It took nearly a decade. For years, the "Rebuild of Evangelion" project felt like a slow-motion car crash of delays, production woes, and a director, Hideaki Anno, who seemed more interested in Godzilla than finishing the story that defined a generation. When Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time finally hit screens, the collective sigh of relief from the anime community was audible across the globe. But it wasn't just relief. It was a weird, messy, beautiful kind of closure that none of us—honestly—actually expected to get.
Most people went into this movie expecting a giant robot fight to end all giant robot fights. We got some of that, sure. The visuals are bananas. Studio Khara pushed the limits of CG integration in ways that make the original 1995 series look like a flipbook. However, the real meat of the film isn't the Spear of Longinus or the Fourth Impact. It’s a middle-aged man finally telling his younger self that it’s okay to grow up.
The Village 3 sequence is the heart of the film
The first hour of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is a massive middle finger to anyone who just wanted high-octane action. It’s slow. It’s quiet. It focuses on farming.
Think about that for a second. In a franchise known for psychological meltdowns and cosmic horror, the most important part of the finale is watching "Look-alike" Rei (the Kuro-Rei version) learn how to say "good morning" and "thank you." This isn't filler. This is the entire point. By grounding the characters in a rustic, post-apocalyptic village where survivors are just trying to grow rice and raise kids, Anno is showing us what they are actually fighting for.
Shinji spends a huge chunk of this time in a catatonic state. He’s broken. After the events of 3.0 You Can (Not) Redo, he’s responsible for almost ending the world—again. In any other anime, he’d get a pep talk and be back in the cockpit in ten minutes. Here, he has to sit in the dirt. He has to watch others live. He has to feel the weight of his depression without the distraction of a mission. It’s uncomfortable to watch, but it’s the most honest depiction of trauma the series has ever attempted.
What people get wrong about Mari Illustrious Makinami
Mari is a controversial figure. You've probably seen the forum wars. Fans complain that she has no backstory, that she’s a "Mary Sue," or that she just exists to sell merchandise. But if you look at Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time as a meta-commentary on Hideaki Anno’s life, Mari makes perfect sense.
She is the "Extra Variable."
In the original series and The End of Evangelion, the characters were stuck in a loop of self-destruction. Shinji, Asuka, and Rei were all extensions of Anno’s own psyche—his depression, his isolation, his resentment. Mari is different. She’s the only one who enjoys piloting. She’s the only one who isn’t weighed down by the "Curse of the Eva." Many critics, including those at Polygon and Anime News Network, have noted that Mari represents the outside world—specifically, Anno’s wife, Moyoco Anno. She is the person who reaches into the dark, internal world of Evangelion and drags Shinji out into the real light. She isn't there to have a complex tragic backstory; she’s there to be the exit ramp.
Dealing with the Gendo Ikari problem
For twenty-five years, Gendo was just a cold, calculating villain with a cool pair of glasses. He was the "bad dad" archetype. Then came the final act of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time.
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The confrontation between Shinji and Gendo inside the "Anti-Universe" is basically a therapy session with a massive budget. We finally see Gendo’s POV. We see his own loneliness, his obsession with Yui, and the fact that he was just a scared kid who never learned how to connect with people. When Gendo sees Yui within Shinji and finally hugs his son, it’s a moment of catharsis that The End of Evangelion denied us.
It turns out the biggest threat to humanity wasn't an Angel. It was a man who couldn't process his grief.
The visual shift in the final act
You noticed the sets, right? During the final battle, the world starts looking like a film set. The backgrounds are literally flat paintings or scaffolding. This is Anno pulling back the curtain. He’s telling the audience: "This is a story. These are characters. This is a movie."
By breaking the fourth wall visually, the film transitions from a literal sci-fi battle into a symbolic exorcism. The "Neon Genesis" isn't a magical reset button; it’s the act of rewriting the world to be one without Evangelions. It's a move toward reality.
