30 years after its debut on Japanese TV in 1995, Neon Genesis Evangelion remains one of the most recognizable and influential anime of all time. Although the franchise officially concluded in 2021 with the film Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time, the series continues to thrive. Just this week, Japan unveiled a new six-meter-tall Evangelion Unit-01 statue as part of a local government tourism campaign. Yet despite its decades-long popularity, one aspect has always perplexed both hardcore fans and casual viewers alike: the original ending of the TV series.

In the final episode, main character Shinji Ikari undergoes a profound journey of self-discovery. He confronts his feelings of self-hatred, itting, “I hate myself. But maybe I can learn to love myself.” This leads to a moment of clarity: “Maybe it’s okay for me to be here! That’s right! I’m me, nothing more, nothing less! I’m me. I want to be me! I want to be here! And it’s okay for me to be here!” The series concludes with the other characters applauding him, each stepping forward to say, “Congratulations!”

For a show filled with mecha action and deepening mysteries that seemed to be building toward a grand climax, the small-scale, introspective ending of Evangelion felt like a shock. Viewers were left questioning the intentions of creator and director Hideaki Anno. Was this abrupt finale a deliberate artistic choice—or simply the result of a rushed and chaotic production schedule? What did the ending really mean? Now, thanks to a recently unearthed interview with Anno himself, we may finally have some clarity on a long-baffling conclusion.

Anno Speaks: “I Never Wanted to Provide Answers”

A Story Shaped by Inner Turmoil

To many viewers, the ending of Neon Genesis Evangelion felt abrupt, abstract, and emotionally raw—an unexpected departure from the action-heavy, mystery-laden narrative that had come before. But according to Anno, that shift was entirely intentional. “I see filmmaking as a kind of service industry,” he explained in a 2001 interview on NHK’s Top Runner. “My goal was never to provide answers or a sense of resolution.” The final episodes of the TV series were purposely designed as an incomplete story. “That ambiguity became part of the service I was providing,” he said, reframing the lack of closure not as a failure, but as a creative decision rooted in emotional honesty.

Anno revealed that the fragmented and introspective conclusion was a direct reflection of his mental state at the time. “The truth is, I didn’t really understand myself or the world around me,” he itted. “So instead of writing a story based on clear logic or structure, I used that confusion and uncertainty as the core of the narrative.” In place of tidy resolutions, Evangelion offered an honest portrayal of inner turmoil and emotional unrest. “One of the services I could provide to the audience was to show that confusion,” Anno said. “I felt that if people could relate to that, then it was a worthwhile experience.” For him, the ending wasn’t about explaining the plot—it was about laying bare the emotional truth behind it.

Early Buzz and Western Anticipation

Eva’s Slow-Burn U.S. Release

As an anime fan in the 1990s, I heard about the ending of Neon Genesis Evangelion before I ever saw it. The show had become a massive hit in Japan, and word of its impact was spreading among early Western anime fans. We were eager to see what Hideaki Anno and Studio Gainax—already known for standout titles like Gunbuster and Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water—would deliver next. But it was the final episodes of Evangelion that caused the biggest stir. The show’s abrupt, introspective conclusion sparked controversy in Japan, making headlines in major magazines. Viewers turned to the early internet to either speculate on what Anno was trying to say—or, in some cases, to vent their frustration and anger.

The U.S.-based ADV Films finally began officially releasing Neon Genesis Evangelion in English in North America in 1997, nearly a year after the original 26 episodes had finished airing in Japan. I spending the next year watching just two episodes per month as the series slowly rolled out on VHS cassette. As we approached the final volumes, anticipation was high—overseas fans knew something major was coming at the show’s climax. My friends and I made a pact to avoid spoilers as much as possible, which—thankfully—was easier in the pre-smartphone, pre-social media era. We had heard the ending was going to be “weird,” based on the buzz from Japan, but beyond that, we went in raw.

Fan Reaction: Shock, Debate, and Disbelief

The Mystery Endures in the Rebuild Era

I can still recall the shock and confusion I felt as the final moments of Episode 26 played out, with each character stepping forward to congratulate Shinji. I thinking, “Is that it? WTF!” The reactions among American fans weren’t all that different from those in Japan—there was a shared sense that this wasn’t the ending we had expected at all. Some viewers became obsessed, poring over every line and scene in search of a deeper meaning or hidden explanation. Others dismissed the finale entirely, writing the show off as overly arty, self-indulgent, or just plain pretentious.

The conclusion of Evangelion caused such a stir—both in Japan and abroad—that Hideaki Anno returned to the project to offer a new take on the ending. Released in 1997, the feature film The End of Evangelion reimagined the final two episodes from a more grounded, cinematic perspective, delivering the apocalyptic spectacle many fans felt had been missing. But while the film answered some lingering questions, it also took the story to even darker and more surreal places—proving that “weird” was still very much part of Evangelion’s DNA.

Years later, Anno returned once more with the Rebuild of Evangelion films—a retelling that began as a faithful remake and gradually spiraled into something entirely new. The visuals were sleeker, the story more expansive, but even with all the updates, the core ambiguity remained. Looking back, I can’t help but think of Anno’s own words from that earlier interview: “I didn’t really understand myself or the world around me.” That same uncertainty still pulses through every version of Evangelion, and maybe that’s why it sticks with us. The mystery was never meant to be solved—it was meant to be felt.