Reflections on Anime

JPT1311

[ace-o-spades-777]

Where Is My Mind?; JJK

JJK is many things to many people- the inspiration behind fanfiction, a medium from which to source cosplay ideas, the subject of thinkpieces, the occasional “who would win in a fight” YouTube video, and an excuse to watch a story that is essentially a portmanteau of Naruto and Harry Potter- but I never expected it to get to me. Full disclosure, I was never really able to get into JJK; not for any one reason, it just never stuck with me. Maybe I’m Shonen Jump-ed out or suffering from “Chosen One” fatigue, but the show never seemed to make it’s mark on my soul the way it had for other people- which is something that gnawed away at me for months, if not years on end, my inability to assimilate into the current cultural supernova; however- I think that’s changed now.

Season Two of JJK, the “Hidden Inventory” arc, is essentially a prequel, which might be part of why I was able to really get into it this go-round. Chronicling the story of Gojo “Six-Eyes” Satoru and his struggle to overcome what very well may be the worst day of his life, this section of the anime delves into how children, at least in JJK’s world, are made to shoulder the burdens of their fellow man, to serve as vanguards for the betterment of humanity, disregarding their own safety. One of the core characters, one Suguru Geto, echoes this same sentiment, making a moral argument that the strong have a duty to protect and safeguard the weak, in order to allow them to remain weak, as is their lot in life.

This deterministic outlook parallels many of the same philosophical treatises proposed by those who adhere to determinist philosophy, some of which relates to the nature of strength vs weakness. There are those who would posit that those burdened with excellence, sheer overwhelming power, have a responsibility to use it in order to shield those who do not share that privilege- however, there are also voices in the mist that argue that, no, strength should be used to subjugate the masses and enforce one’s will, as the strong have the proverbial mandate of heaven to do as they please, as determined at their birth.

In JJK, these philosophies are represented by Geto and Gojo respectively, however, after the former’s tragic death and subsequent transformation into the anime’s antagonist, their philosophies appear to reverse, which I found to be fascinating.

Overall, this anime speaks to the morality of power, the nature of rationalizing how to contend with your innermost self, ego, and even how authority may seek to take advantage of those who are blessed with extraordinary ability, in order to enact their own interests. Tragedy that I’ve already seen how the story ends though- would've loved to have seen how it all played out in real-time. C’est vie, I suppose.

[elizalazuli]

The author offers an interesting take on Jujutsu Kaisen. I also wasn’t able to get into this anime as much, but maybe—like the author—I just need to watch a bit more. I found it thought-provoking that the author brought up the nature of strength versus weakness, and the role of the privileged. This is certainly a philosophical conundrum—one that has historically been exploited by those who claimed a divine right to rule. Additionally, the anime seems to suggest that being in a position of privilege isn’t always a choice, and that it comes with its own pressures and forms of suffering.

[elizalazuli]

Jujutsu Kaisen (2023) and Rejection of Duty

This was my first time watching Jujutsu Kaisen, and I have to admit that I had a hard time following along at first. However, Episode 29 clarified a lot of questions I had and made it clear that the antagonist, Suguru Geto, struggles with his sense of duty as a Jujutsu sorcerer—eventually leading him to reject that duty altogether.

The series centers around students at Jujutsu High who go on missions to exorcise and absorb cursed spirits. As revealed in Episode 29, cursed spirits are essentially the collective negative energy of non-sorcerer humans, manifesting as a variety of scary demon-like monsters. While it may seem like a noble endeavor for sorcerers to rid society of these threats, it’s also a dangerous and unpleasant for sorcerers. Throughout the episodes we watched, Geto appears to question whether he can truly commit to this path, often having to repeat a mantra to himself just to keep going. But after a pivotal and tragic turning point, he ultimately decides to use his powers against non-sorcerers—believing them to be the root cause of cursed spirits.

Geto’s internal conflict around fulfilling his prescribed responsibilities reflects a struggle many people face when deciding whether to follow the path society has laid out for them. It often feels as though larger or more powerful systems—whether it be the government, corporations, or even our parents—are shaping our futures, with us acting as pawns in a system that may not truly fulfill us. This dilemma is often seen in the experiences of soldiers, some of whom are enlisted involuntarily, and must choose between killing others in battle or being labeled a traitor to their nation. Just like Geto, some soldiers end up rejecting this duty by fleeing and becoming deserters, opting out of their oppressive responsibilities. In Geto's case, however, he took this rejection in a radical and violent direction.