Why the ending hits differently in 2026
Looking back at this film now, years after its 2021 Japanese release and subsequent global rollout on Amazon Prime Video, the impact hasn't faded. In fact, it’s grown. We live in an era of endless franchises. Movies never end; they just set up sequels.
Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time did the unthinkable: it actually ended.
When we see the adult Shinji (voiced by Ryunosuke Kamiki instead of Megumi Ogata) at the train station in Ube, it’s a gut punch. He’s healthy. He’s happy. He’s in a world that looks like our own. The train station is a real place—Ube-Shinkawa Station in Anno’s hometown. By ending the film there, Anno is essentially walking his characters home. He’s letting them go, and he’s telling us to let them go, too.
It’s a rare piece of media that demands you stop consuming it and go live your life.
The technical achievements of Studio Khara
We have to talk about the "Long Shot" sequences. Khara used motion capture for the Eva fights in a way that feels jittery and strangely human. It’s not the fluid, "perfect" animation of a Mappa or a Ufotable. It feels tactile. The sheer scale of the Wunder fleet engagement—the "Ship-to-Ship" combat—is a masterclass in chaotic geography. You barely know where you are, but you feel the momentum.
- The Score: Shiro Sagisu is a madman. Mixing classic NGE themes with sweeping, almost operatic new arrangements. The use of "Voyager" at the end? Absolute perfection.
- The Length: At 155 minutes, it’s a marathon. But every minute of that slow-burn first act makes the frenetic second half earn its emotional payoff.
- The Voice Acting: Megumi Ogata’s performance as Shinji is career-defining. You can hear the decades of weight in her voice, especially when Shinji finally finds his resolve.
Real talk: Is it better than End of Evangelion?
This is the question that divides the fandom. The End of Evangelion (1997) is a masterpiece of nihilism and surrealism. It’s a "bad trip" captured on celluloid. If you want a film that explores the raw, ugly edges of the human soul, 1997 is your winner.
But Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is the work of a director who has healed. It’s a "good trip." It doesn't overwrite the original ending; it sits alongside it as a different answer to the same question. If End of Eva was a scream of pain, 3.0+1.0 is a deep, cleansing breath. You need both to understand the full picture of what Evangelion actually is.
Misconceptions about the "Rebuild" timeline
One thing people often trip over is whether this is a sequel or a remake. The film makes it pretty clear: it’s both. The "loops" are real. Kaworu Nagisa’s dialogue about "meeting again and again" confirms that these characters have been trapped in a cycle of suffering for eternity. This movie is the break in that cycle. It’s the final loop.
Actionable insights for the viewer
If you’re planning a rewatch or diving in for the first time, keep these points in mind to get the most out of the experience:
- Watch the "Until You Come to Me" short first. It’s a beautiful bit of connective tissue that sets the mood for the final film’s desolate opening.
- Focus on the background characters. Toji, Kensuke, and Hikari as adults provide the moral compass for the film. Their lives are proof that humanity can survive without Evas.
- Pay attention to the color shifts. Notice how the world moves from the oppressive "Red Earth" to natural greens and blues as Shinji’s mental state improves.
- Read about Hideaki Anno’s "Goodbye all of EVANGELION" documentary. Seeing the grueling production process makes the film’s themes of perseverance and "finishing the job" hit much harder.
- Don't look for a "Lore" explanation for everything. Some things in the Anti-Universe are purely metaphorical. If you try to map out the "metaphysics" of the Imaginary Eva with a ruler and a compass, you’ll miss the emotional point.
The film is a goodbye. It’s right there in the title (the "One Last Kiss" song by Hikaru Utada isn't just a bop; it’s the theme of the whole experience). You’ve spent years with these kids. You’ve seen them die, cry, and reboot. Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time gives you permission to stop worrying about them. They’re going to be okay. And so are you.
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To fully appreciate the weight of the ending, go back and watch the final episode of the 1995 TV series immediately after finishing this movie. The "Congratulations!" scene takes on a whole new meaning when you realize it took twenty-five years for that sentiment to finally feel earned.