the sketch aesthetic implying both Kaworu is not yet in his final form, and her thoughts on him have yet to reach their proper conclusion. This shot specifically seems to be from the Episode finale, when Kaworu is betraying Shinji, which further reinforces the subtext of loyalty.
She continues working this out as we see Misato and Pen-Pen, a tearful goodbye as even that relationship bears the consequences of isolation, the show systematically reducing every character to an individual state in preparation for Instrumentality.
This is the last time we’ll see Pen-Pen.
At NERV, under yet another new ceiling, we finally get our ultimate bedroom scene between Shinji and Kaworu. After four sleeping scenes displaying various relationships in disarray, the central focus and lighting blends Shinji and Kaworu together, an openness and vulnerability between the two unlike any before. Especially compared to Asuka and Hikari previously, the two girls shared a mattress miles apart, avoiding the central lighting, Asuka shoved to the side. Now, the perspective lines and joint mattresses create an in-frame boxing the two boys together, isolating them from the outside world as they merge into a single shape.
Shinji turns again to Kaworu, physically and emotionally opening up as he reveals his previous living situation—details even the audience hasn’t heard yet—and expounding on his relationship with his father. Internal voiceovers aren’t rare in Evangelion, but Shinji’s inner monologue really highlights Satsukawa’s dramatic background before they lock eyes, and Kaworu hands out his second iconic line: “I think I was born just to meet you.”
In the original air, this line stings especially hard, as we immediately cut to Misato discovering Kaworu is nonhuman. In the Director’s Cut, however, we get the SEELE conversation on the lake, which is one of the few—maybe even the only Director’s Cut addition that is actively…bad. Don’t get me wrong, I love the lone telephone pole, the pale color grading accentuating the focus on Kaworu, and the gargoyle-looking angel statue he perches on that even more heavily hints at the dark turn the episode will inevitably take—I don’t even mind that the technicalities of how this scene transpires are completely glossed over, although it’s not difficult to imagine Kaworu is simply reliving the memory of his mission briefing—but in the context of the show overall, the scene detracts from the episode’s narrative.
The intention is clear enough: a post-air exposition on the histories of the black and white moons to offer the audience a world-building explanation as to what the Angels are, and why Kaworu needs to succeed for SEELE’s sake. All well and good—although debatably unnecessary given the world itself needs no further development at this point as we’re shifting into the final character-focused arc of the series—but the scene’s real sin is when SEELE tells Nagisa that Gendo has the Adam embryo with him: information the audience already knew, SEELE has no reasonable way to know, and by Kaworu knowing, completely deflates the episode’s finale by having him go to Terminal Dogma instead of Ikari himself.
Even with all that said, you can’t deny the mile-long lookback to Misato is just unbelievably sick, which segways us to Hyuga and then Akagi as Misato continues her rogue investigation. Even with NERV literally standing between them, Misato gets her answer just before the boy in question communes with the empty Unit-02, -a wave of saturation dousing every color in the frame as he activates his AT Field, its size and power so vast it literally recolors the scene.-
In the following chaos, brilliantly underscored by a seven-minute track of Beethoven’s Ninth, NERV is forced to their backfoot as Nagisa moves deeper into the complex, his identity confirmed as Tabris, the Seventeenth Angel, and the final of the Incarnate Angels, completing the traditional depiction as the wings, halo, and body. He’s also the final Introspective Angel, having communed with Shinji and Rei, but succeeding where his brethren failed in understanding them.
Depending on the version you’re watching, when Unit-02 goes through the fourteenth partition, you’ll hear Hyuga yell that it’s breached “Cocytus 2”; Cocytus the name of an underworld river from Greek mythology, literally meaning “lamentation,” and like Malebolge before it, was used by Dante in the Divine Comedy as the ninth and lowest circle of hell, a frozen lake where traitors reside. Which is to say, the boy who betrays our hero is crashing through the endpoint of hell: we are officially at our lowest point, physically and thematically.