Overall, the anime suggests that serving the so-called "greater good" can come at a personal cost—and sometimes, it leaves behind a bitter taste.

[radiorams]

Violet Evergarden

Violet Evergarden: Recollections is a stunning and moving journey that explores the aftermath of war through its characters' silent grief and healing rather than politics or combat scenes. Violet's story reflects cultural values of perseverance, responsibility, and emotional control in Japan, where postwar identity has been shaped by introspection and reconstruction. The difficulty of dealing with loss and the value of empathy are universal themes that the anime touches on. Particularly in a digital age where genuine emotional connection is more difficult to find, the notion of someone writing letters to express emotions that others are unable to verbalize is ageless and universal. Violet's emotional development struck a deep chord with me personally. She begins the story as someone who is emotionally distant from herself and unsure of how to relate to other people, which I believe many people can identify with, particularly after experiencing hardship or trauma. I was struck by how crucial it is to confront your emotions rather than repress them as I watched her gradually come to understand love, grief, and even joy. Her experience served as a reminder to me that healing is a gradual, painful, and educational process. Violet's story fits in nicely with the readings' themes of memory, communication, and the need for human connection. This anime takes that same discussion into a more poetic realm, much like the articles that examine how technology is altering our means of self-expression. Although it may seem archaic, writing letters can be a potent metaphor for expressing emotions. Violet Evergarden demonstrates how empathy and storytelling can help heal divisions, between individuals, generations, and even cultures, even when they are quiet or straightforward. It's about us all rediscovering how to feel, not just about one girl.

[elizalazuli]

The author does a beautiful job capturing some of the themes in Violet Evergarden: Recollections. I particularly appreciate how they suggest what "letter-writing" may symbolize in the film. As they point out, I agree that it's about communicating more than just a report—it's about heartfelt emotions that can be difficult to express. Therefore, perhaps the film suggests that it is through genuine communication that we can resolve conflicts and misunderstandings, or address past traumas.

[elizalazuli]

Violet Evergarden: Recollections (2021) and Survivor's Guilt

This was my first time viewing Violet Evergarden: Recollections, and wow—I wish I had been more prepared for the tear-jerker of an ending. While there are likely numerous themes that can be extracted from this film, a notable one is the struggle of living with survivor’s guilt.

The protagonist of the anime is Violet Evergarden, a former female soldier who fought in a war that her side ultimately won. One of the first things the audience may notice about Violet is her direct, soldier-like demeanor. Although the war has ended, she retains her military conduct—showing little to no emotion, communicating with precision and directness, and demonstrating unwavering dedication to duty (following orders and direction). It's important to note that Violet lost both arms in the war, with them being replaced with metal prosthetics. Her new metal arms perhaps serve as a metaphor for her diminished capacity for human connection: she cannot hold someone’s hands and feel their humanness—literally their warmth, but also their emotions. This is illustrated by her aspiration to work as an Auto Memories Doll (essentially a letter writer), yet she struggles to imbue her letters with anything but facts, with emotion being entirely absent from her writing.

However, through forging connections with a friend and embarking on several journeys to help others, Violet begins to rediscover empathy. She starts to feel others’ losses, their sadness, and their fears. It is through these connections (which she may have initially shielded herself from with her cold, soldierly demeanor) that she eventually experiences an overwhelming sense of survivor’s guilt. Specifically, she questions how she can live with herself knowing she killed others, tearing them from their loved ones. However, whether knowingly or not, her decision to become an Auto Memories Doll seems to be her path to healing—serving as the tool by which connections between others can be forged. This film, therefore, poignantly reflects the loss of motivation, self, and empathy often experienced by war veterans and possible paths forward.

[lapspps]

Akira

One of the great classic anime movies ever, the movie takes place in a dystopian future of Tokyo. The movie is about two main characters named Shotaro Kaneda and Tetsuo Shima as they went through separate paths and discover the dark truths about Neo-Tokyo. However, one of them would lead a path of destruction and eventually die at the cost of their powers. The anime is more than just this; it is a warning for dystopian future times ahead.

