Show Your Working: Evangelion and Adapting To Failure

1995’s Neon Genesis Evangelion could probably be considered the most influential anime of all time. However, the production was laced with budget issues and internalised conflict, which coincidentally formed the basis of the series themes.

Photo Credit: MUBI

We never understood why math tests demanded we ‘show our working’ on the page. We thought the answer must be good enough, and the answer was easily pilfered, whereas ‘working out’ necessitated an exploration of our own thoughts. It’s easy to look back now though and see the teachers or the test authors intentions quite clearly. It’s the journey from nothing to something that demonstrates understanding, not the final product itself. The writing of a novel is where ideas are formed, the treatment for a film the raw and pure ideas, whereas the final products are merely images of what was first formed in the mind.

It is often these journeys through artistic creation that are most interesting, even more so than the final product. Working within parameters as an artist can bring the best work out of people. Whether it be physical limitations such as Scottish poet W.S Graham writing in total isolation in a tumbling shack, or a film score written to fit a specific time and theme, these restrictions can often bring out new and exciting work from artists.

This may be best shown in the hugely influential anime series and subsequent mega franchise, Neon Genesis Evangelion. Airing from 1995 to 1996 and spawning a subsequent movie series set to finish next year, the anime redefined the ‘mecha’ genre, and led to a new widespread interest in anime as an art form. The series is difficult to summarise, but takes place in an apocalyptic world where teenagers must pilot ‘Evangelion’ robots in order to defeat ‘Angels’ that are attacking the earth.

Photo Credit: Polygon

However, halfway through the series in the famous sixteenth episode, it becomes clear the anime is about much more. Instead of fighting an Angel, Shinji, the protagonist, encounters a version of himself, and out of this fairly traditional action-based anime comes a probing, surreal exploration of human psychology. The rest of the series follows in much the same manor. Action continues and the world is in peril, but questions are raised as to what a human being actually is, how we relate to each other and how we relate to the existence of God.

These themes are not what typically come to mind when we think of anime. Before Evangelion, and now again becoming the increasingly typical thought related to Japanese animation, is that anime is immature, cartoonish, unviable as an art form and even perverted. Themes like those explored in Evangelion put these thoughts to shame, and though it is true that anime seems to create an obsessive and extremely dedicated fan base, in a world where art is merging and society wants to be accepting of anything and everything, the importance of this particular medium can not be ignored.

Photo Credit: VOX

The switch in story and tone, however, was not exactly planned. As episodes aired, the production team were failing to meet the deadlines for the next episodes, and funding had also dried up. At this point, many creatives would decide to end the series, or put it on pause. The team at Tatsunoko Production had a different idea, however, as Kazuya Tsurumaki states:

“About the time that the production system was completely falling apart, there were some opinions to the effect that, “If we can’t do satisfactory work, then what’s the point of continuing?”  However, I didn’t feel that way.  My opinion was, “Why don’t we show them the entire process including our breakdown.”  You know, make it a work that shows everything including our inability to create a satisfactory product.”

This is definitely reflected in the product, as episodes 16-26 take a more insular and heavily psychological turn in line with director Hideaki Anno and his teams mental struggles at the time. Not only does the work draw influence from the creative teams’ own Jungian self-psychoanalysis, but themes of Christianity and Judaism permeate the series, making it truly individual as an animated work. This could not have been done without the breakdown of the series behind-the-scenes, and the innovative idea to integrate this breakdown into the content of the show is what makes it such an influential work.

Showing the working out of artistic practices within the artistic product itself has been used to similar effect elsewhere. Monty Python’s legendary 1975 comedy Monty Python and the Holy Grail was forced to make numerous concessions during production. The fact they couldn’t afford horses to ride was made into one of the films most infamous gags, a servant hopping along beside a character clapping coconuts together. The ending too, was meant to be a grandiose battle, but when it became obvious funding wouldn’t allow for this, the group decided on the characters being arrested and an abrupt end being thrust upon the audience. This decision, which Michael Palin described as “cheaper and funnier” only strengthened the integrity of the film. Once again, it is not what the product is that matters, but the sweat that stains it.

Similarly, Seijun Suzuki’s 1967 Branded To Kill was adjusted in order to pass Japanese censorship laws. Suzuki, though, always an innovative filmmaker, decided to pass these laws by integrating the necessary censorship onto the screen, which he did with animation and audio. This preemptive attempt to get his film past censors created one of the most beautiful scenes in the film.

Photo Credit: Branded To Kill

Beauty is formed in the oddest of places, and bindings are made to be broken. What Neon Genesis Evangelion did with its progressive, avant-garde direction was enable filmmakers and writers everywhere to present the artistic process as art itself, a kind of double self-portrait. It is hard to completely grasp how this could possibly be successful, but undeniable that it was. Showing our work as artists not only enables us to explore themes previously kept in the dark, but it attaches an artist to their audience through their work in a spectacularly direct way.

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