We get a brief council of SEELE crossing fingers their gambit here will work, and to be clear, whatever the specifics of their plan are never get spelled out. It’s possible Kaworu was sent to merge with Adam’s body and trigger Third Impact, or to prime Shinji psycho-emotionally for his task and part in the final act—regardless, at this point, SEELE heavily implies they’re counting on Unit-01 to annihilate Tabris and bring the scenario to fruition.
A course of action that Shinji, of course, doesn’t take too well. The expectations of the world are levied against him. The two shots he occupies are reused, the fist-slam from Episode 19 after Toji’s pseudo-death, when Shinji materially opposed his father, and the head-lift from numerous scenes after Episode 03, where he breaks from a meditative state to stare reality in the eye.
The ensuing battle, edited in time to the rising music, has some of the best compositions in the series: I’m just gonna rattle off my favorites. Kaworu descending with Unit-02 wrapped protectively around him like an Eva-shaped pair of wings; Shinji staring down at him through his forward HUD, as opposed to staring up at Sachiel—his first and final Angel battles approached from totally opposite directions; Kaworu floating between the two Evas as he hasn’t chosen his side yet, whether to fight with or against humanity, his duty opposed by his emotions—and of course, his AT Field deflects Shinji’s prog-knife as he explains an AT Field is a manifestation of individuality, a metaphysical barrier discerning terminology.
And, of course, the symbolism of the battle itself, Kaworu puppetting Unit-02 to go straight for Shinji’s heart—an emotional blow—as Shinji aims for the head, seeking to dismantle the logic of his enemy. Tabris seems the cool-headed one, but attacks empathetically, whereas Shinji, despite his volatility, still tries cutting to the issue he’s seeking to understand. The battle between Evangelions also represents the macro-narrative, Unit-01, grown from Lilith, fighting off Unit-02, grown from Adam—champions of the dormant dueling gods who each seek survival.
The ante escalates until Kaworu reaches Terminal Dogma, a crescendo of Beethoven’s Ninth screaming out the Ode to Joy—whose lyrics, I’ll now point out, describe entering the throne room of Heaven—knocking on its door, you could say. Here, Kaworu realizes the crucified Angel is not Adam as we’ve been told, but Lilith, the second Angel. She is another species altogether, the ancestral mother of humankind, the Lilim Kaworu holds in such high regard. And she’s incompatible with him, preventing the initiation of third impact. Rei, now comfortably directing her own destiny against Gendo’s wishes, steps in to weaponize Lilith’s recomposed soul, -her own remade AT Field again blasting a new shade of color into frame, enough power to negate Nagisa’s and render him vulnerable.- The magenta ceiling and pillars of salt visually harken back to Antarctica and second impact, and weirdly parallel the Biblical story of Sodom and Gomorra where both cities were utterly annihilated, and the wife of Lot, glancing back, was turned to salt as she gazed upon the glory of the angels.
Kaworu’s final speech paints the stakes clearly enough: coexistence is impossible, only one species can inherit the earth, and Kaworu has chosen that it should be humanity. He could have fused with Unit-02 as a backup, importing his own consciousness and S2 Drive and achieving immortality and demi-deification, much like Unit-01, but instead he smiles at Rei, and comforts Shinji. Kaworu’s death, he knows, is necessary for Shinji to take the final step of self-actualization, to reject emotional dependence and engage with the world.
The indirect interactions with Rei are particularly interesting in this sequence, namely because of Kaworu’s hesitancy in identifying the Angel on the cross, and what the original script notes called his “smile of betrayal”. Some have concocted the Casablanca Theory, that Kaworu feigned ignorance and made this scuffle to draw Rei into the chamber and reveal Lilith’s body—her old being—to the first children. While there’s some merit, I cannot imagine constructing the episode’s entire climax on the chance Rei would follow him down; regardless, I’m focused more on Nagisa’s final moments.