The main issue that Akira addresses is technological advancement. As we can see in the setting of the movie, it takes place in the dystopian Neo-Tokyo. The reason it is named this way is because the original Tokyo was destroyed by a cataclysmic event caused by an unknown entity called “Akira.” Moreover, even though there are improved technology stuff in the rebuilt futuristic Tokyo, there are also risks of technology being used as weapons of mass destruction. For example, there is a facility that contains the espers; little did they know that they were going to be used as such. Additionally, there are pills that help a person develop and enhance his/her psychic powers; oftentimes it can lead to uncontrollable powers. Based on these examples, Akira is trying to critique technological advancement as it usually can cause more harm than good. This is true especially on a militaristic context, because of the possibility of nuclear and advanced weaponry that can result in deadlier wars. Also, AI exists, and people might abuse them for their own benefit. 

Another issue that the movie addresses is the unchecked powers. There are gangs that are prevalent in Neo-Tokyo as a result of not regulated and punished by the government. Additionally, the government is responsible for the aforementioned esper experiments for their personal gain, planning to use them in events like war and other stuff. In a way, this reminds me of Shin Sekai Yori, where governments are nonexistent. Furthermore, both Akira and Shin Sekai Yori involve psychics and government in some point. Psychics in both of those animes are held in such high regard, as they are believed to have the ability to change the world. This is true as their powers can result into being uncontrolled and destroy everything. I think the concept of unchecked powers can also apply to Japan, because… dangerous kids like Shonen A exist. Also, in global terms, governments can abuse their powers to get what they want, or being powerless and hesitant to take action (which is what happened to Japan’s government in Akira). 

Overall, Akira explores the dangers of technological advancement and powerlessness of governments in the face of catastrophic events and critiques them. However, the appeal and tragedy of the movie is what makes Akira of the most iconic anime movies.

[elizalazuli]

The author here provides an insightful take on Akira. I agree that "unchecked power" appears to be a theme in this anime. Additionally, it seems that much of this power is being exercised in short-sighted and selfish ways, to the advantage of the subject of power. The combination of unchecked power and technology in this film exposes what a particularly dangerous combination this can be (as evidenced by the destruction of Neo Tokyo at the end).

[elizalazuli]

Akira (1988) and Power Trips

This is my second time watching Akira (although my first viewing was around 10 years ago), and I have to admit that I still don’t fully understand the story of this anime. Regardless, it is certainly entertaining to watch a punk kid slowly transform into a giant grotesque monster that blows up a city. In the process of this monstrosity unfolding, the anime seems to comment on power struggles in many forms.

The movie first introduces the protagonist, Tetsuo, in the context of a feud between his group’s bike gang (the Capsules) and another gang (the Clowns). Gang feuds are often associated with territory or some other form of rivalry and are, therefore, typically a fight for increased ‘power’—whether that power comes in the form of more territory, a higher headcount, or an increase in a gang’s notorious ‘prestige.’ For a group craving power, they certainly lack respect for ‘the system’—i.e., the ways in which societal power is enacted (such as through the public school system). They are also disrespectful (rude) to adults and their caring female peers. Ultimately, the gang embodies a stereotypical punk male attitude, which makes sense because the concept and cultural movement of punk arose as a form of resistance to power.

However, it is quite interesting that, as the film progresses and Tetsuo gains power, he ultimately proves to be a giant (pun intended, because of his massive size at the end) hypocrite, using power in oppressive and selfish ways. It appears that Tetsuo is acting out of his insecurities in his position of power. For example, when it is suggested that Akira has more power and could potentially stop him, Tetsuo becomes enraged and proceeds to go on a destructive temper tantrum to show just how big and bad he is. Additionally, he revels in the fact that he now holds power over Kaneda, the alpha male of the Capsules, making a comment at one point that it will be him doing the rescuing now.

Tetsuo’s childish abuse of power is surely a spectacle we can relate to today, acting as a perfect mirror of a certain overreaching, insecure, power-hungry man-child currently holding a high position of power.

