Mecha is cool. This is the one universal constant. Even the lamest giant robot you can think of is still cool and how could it not be? There’s a specific kind of itch that mecha scratches with the way these robots can go from slim, agile, and flashy to slow, lumbering, and destructive across different and the same franchises. The versatility of the genre is insane and there’s always at least one mecha show out there for everyone. However, mecha is more than just its insanely cool trappings. While the genre proudly displays giant robots doing giant robots things and that’s always awesome, the real substance of what makes mecha interesting usually lies with the characters and themes. Mecha shows cover such a wide array of interesting topics that delving into them in any sort of detail could really be its own video, but I want to focus on one common symbol that just about all mecha utilizes at some point or another: the cockpit.
It is cool to see mechs destroying for thrills and giggles but think of the pilot inside. They’re merely interfacing with a giant machine of destruction, not dissimilar to the way one can pilot an AC130 in a game of Modern Warfare. Or, maybe more accurately, the way you fly around and mindlessly demolish enemy hordes in Gundam Versus. The pilot’s interface is reduced to a series of buttons and switches, making every decision a mechanical one.
However, the cockpit is not only a means of abstraction from reality. In SDF Macross, Hikaru Ichijo experiences the cockpit as a zone of total isolation. He’s adrift in space with an experimental new Valkyrie and is distracted by an intercepted broadcast of Lynn Minmay singing. Hikaru’s focus is squarely on Minmay while he pilots, showing his immense desire for romantic attachment conflicting with being a soldier on active duty. This goes on for so long that Hikaru is completely caught off guard by enemy pilots. This plays into some of Macross’s biggest themes: love, war, and the struggle endured by those caught between the two.
This isn’t the only instance of the cockpit being used to thematic effect in Macross. Early in the series, Hikaru stumbles into a Valkyrie and remarks how different the world is inside the machine. While inside, Hikaru sees people and his surroundings as smaller and far more fragile. With a single bad input, he could topple buildings and end innocent lives. To this symbolic end, the antagonistic Zentradi have a domineering ideology due to their sheer size affording them a natural strength. This goes to reinforce one of the show’s more important themes of how, during wartime, you and your enemies are violent parallels racing towards mutual destruction. Even if you’re on the “right side” of a conflict, you’re just justifying being as vicious as the other side.
Keeping with the theme of abstracted perspective, Patlabor offers its own vision with great poignancy. In the second Patlabor movie, the opening scene is shown primarily from the firsthand POV of a Labor pilot. Instead of seeing people like people, the pilot sees them as heat outlines that get coldly dispatched one by one. Like viewing the world via gamified AC130, the perspective from a Labor offers a detached perspective of the world.
People show up as heat signatures, with disembodied voices emphasizing the violence of their deaths, but are simply blipped out on the Labor’s display. Similarly to Macross’s Valkyries, interacting with the world from a Labor takes getting used to. Not only is perspective from these metal giants fundamentally different but actions are as well. Movement, lifting, and aiming a firearm all turn into far more complex actions. As the most basic actions become more complicated and removed from reality, complex actions such as killing become mechanical. This interaction between identity and technology is an ever-present theme in Patlabor. Especially within its first movie, which shares its director with another movie famous for its thoughtful designs.
Actually, because this tangent is definitely worth going on, let’s talk about cockpit design. In Macross, Valkyrie cockpits are reminiscent of military fighters. This makes sense as the mechs are retrofitted to work on then-current tehcnology. Newer Valkyries are developed later but the same militaristic and analog aesthetic is maintained.
The type of cockpit that a mech has will not only speak volumes about the robot’s character but will also tell an interesting story of the world’s technology. In a show like Granbelm or Knights & Magic, the cockpit looks cozy for a spellcaster. There can be scientific aspects to the development and appearances of these mechs but they’re still running on magic. These directly contrast the realistic, analog setups Patlabor and Macross. I couldn’t explain what half of these switches and buttons might possibly do but knowing that I could feasibly see these in a piece of real technology grounds the fiction.
The completely stylized Gunmen from Gurren Lagann use cockpits that offer simple controls and a wide panoramic view of one’s surroundings. In a show that’s all about overcoming oneself and embracing new horizons, this type of all-encompassing view is thematically on-point. Even the Gunmen themselves are larger than life and capable of crazy anime feats.
In Evangelion, the Entry Plug can come to symbolize isolation and someone being trapped with themselves. The Entry Plug is described in a few instances as being comforting like a mother’s embrace but rarely shown to provide genuine comfort. It becomes a place of great anguish. Shinji’s control is taken from him during the fight against Bardiel and the Entry Plug goes from being empowering to caging. When Asuke can no longer pilot, her Entry Plug similarly becomes a cage of anxiety and insecurity.
In 3.33, Shinji and Kaworu pilot together and can see if they’re right next to each other but they aren’t. Shinji, despite having a companion, is still alone in his Entry Plug. He can’t reach out and physically interact with Kaworu. He can’t overcome the distance between them due to extenuating circumstances. This ability to physically interact with your co-pilot is such a small detail but ends up symbolizing volumes. When things go wrong in Eureka 7, the end result is Renton and Eureka coming together to strengthen their bond. When things go wrong in Eva, Shinji is shown to feel more alone than ever.
Like in 3.33, Eureka 7’s Nirvash requires two people to pilot it. However, in Eureka 7, this type of setup reinforces the idea that Renton and Eureka’s cooperation and mutual understanding is what will lead them to happiness. They’re literally right next to each other and are able to support the other accordingly. Speaking of symbolic dual-pilot setups…
In Darling in the Franxx, Hiro and Zero Two’s relationship is what powers Strelizia similarly to how Renton and Eureka’s cooperation empowers the Nirvash. Their mutual understanding and love is what enables them to become strong enough to fight off hordes of monsters. When Zero Two pairs with people that aren’t Hiro, she drives them either to the brink of death or just kills them. She’s shown to be effective in her own right but is held back by people she thinks are weak. She doesn’t have to kill her co-pilots but she doesn’t actually care if they live or die. She’s just using others for personal gain until Hiro shows her how to exist otherwise. When she finally learns to care for others, this new emotional foundation becomes vital to her and Hiro’s capabilities as pilots. It’s the only reason Hiro isn’t dead before seven episodes.
Finally, Franxx offers a far more in-your-face version of what Aquarion did. There, a form was only as strong as the relationship between the three piloting Aquarion. All the pilots are alone in their own individual units but, in order to be effective, they have to drop their guards and learn to embrace themselves and others. Not just romantically but in a far more general sense. To really bring out the strongest power of the combining mecha, they have to seamlessly flow and cooperate with a rotating team. The strongest trio of pilots was obviously the main character, love interest, and the rival but you still get episodes of characters struggling to be okay with themselves for the sake of saving the world.
I could go on and offer more examples of this “similar but different” symbolism but I think I’ve made my point.
Like I’ve said before, it’s all in the execution. The same stories will all take the same set of symbols and use them very differently in service of its themes and goals. Remember, part of this is just that mecha is cool and so are the various ways it tells its stories. Really, just like any other genre out there. It’s less about what any individual work does outright differently and more how they’re able to make what you’ve seen one thousand times feel new and inspired again. That’s how they’re able to pull you into a new interpretation of that genre’s language, and how to get you to spend your money on those sweet sweet Master Grades.
Julian Harmon 
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