Many a western viewer have equated Kaworu’s self-sacrifice here to the death of Christ: a voluntary departing of an incarnate god from the confines of the mortal world in order to open up the possibility for independent acceptance of sanctification. Anno, of course, almost certainly never intended to draw such an obvious religious parallel, and while it holds water, I find Kaworu more akin to John the Baptist: a radical devotee outside society whose life was defined by his ability to make way for the savior of the world, who lost his head in advocating for objective justice.
-In a last moment of connection, Shinji and Kaworu validate each other’s right to existence; and by doing so, end the ongoing debate of each species’ respective worthiness of life. Since Episode 11, Shinji has wondered if the Angels deserved existence, if they even have their own dreams and fears and souls. As the Introspective Angels proved, they wondered the same about us. Now, two boys settle the score: we are more similar than we first thought, and both deserve to exist, but only one is able.
And thus we get one of anime’s most iconic shots. Holding for one minute five seconds, the longest motionless shot in the series, Kaworu’s words of farewell hang in the air as we commiserate with Shinji during the most excruciating minute of his life. Ode to Joy swells, dies, and swells again. Unit-02’s prog-knife still protrudes from the chest, a literal bleeding heart on display as time halts. One cost-cutting measure transforms into a devastatingly well-executed creative choice to seal us in the mind of our boy hero as he silently debates which path to take. We’re invited into his mind, given the space to weigh options, but ultimately the matter of Kaworu’s death is entirely Shinji’s choice.
Pay attention to the leadup here, how we mirror our opening moves: the angry slamming fist now a trembling grip of the controls, the hand of power knowing it must execute a plan it has no desire to. The defiant lift and stare down of reality is now a sullen hanging head, Shinji ducking out of frame, avoiding the responsibility he now shoulders, the enormity of the situation pressing down like all the negative space above him. His own emotions are turned on him in the same way the shot list is turned on the audience.
You may have noticed, without exception, every scene featuring Nagisa positions him in frame left, or especially Shinji’s left, beckoning him back and away from his advancement and down the road of regression, potentially undoing all the maturing we’ve seen him accomplish thus far. Kaworu is the promise of a remade past, the first Angel come back to wrap the series around into calamity. This final standoff posits the temptation of Kaworu’s love opposite Shinji’s destiny, like a devil in the wilderness, the final obstacle to address before the journey’s end: does he take the path of regression, or accept the gift of maturity?
He’s been offered a chance to overcome himself at the cost of his only remaining friend.-
And he takes it.
We’re given one shot of the head, plummeting into the fluid like a sundered clone, a half second to process the shock, and then the cleaning of the now bloodied right hand of power. Gendo stands on the walkway, Rei fulfilling Ritsuko’s greatest fear of taking her place beside him as we march towards our destination.
At the edge of the sea where Shinji and Kaworu first met, at the threshold of unity that Ikari still struggles with, he and Misato stare out at the waves, a thousand glistening reflections reminding us of the soul he just freed. The beach is painted in Shinji’s solemn blue, Kaworu’s orange utterly absent, as the scene chromatically shifts all attention to the Children left. The telephone pole hangs alone, bereft of once-many connections.
Shinji grieves and doubts his decision.
Misato counter-validates Shinji’s personal existence and identity, reaffirming the sentiment Kaworu himself expressed in Shinji’s potential as an ongoing entity. She does, of course, make yet another fatal flaw in her argument though, in presenting Kaworu as having died for a false hope, which he clearly didn’t if you assume his hope was in Shinji living and learning. Instead, Misato is unable to pull herself from her own mind and argues against the pseudo-suicide of Kaji. His hope was for her to discover the truth, which, at this point in time, she feels she hasn’t done yet, leading her to label his sacrifice invalid. If she had been able to think of her father instead, this advice might come out differently.
But love leaves the living changed.