[ianjapanblog]

Hetalia

If you’ve ever wondered what it would be like if countries had personalities, wore cute outfits, and argued like siblings at a holiday dinner—Hetalia: Axis Powers is your answer. On the surface, it’s a wild, comedic take on world history where nations like Italy, Germany, Japan, and America are personified into characters with over-the-top traits. But underneath all the absurd humor, Hetalia actually taps into some surprisingly thoughtful conversations about nationalism, cultural stereotypes, and global history—especially from a Japanese perspective.

For Japan, Hetalia becomes a form of soft reflection. The character Japan is reserved, polite, and often emotionally distant—mirroring real-world cultural norms around stoicism and collectivism. The show gently pokes fun at these characteristics, offering a self-aware look at how Japan sees itself and how it thinks the world sees it. It's not a deep political analysis, but it is a safe way to bring up sensitive topics—like war, imperialism, and international relationships—without making anyone feel attacked. That’s pretty rare in anime.

Globally, Hetalia taps into shared cultural quirks and historical rivalries in a way that makes people laugh while still recognizing the weight behind them. The show doesn’t shy away from WWII or the Cold War—it just delivers them through satire. That approach opens up dialogue. It encourages viewers from around the world to reflect on their own country’s role in history without the usual defensiveness. It also shows how silly and human a lot of international conflict can be.

Is Hetalia politically correct? Absolutely not. But maybe that’s the point. It exposes how countries carry historical baggage and national pride, often to comedic extremes. And in doing so, it creates space to talk about things—colonialism, global tension, cultural bias—that still matter today. Just with a wink, a laugh, and some pasta-loving Italy in the mix.

[elizalazuli]

I appreciate the author’s take here. I definitely agree that, while not politically correct, this show creates a sort of safe space to explore big issues that are still very relevant today. In Hetalia, no nation is spared from a bit of good-natured criticism—and I think that’s part of what makes it so compelling. History is such a touchy subject because it’s impossible to fully and accurately capture it through a single narrative. That’s why Hetalia’s silly retelling of events through cute, exaggerated characters is actually a refreshing approach. 

[elizalazuli]

Hetalia (2009) and National Discourse

This was my first time viewing Hetalia—and wow, what an interesting ride. Undeniably cute and silly, but also fast-paced and full of stereotypes, this show is sure to offend some viewers with its unapologetic, yet arguably good-natured, jabs.

The show apparently lacks an overarching narrative and instead opts for a chaotic retelling of world history through cute boys who each represent a different nation. Just the idea of representing an entire country with one quirky male character is probably problematic—though, what would be the alternative? Overall, the show features lighthearted interactions between these characters as they struggle to deal with one another. I personally found the depictions of the different nations humorous and felt that poking fun at cultural differences was actually cathartic—a way of saying, “hey, that IS sorta silly.” However, what some see as fun, others might find problematic, since these jokes can touch on cultural sensitivities. In that sense, the show also serves as a conversation starter, particularly in online forums where people can discuss what might be deemed offensive—as Annett points out in World Conflict/World Conference: Axis Powers Hetalia.

Specifically, Hetalia perhaps enables both fans and non-fans to engage in national discourse. It raises a lot of questions: What national stereotypes are okay to parody, and are there some that aren’t? Can retelling history from unconventional—or even satirical—angles inform modern society? Can this kind of parody help groups that don’t see eye to eye move past historical traumas or differences? Is it even possible for anime—or any form of art—not to face criticism for how it depicts real-world events or people? Overall, while both amusing and controversial, this show clearly sparks conversation on national identity and cultural issues.

[aperture880]

Blog Post: Your Name

Your Name is a unique mediation on many ideas relevant to Japan and beyond. Despite its plot built around and impenending cataclysm and time and space dilation, at its core it’s a rather grounded story about memory and contrast. Contrast on terms of geographic location, but also gender and sex.

The anime follows high school students Mitsuha and Taki, as they begin mysteriously swapping bodies. This isn’t initially played for drama as the two struggle to comprehend the shift. While inhabiting each other’s bodies, they indirectly help improve the other’s life in minor ways. Their swap also exposes some of the two’s similarities and differences. Both Mitsuha and Taki are shown to be dissatisfied with their lives and homes, yet struggle when faced with the new expectations of the swap. Mitsuha grow’s increasingly assertive, as Taki compels her to stand up against her father. Meanwhile, Mitsuha’s experience in Taki exposes some struggles of gender performance, as she uses incorrect honorifics when hanging out with his friends.

