Entertainment
Netflix’s 26-Part Sci-Fi Anime Series Is One of the Best on Any Streaming Platform
Neon Genesis Evangelion has spent nearly three decades being called one of the greatest anime ever made, which is usually the quickest way to scare off new viewers. Hype like that tends to promise something definitive and universally satisfying. Evangelion is neither: it’s messy, polarizing, occasionally frustrating, and still, somehow, essential.
The TV series originally aired in 1995 and had 26 episodes written and directed by Hideaki Anno. Now the series is available on Netflix and is readily accessible to audiences worldwide, at a time when many viewers are discovering one of television’s most significant yet controversial series ever. What can initially be assumed to be a simple sci-fi story becomes a much more complex piece of art when examined through the lens of emotional and physical discomfort rather than the visual spectacle familiar in traditional media industry practices.
A Mecha Anime That Deconstructs Its Own Genre
The setup is clean enough. In a post-apocalyptic future, humans are being attacked by beings referred to as Angels. The only way to combat them is through bio-mechanical weapons called Evangelions, which can only be piloted by a select group of teenagers. Shinji Ikari (Spike Spencer), a 14-year-old recluse, is dragged into this nightmare by his father, who has abandoned him, to become a savior of the human race.
For a while, the series follows those clichés. After several missions, the threat of the Angels increases, and some actions still hold up after years have passed, but from the beginning, there are subtle hints that something about them is off. The victories aren’t triumphant, the systems in place feel cold and transactional, and Shinji, rather than rising to the occasion, hesitates — often. By the midpoint, Evangelion has already started shifting its weight. The battles remain, but they are no longer the point.
A Psychological Character Study Disguised as Sci-Fi
What replaces the spectacle is a much more difficult experience: a continuous exploration of characters who are almost universally emotionally shattered. Shinji is written as withdrawn, self-critical, and desperate for approval, shaped by abandonment and a constant fear of rejection. The series does not provide a fix to that, but rather shows how he lives with it; Asuka’s (Tiffany Grant) self-confidence is simply a cover for her insecurities, and Rei’s (Amanda Winn-Lee) emotional detachment elicits discomforting thoughts about who she is or why she exists.
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Adults are just as negatively affected by these issues, with Misato’s (Allison Keith) ability to operate in the field contrasted with her inability to maintain stability in her personal life, and Gendo’s (Tristan MacAvery) methodical personality causing one to question the intentions behind the company’s goals.
The series draws on psychological frameworks associated with figures like Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung, but it doesn’t come off as having been studied or analyzed. Rather, they aggregate and build to create an experience that is personal to each viewer, through themes of loneliness, avoidance, and the struggle to develop interpersonal relationships, or face the alternative: isolation.
The Ending Is Divisive — and That’s Not a Flaw
The final two episodes are where Evangelion stops pretending to be anything conventional. The narrative collapses inward, focusing almost entirely on Shinji’s internal state, delivered through abstract imagery, minimal animation, and extended introspection.
At the time, it frustrated audiences, and it still does, but that reaction is part of what’s kept the series relevant. The ending doesn’t resolve the story in a traditional sense; it just reframes it, prioritizing emotional clarity over plot closure. The later release of The End of Evangelion offers a more external version of events, but it doesn’t replace what the series finale is trying to do; if anything, the tension between those interpretations is part of the experience.
What’s striking about revisiting Neon Genesis Evangelion now is how little it feels like a relic. The animation has its limitations, especially toward the end, but the direction remains sharp, and the storytelling still feels unusually bold. More importantly, its themes haven’t aged; if anything, they’ve become more recognizable. The fear of rejection, the instinct to withdraw, the difficulty of understanding yourself in relation to others — these are ideas that land just as hard now as they did in the ’90s. It’s not always an easy watch. It’s not always an enjoyable one, either, but it’s the kind of series that stays with you, whether you love it or push back against it.
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