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Evangelion: 2.0 You Can (Not) Advance poster

Evangelion: 2.0 You Can (Not) Advance

2009 · Masayuki

For when you want spectacle with a soul — a big, loud, gorgeous action movie that sneaks up on you emotionally. Comfort food at first, genuinely intense by the end; best when you're ready to feel wrung out.

What it's about

Monstrous beings called Angels keep descending on the fortified city of Tokyo-3, and a handful of teenagers are the only ones who can pilot the biomechanical giants built to stop them. Into that pressure cooker arrive two new pilots — the fierce, prideful Asuka and the enigmatic Mari — while the adults running the defense agency NERV pursue a secret agenda of their own. At the center is Shinji, a boy trying to connect with the people around him even as the stakes of each battle grow apocalyptic.

The experience

It runs hot and fast: dazzling, color-drenched battle sequences that hit like a rollercoaster, threaded with quieter scenes of teenagers cooking dinner and testing out something like friendship. The warmth is real, which is exactly why the mounting dread underneath it lands so hard — by the finale the film is operating at an almost overwhelming emotional and visual pitch.

The craft

Made at Studio Khara, the company Hideaki Anno founded to reclaim his own creation, it fuses hand-drawn intensity with digital production, and the action choreography is some of the most kinetic in modern animation — geometrically audacious, saturated in color, cut to the millisecond. This is a film built for the biggest screen and loudest speakers you can find.

Why it matters

The second chapter of the Rebuild of Evangelion project, where Anno's rewriting of his epochal 1990s series stopped being a remaster and became something new — familiar scenes bending into unfamiliar shapes, which electrified and destabilized a global fanbase in equal measure.

Reception & legacy: how Evangelion: 2.0 You Can (Not) Advance was received, argued over, and remembered →

The second installment of the Rebuild of Evangelion tetralogy is where Hideaki Anno's project reveals its true ambition: not a remaster of his epochal 1990s television series but a rewriting of it, familiar scenes bending into unfamiliar shapes until longtime viewers lose their footing entirely. Teenage pilots in biomechanical giants still defend a fortified Tokyo-3 from inscrutable invaders called Angels, but the emotional temperature has changed — warmer, more social, almost hopeful, which in the Evangelion universe is its own kind of dread. Produced at Studio Khara, the company Anno founded to reclaim his creation, the film marries hand-drawn intensity with digital production, and its battle sequences — color-saturated, geometrically audacious — rank among the most kinetic in modern anime. A new pilot, Mari, and a subtly altered Asuka signal that the deck has been reshuffled. The final movement, scored to Hikaru Utada, escalates with an abandon that left theaters in stunned silence, and its closing minutes remain a landmark of animation as pure emotional overload. Few franchise films have dared to betray their source this thrillingly.

Lines of influence