One of the larger ways they eventually help which becomes the crux of the conflict, involves an approaching comet. Due to time dilation brought on by the body swapping, Taki learns Mitsuha’s town is doomed by an unexpected collision. By reconnecting with the spiritual ways of the small town, he’s able to briefly cross over into Mitsuha’s timeline and warn her of the calamity. Though the asteroid still hits the town, much of the population is saved by Taki’s warning and Mitsuha’s efforts. This isn’t however until Mitsuha convinces her father the mayor to overcome his corruption and adequately warn the town. Both leading up to the collision and after the fact, Taki questions why he should care so much about the rural town where he really doesn’t know anyone. To me this is a reaffirmation of the anime’s message, of the importance of learning from those of different backgrounds. The anime is certainly rooted in a conservative respect for tradition, but without undermining the value in cooperation between old and new. 

[elizalazuli]

The author astutely points out several themes from the film that I overlooked in my blog post. Their observation about Mitsuha having to overturn the power dynamic between herself and her father—and between the town and her father—is a particularly interesting one. Because Mitsuha’s father holds political power and is in the middle of trying to win a campaign, he seems to feel the constant need to assert his dominance and prove himself worthy of leading the town. Therefore, when Mitsuha and her friends interfere with his sense of control, a clear discord arises. Her father struggles to regain authority and seems unwilling to allow them to act outside of his knowledge.

[elizalazuli]

Your Name (2016) and Power

This was my first time viewing Your Name. The film was very cute and featured a mysterious plot with beautifully drawn animation that captured the beauty of both city and rural settings. Beyond its captivating essence, the film also highlights power dynamics in relationships and society.

The story centers around two characters: Taki, a young adult male living in Tokyo, and Mitsuha, a young adult female living in rural Japan. These characters randomly swap places, each inhabiting the other's body for a day at a time. This strange switch eventually stops when a twist of events reveals that Mitsuha and her entire town were killed by a meteor strike. It’s also at this point that we learn Mitsuha had been living in the past, despite the body swaps appearing to occur simultaneously at the beginning of the film. When Taki discovers the truth, he realizes he’s in a unique position of power. With knowledge that could potentially save lives, he might be able to prevent the tragedy—if he can somehow go back in time. Through a sequence of events, Taki’s plan ends up working, and Mitsuha and her town are saved. This perhaps illustrates how possessing certain insider knowledge that others do not can place someone in a position of power.

Power is also demonstrated in the relationships between characters. Since both Taki and Mitsuha are still in high school, their parents wield power over them through disciplinary action (such as scolding) and instruction. In these instances, the young adults clearly experience a sense of powerlessness and even embarrassment. Power dynamics are also present at Taki’s workplace, a high-end restaurant, where employees are forced to cater to guests. One scene stands out: a male customer complains about his meal and then secretly cuts Miss Okudera’s skirt. As someone who has worked in customer service for 15 years, this scene definitely fired me up. Being powerless against awful guests is an incredibly frustrating experience. The most frustrating aspect—one that is also depicted in this scene—is that the customer often knows they are in a position of power, and that you, as an employee, are more or less powerless if you want to keep your job.

[ianjapanblog]

Xenoblade Chronicles 2

At first glance, Xenoblade Chronicles 2 might seem like your classic anime-style JRPG — flashy battles, over-the-top character designs, and a sprawling fantasy world perched on the backs of giant Titans. But beneath all that spectacle lies a story with surprising emotional depth and themes that speak to both Japanese cultural anxieties and global challenges.

Set in a world where humanity survives atop living Titans above a sea of clouds, the game tackles the fragility of civilization in a world slowly dying. That theme — a waning world, clinging to dwindling resources — feels eerily familiar, especially for Japan. As a country with limited natural resources and an aging population, Japan has long faced concerns about sustainability and the future of its society. Xenoblade Chronicles 2 reflects these fears through its depiction of nations fighting for survival while ignoring the root causes of their decline.

On a broader scale, the game explores the dangers of blind nationalism, the cost of technological overreach, and what happens when people are treated as tools — all through its central concept of “Blades,” sentient beings summoned by humans to serve in battle. While the game’s world is fantastical, the moral dilemmas it poses about power, agency, and environmental decay feel painfully real.

