Hideaki Anno Shipped Evangelion Unfinished, Then Rebuilt It Twice

In 1996, Hideaki Anno shipped an anime finale that was literally unfinished. Fans sent death threats. Graffiti appeared on his studio’s walls. The national press ran opinion pieces condemning it.

He didn’t apologize. He rebuilt the ending, then rebuilt the entire series. Twice. Over 26 years.

Neon Genesis Evangelion is what happens when a creator has to ship under impossible conditions, then lives with the consequences long enough to get it right.

The Crisis

To understand Evangelion’s ending, you have to understand what Anno was working with and against. GAINAX, his studio, was nearly bankrupt. They’d been teetering since the commercial failure of Royal Space Force: The Wings of Honnêamise and the grueling production of Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water. The studio was too small to produce a TV series. In 1993, King Records approached them with an offer: they’d guarantee a television time slot for “something, anything.” That desperation became Evangelion.

Anno himself was in the middle of a four-year depression. After Nadia, he described himself as “a broken man who could do nothing for four years; a man who ran away for four years, one who was simply not dead.” He poured that experience directly into the show. Episode by episode, the series got darker, more introspective and more psychologically raw. Anno was writing his own mental state into the characters.

Then the production got hit by something nobody could have predicted. On March 20, 1995, the Aum Shinrikyo cult carried out a sarin gas attack on the Tokyo subway, killing 14 people and injuring thousands.⊕ Anno’s planned storyline (which involved themes of apocalyptic destruction and secretive organizations) suddenly mirrored real-world terrorism. He was forced to rewrite significant portions of the latter half.

Budget problems compounded everything. GAINAX’s funding was inconsistent. Sponsors backed out as the show’s content grew darker. The animation quality swung wildly between episodes: some lavishly produced, others relying on recycled footage and extended still frames. The production was barely keeping ahead of the broadcast schedule.

The Ending That Broke Everything

By the time Anno reached episodes 25 and 26 (the finale) he was out of time, out of money and still rewriting scripts. He couldn’t decide on the format until the last minute. Multiple rewrites. Multiple scrapped concepts.

What aired on March 27, 1996, was unlike anything television audiences had seen. Instead of resolving the story’s apocalyptic plot, Anno abandoned conventional narrative entirely. The final two episodes took place inside the characters’ minds: abstract, minimalist, collaging still images, pencil sketches and philosophical dialogue about identity and human connection.

It was brilliant. It was also, by Anno’s own later admission, not what he’d originally planned. The intended ending (a dramatic, action-driven conclusion) simply couldn’t be produced with the time and budget remaining. What replaced it was Anno channeling his constraints into something experimental, turning limitation into artistic statement.

Japan lost its mind.

The Backlash

The fan reaction was immediate and violent. Anthropologist Eiji Otsuka published a letter in the Yomiuri Shimbun, one of Japan’s largest newspapers, condemning the finale. GAINAX’s offices were vandalized. Anno received death threats, one of which simply repeated “Anno, I’ll kill you” over and over.⊕

Anno stood his ground.

“Most anime fans are furious. I understand their anger,” he said. “I can’t help laughing when hard-core anime fans say that we did a very lousy job, with intentional negligence. No, we didn’t. In fact, every member at GAINAX gave more energy than anybody can imagine. I feel sad that those fans couldn’t see our efforts. Personally I think the original TV ending we showed ended up beautifully.”

That’s a creator defending shipped work under fire. He acknowledged the anger. He stood in the gap between what he’d intended and what he’d delivered, and refused to call the effort anything less than total.

The Rebuild(s)

Anno didn’t stop there. He rebuilt. In 1997, GAINAX released The End of Evangelion, a feature film presenting Anno’s original intended ending for the series. It was everything the TV finale couldn’t be: explosive, devastating, cinematically ambitious. It was also confrontational. Anno wove the fan backlash into the film itself, literally inserting death threats he’d received into one of the most disturbing sequences in anime history. He made art from the criticism.

Then silence. Anno stepped away from Evangelion for nearly a decade.

In 2007, he returned with Evangelion: 1.0 You Are (Not) Alone⊕ : the first of four Rebuild films that retold the entire story from scratch. Same characters, same world, different choices. The Rebuilds were Anno’s attempt to answer a question. What does this story look like told now, with everything he’d learned in the intervening years?

Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time, the final Rebuild film, released in 2021. Twenty-six years after the original aired. Anno described it as his farewell to the franchise. The man who shipped an unfinished product in 1996 spent over two decades iterating until he got it right.

Twenty-Six Years of Revision

Anno’s story is about what happens after you ship. The 1996 finale was not a conclusion. It was a debt, one he spent 26 years and three more productions paying off.

Hideaki Anno was depressed, broke, under external pressure, forced to rewrite half his story and still shipped one of the most influential anime of all time. Then he rebuilt it. Then he rebuilt it again.

The robot is the product. The pilot is you. The entry plug is the backlog full of compromises and constraints and impossible deadlines.