-This beautiful little parallel bookends the episode, Kaji’s death now a reflection of Kaworu’s. Asuka succumbed to the grief while Misato remains stalwart in overcoming it. Now Shinji must choose one of those paths: regression, or re-establishment. It’s one of the many aspects that leaves the episode, as short and rushed as it is, feeling nonetheless like a complete package, a whole lifetime successfully conveyed amid our climax.-
Once again, the final credits play black, a moment of remembrance for the boy who passed—and possibly the boy who survived.
The version of Kaworu Nagisa we see in the series is so rushed and underutilized and creatively compromised, but those factors played into making him such a fascinating cornerstone of the series, and I have to admit, as flawed as this version of his inclusion is, I honestly prefer it. Satsukawa’s original character feels almost cheap in how freely he admires Shinji, how willing and one-dimensional he feels in his wanton support. The clashing, veiled, supernaturally inclined man he comes across thanks to Anno’s direction feels more mature and developed, the blunt edges of his person sanded off into a captivating enigma.
Kaworu’s love for Shinji feels deeper than romance, more primal, refined, pondered on and chosen, an almost spiritual fundamental connection between the two as Kaworu himself scrapes at the edges of the medium, acknowledging his own place not in the universe but within the narrative, realizing his purpose as Shinji’s personal catalyst. In the Director’s Cut, Anno’s decision to dedicate screen time not to Kaworu and Shinji, but to Kaworu and everyone else, highlights the small but critical ways in which he succeeds in bolstering Shinji where everyone else has, to this point, failed. He guides Ikari through the metaphysical with an articulation Rei lacked, encourages him better than Asuka ever tried, and loves him with such deep and affectionate admiration, absent of the sexual tension that Misato mistaken introduced.
Anno never considered the yaoi or “carnal” elements of Shinji and Kaworu’s relationship, because in his mind, he was the subconscious evolution of Shinji himself. Our boy hero opens up to this stranger, this friend, this lover, because they are the same. Where Shinji can’t swim, Kaworu sits; what Shinji can’t say, Kaworu proclaims. And their final encounter isn’t a rejection of inevitable adulthood, but a decimating of the underlying immaturity required to ascend to his ultimate station.
Shinji kills all the evil that Kaworu is, in order to become all the good that Kaworu is. The cat is dead and alive, all at once, and that isn’t a mistake. Shinji’s final challenge is in choosing whether or not to accept that gift.
But that is a discussion for another day.
Outro
Thank you all so much for watching. I dearly hoped you enjoyed—this video was unbelievably fun to produce. Maybe that’s just because Rei is impossible to talk about, but seriously, I’ve been looking forward to covering Kaworu since this retrospective began, and I hope the two year wait did not disappointed.
I had no idea before researching how deep this particular rabbit hole would go—I mean its Evangelion, of course there’s a billion things to consider, especially with Kaworu. He really is an enigma, and I think so much of his timeless charm as a character does result from this perfect storm of mashed visions that created a fundamentally subjective entity, and that’s difficult to do on purpose, and also just so much fun. I seriously loved writing this script so much. Even if, at long last, it’s not as long as the last video. I’m sure that will change with the next one.
Speaking of which, we are officially at the beginning of the end, and I trust you all understand I will be taking a little more time, even more than normal, to really dig into Evangelion’s conclusion and give you all something worth the going-on three years of analysis this series has demanded. I want to cover a little more than just the editing and direction, since I don’t know when I’ll have the chance to talk about this series again, so—stay tuned for that.
And also thank you all so much again for the remarkable support. This series wouldn’t be half as good without so much excitement and feedback and good-natured pressure that you all put on me to polish this series up before I put it out. Seriously, thank you all, especially those of you supporting through memberships and store purchases and convention visits and all the other above and beyond monetary support that honestly you deserve so much more than credit for. I love you all.
With that said, I’ve been Jir0, y’all have been amazing, and I’ll see you all on the bright side.
God Bless.
Sources used to help in the creation of this video
http://plaza.harmonix.ne.jp/~onizuka/literal/EVA24.txt
TimberWolf Studios 