At its heart, though, Xenoblade Chronicles 2 is also hopeful. It’s about connection, empathy, and the belief that individuals — even in the face of massive, systemic problems — can still choose compassion over destruction. That message resonates far beyond Japan. In an age of climate crisis, political division, and technological disruption, the game’s story reminds us of the power of human connection and the possibility of forging a better path forward, one choice at a time.

Whether you're in it for the epic battles or the deeper themes, Xenoblade Chronicles 2 delivers.

[elizalazuli]

The author succeeds at identifying the key themes in Xenoblade Chronicles 2. I agree that the battles are definitely epic, and the character design is impressively creative. I found the idea of relying on an object like the Conduit to save humanity from its own destructive behavior to be an eerie choice. It clearly backfired in the game—and maybe that outcome reflects the broader failure of trying to engineer our way out of genuinely caring for the environment and the natural world. In that light, the early description of humans as “selfish” doesn’t seem too far off, although I appreciate the author's more positive take on the power of human empathy.

[elizalazuli]

Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (2017) and Objectification in Ecocriticism

This was my first time watching cutscenes from Xenoblade Chronicles 2, a fantasy action role-playing game. I’ve never experienced anime in this way before, and I found it to be an interesting experience. Overall, I didn’t fully grasp every concept—it has a lot going on (between Blades, Titans, Aegises and their various abilities, the evolution of humanity, and the fall of a past world, etc.). A rewatch might be helpful at some point, or better yet, actually playing the game could give me a deeper understanding.

The story follows Rex, who becomes the Driver of an Aegis and journeys to Elysium to return Pyra (who also manifests as her “sister,” Mythra) to her home. With every new cutscene, the party seems to gain another bodacious, scantily clad female character or some bizarre yet fantastic creature. The expanding crew continues to battle the antagonist, Malos (a Blade), and his team. In Cutscene 167, the creator Klaus reveals the interconnected nature of Blades, Titans, and humans. We also get an explanation of where the current world came from. Apparently, the previous world was in bad shape due to human activity, and Klaus believed the Conduit could offer a way for humanity to escape the damage they’d caused. Instead, the Conduit triggered complete destruction, forcing Klaus to essentially create a new world from scratch.

The nature and power of the Conduit is pretty mysterious. It immediately reminded me of the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey, which suggests some kind of evolutionary boost for humanity. It also made me think of current technologies like advanced (and expensive) carbon capture systems—designed to reduce the environmental damage caused by carbon emissions. Similar to what’s portrayed in the anime and discussed in The Drama of the Anthropocene, these technologies may just enable humans to continue their destructive habits. They often seem to represent yet another attempt to dominate nature through tech, frequently leading to unintended consequences.

[aperture880]

Blog Post: Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind presents a unique and engrossing exploration of human’s relation to nature. It does so primarily by tying its world and messages back to fears of nuclear fallout, which was still a common fear at the time of its release. 

The film follows Nausicaä, a young woman living in the seemingly idealistic Valley of the Wind. The world of this anime experienced a cataclysmic man-made event, creating a seemingly toxic and uninhabitable jungle full of spores. Those in the valley recognize and respect the danger this region poses, taking largely preventative measures to prevent it from encroaching on their homes. The film opens showing Nausicaä harvesting resources from the region, suggesting a degree of cooperation with nature. By contrast, the film’s conflict is sparked by the conflict between the Tolmekia Empire and Pejite. Tolmekia also recognizes the threat the toxic jungle holds, but plans to resurrect one of the Giant Warriors to eliminate it. These warriors are the same bioweapons that initially destroyed the world. The film’s conflict stems from the Tolmekia’s occupation of and subsequent conflict with those living in the Valley of the Wind. In this way, each faction represents different ecological ideologies.

Like many ecological films, this one appears to adopt the stance of nature’s independence. That is, nature acts and will continue to act independently of humans, including healing from their exploitation. Throughout the film Nausicaä discovers that the toxins are only concentrated in the jungle by the soil, and that the plants growing in the region are actually just filtering the toxins amassed by humans. This further ties back to the film’s nuclear symbolism, while also being applicable to pollution more broadly. While this discovery does well to cement nature as not inherently malicious, it may leave the audience lacking in terms of actionable behavior. The film therefore appears to take the stance that at our current level of engagement and exploitation with nature, perhaps the best thing we can do is disengage. Though not necessarily bad advice, it’d prove practically impossible given our current Anthropogenic reliance. In spite of this shortcoming, this is still a compelling and thought provoking anime on the nature of our relation to nature.

