The Greatest Coming-Of-Age Story Ever

Words by Dylan Todd (he/him)

The coming-of-age genre is a tricky one to cover, with countless films, books, and TV shows falling into the category. While there’s plenty of classics in the genre, from the straight up simplicity of Stand By Me, to the subversive Let The Right One In, today I’m going to delve into the single greatest coming-of-age story there is: the metanarrative underlying the media saga, Neon Genesis Evangelion.

If you’ve so much as heard of anime, you’re probably familiar with Eva. The original series started in 1995, coming from the animation heavyweight GAINAX and helmed by its co-founder, Hideaki Anno. Eva is most renowned for one of two things: Firstly, it’s known for the intense story following a group of teenagers and young adults struggling to save the post-apocalyptic future of 2015 from otherworldly creatures known as Angels, as well as the mysterious organisations in the background hoping to reshape the world to their liking. Secondly, it’s known for its portrayal of mental illness, focusing on themes of isolation and depression. The story is pivoted around the exciting, high-stakes narrative, but focuses more so on the emotional development of its wide cast of characters, all at numerous different stages of life, from early teens to elderly adults.

The show’s creator, Hideaki Anno, became well known for his own mental health struggles during this time, grappling with a depression that nearly took his life, and the characters in the series are visibly influenced by this, with the final episodes of the original series being an introspective, abstract look into the self-hating apathy that consumed the show’s creator and his characters. Many of these characters feel isolated, abandoned, and in need of proving themselves in order to justify their very life, something which is a direct parallel to the behind-the-scenes happenings for its creator. But you might be asking, what does this have to do with coming-of-age stories? Sure, the characters go through arcs within Neon Genesis Evangelion and its concluding film, The End of Evangelion, but that doesn’t necessarily make it a coming-of-age film, right? 

Well, then let me introduce you to Rebuild of Evangelion, the ‘remake’ film series beginning in 2007. Originally penned as a reconstruction of the original series without the budgetary and technological limitations of the 90’s, by the end of the second film, a shift was occurring in terms of narrative and themes, and in 2021, Shin Evangelion Gekijouban𝄇 or Evangelion 3.0 + 1.0: Thrice Upon a Time was released to the world, unveiling a rich metanarrative underlying the saga itself, recontextualising the entire franchise. The inclusion of the 𝄇 symbol in the theatrical title, a musical notation commanding repetition, directs viewers to reflect back on the franchise, helping affirm the story that underlies the saga, not in relation to its characters, not in relation to its own narrative themes, but in relation to the creator himself. Abandoning the gloomy, industrial aesthetic of the original series and its preceding films, Thrice Upon a Time focuses on imagery of harmony, peace, and stability, showing a society starting anew amidst lush pastures, despite the calamities of the past. Similarly, reaching his 60’s at the completion of this final instalment, Anno had developed as a person too, finding peace and joy in the world he lives in, and shaken himself free of the tumultuous depression that consumed him in the decades prior.

While The End of Evangelion, the 1997 film that concluded the original series, delved into the metanarrative surrounding the story’s creator, alluding to the death threats, financial instability, the text’s separation from reality, and the seclusion from the world that Anno was affected by during the film’s production, Thrice Upon a Time follows this up more directly, with the film’s latter half showcasing the dissolution of the very world of Eva, tying visual and thematic elements from across the wider franchise together inside a philosophical dialogue between the characters, with much of it being an on-the-nose discussion of Anno’s own development as a person, turning his back on his life’s work after so long being tied to it. The film gradually unveils the façade of the fictional work, visually transitioning through into film studios, backlots, and ultimately, stripping the animation back to simple storyboards, and transcending into the real world. Concluding with live action footage overlooking the town in which Anno grew up, set to a song with lyrics about departure and goodbyes, Eva as a franchise’s conclusion serves as a poignant metatextual view into the coming-of-age of its creator: his evolution in overcoming the illness that plagued his mind in Eva’s conception, through to the solace he found by the time of its completion, his art mirroring his own life in a way that brings viewers closer to the creator than his creation by the time of its conclusion.