[elizalazuli]

The author does a great job summarizing the key takeaways from the film. However, I slightly disagree with the idea that the film suggests leaving nature alone. I would argue that Nausicaä’s dedication to understanding and working with nature may actually imply the need for continued, conscious efforts to protect the natural world. The final scene, where through her sensitivity and compassion she recognizes how to prevent the stampede of Ohms from destroying her town, suggests that careful intervention can be necessary. Rather than stepping back entirely, the film may advocate for targeted and thoughtful solutions to help us live in harmony with the planet.

[elizalazuli]

Nausicaä of the Valley Wind (1984) and Instrumentalism in Ecocriticism

Surprisingly, this was my first time watching this fantastic Studio Ghibli film, despite being an avid nature appreciator and longtime Studio Ghibli fan. The film's message about the need to find ways to live in harmony with nature is just as relevant today as it was when the film was first released 40 years ago.

The story centers around Nausicaä, princess of the Valley of the Wind. Though her small village is conveniently protected by purifying winds, the neighboring forest is seen as a dangerous place for humans, as it is home to toxic spores and giant insects that can easily kill. However, the forest isn’t what it first appears to be. Nausicaä, through her deep compassion and sensitivity, has developed a unique connection with the forest and its inhabitants. She comes to understand that the so-called “fearsome” creatures react out of fear, much like humans. She also learns that the forest itself isn’t inherently toxic. Rather, it’s the soil that has been poisoned by pollution from the industrial world. In fact, the trees are evolving to purify the air and cleanse the earth.

This insight draws a clear parallel to the environmental issues we face today due to anthropogenic activity: the degradation of land through unsustainable use, the emission of compounds that fuel global warming, and the mass pollution of ecosystems—from oil spills and industrial waste in rivers to the long-term impacts of radiation from nuclear disasters.

The film also challenges the viewer to consider how instrumentalism can be used when grappling with environmental collapse. Specifically, it raises a critical question: what path should humans take to protect ourselves from the very destruction we’ve caused? As Nausicaä demonstrates, the answer is not to fight fire with fire by hoarding destructive technologies out of fear. Instead, we must learn to understand the planet’s natural cycles and cooperate with them to protect humankind, the natural world, and the planet from our shared fate.

[aperture880]

Blog Post: The End of Evangelion

In light of the series’ more abstract conclusion, The End of Evangelion was released to address fan confusion. Though I didn’t fully grasp the original show’s ending, likely in part to not watching every episode, I nonetheless respect its avant-garde approach. While this film’s certainly presents a more conventional action-packed conclusion, I enjoy how it still ties back to the series in new compelling ways. I see why it’s garnered the reputation it now has.

Coming off the heels of killing Kaworu Nagisa, Shinji is more distraught than ever. He seeks the reassurance of Asuka, who’s currently recovering in a hospital. In his desperation, Shinji chooses to objectify her, masturbating over her body. This only further cements his dour state, as he voices disgust of himself after the fact. As the Nerv headquarters is attacked by Japanese military, Shinji seems ready to die. It’s only thanks to Misato’s sacrifice, begging him to at least live his life standing, that lets him escape the military raid. This completes Misato’s arc from the series, as she looks out for Shinji’s wellbeing in the ultimate capacity. Unfortunately it’s not enough, and Shinji still finds himself hesitating. His own Eva unit takes matters into its own hands, bringing Shinji to confront Seele after they dismember Asuka and her Eva unit. 

What follows is the symbolic crucifixion of Eva Unit 1, and with it the initiation of the Third Impact. With it comes the unification of humanity previously mentioned in the series, only now more explicitly shown. Also like in the series, this chain of events sends Shinji into a depressive, helpless episode. Through a new mediation on community, self-worth, and hardship, accompanied by fittingly surreal live-action footage, Shinji once again rejects the unified world. Though the subsequent fallout of this decision proves darker than the show’s conclusion, it’s also less ambiguous, while retaining a similar message. 

[elizalazuli]

The author provides an excellent, succinct analysis of End of Evangelion. Personally, I preferred the original ending for its avant-garde and ambiguous nature. Additionally, it felt more full-circle, as Shinji was able to work through his psychological struggles and find acceptance of himself. I agree that the alternate ending is darker, as he ultimately fails to connect with ‘other.’ With this ending, it seems that Shinji chooses to continue to live a self-conscious existence, burdened by his unmet expectations of reality.

[elizalazuli]

End of Evangelion (1997): Masculinity and Fear of Other

End of Evangelion presents a visually striking alternate ending to a action packed and heady series. However, in this version, Shinji reaches his lowest point, failing to find the redemption he achieved in the final episodes of the original series.

Throughout the film, Shinji behaves in an undeniably pathetic manner. At his worst, he spends much of the time curled up in a ball, crying; at his best, he remains indecisive and passive. At one point, with a gun to his head, he does absolutely nothing, needing Katsuragi to step in and save him. Before her death, she leaves him with the words: "Live your life standing up, then you can die" (19:10). Yet, it seems clear this is not what Shinji wants. He is too consumed by his internal struggles to function in the outside world, let alone cooperate with others. Even as the world crumbles around him, he remains paralyzed, unable to act—even to save others. In this way, he is not only standing in his own way but also in everyone else’s.

Shinji’s true conflict lies in his inability to find peace with himself, which in turn prevents him from connecting with others. His persistent fear of rejection ultimately leads him to apparently refuse joining the collective consciousness at the film’s end. Paradoxically, he states with uncertainty that he would prefer to maintain the borders between himself and others. The ending carries a Buddhist undertone, paralleling the concept of enlightenment—of becoming “one with everything”—through the collective consciousness, a state where form and duality dissolve. However, by continuing to reject himself and, perhaps, his own performance of masculinity, Shinji insists on maintaining walls between himself and others, barring himself from a world without distinctions. Unable to reconcile with himself, it seems Shinji remains incapable of achieving true peace or connection with others.

[ianjapanblog]

Neon Genesis Evangelion (pt.2)

Exploring Neon Genesis Evangelion: Episodes 8, 16, 24, and 26

Neon Genesis Evangelion is the kind of show that starts off as a mecha anime and slowly unravels into something much deeper—an exploration of identity, loneliness, and the human condition. Episodes 8, 16, 24, and 26 highlight some of the most intense emotional and psychological moments in the series, addressing struggles that resonate not only in Japan but around the world.

Episode 8 introduces Asuka Langley Soryu, a fiery, confident pilot who seems like the polar opposite of Shinji. But beneath her bravado is deep insecurity—a reflection of Japan’s rigid expectations of success. Asuka represents the pressure to be "the best" while suppressing emotional vulnerability, something many people globally can relate to, especially in competitive cultures.

Episode 16 is where things get existential. Shinji is trapped inside an Angel and forced to confront his own fears and self-doubt. His struggle mirrors Japan’s growing conversation around mental health, especially among youth who feel lost in a rigid system. Globally, it touches on themes of self-worth and the fear of truly knowing oneself.

Episode 24 is one of the most pivotal in the series. Kaworu, the mysterious Fifth Child, offers Shinji unconditional acceptance, something he’s never received before. His presence challenges ideas of human connection and love, themes that are universal. His tragic fate speaks to the pain of losing someone who truly understands you.

Then we reach Episode 26—the mind-bending conclusion. Instead of a traditional action-packed finale, we dive into the human psyche, tackling themes of isolation, self-acceptance, and identity. It’s chaotic but profound, echoing struggles faced worldwide: Who are we without external validation? Do we deserve happiness?

These episodes solidify Evangelion as a series that isn’t just about giant robots—it’s about what it means to be human.

[elizalazuli]

The author effectively captures the essence of each episode in the Part 2 viewings. An interesting point they make is that, while Asuka may seem like Shinji’s polar opposite, she also struggles with insecurity. However, her insecurity manifests differently—driving her to aggressively assert herself and strive for excellence to prove her worth. In some ways, Asuka embodies a more stereotypically ‘masculine’ demeanor. Therefore, could there be a connection between insecurity and how one embraces their gender performativity?