Reviewing Attack on Titan: A Bleak Reflection on War and Endless Cycles of Violence

 ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Attack on Titan is, at its core, a story about war, violence, and survival. It is an emotionally charged, deeply compelling piece of storytelling that does more than depict large-scale battles—it immerses us in the everyday realities of those trapped in cycles of fear and conflict. The series captures the weight of living in constant proximity to death—the mundane moments of waiting, the questioning of whether survival is even worth it, and the shifting moralities that war imposes. Given the real-world conflicts we are witnessing (no) thanks to social media, its impact feels even more profound.

There is no denying that Attack on Titan draws clear parallels to real history—its depictions of oppression, nationalism, and the dehumanization of entire groups evoke echoes of World War II and the Israel-Palestine conflict. The series asks pressing questions about inherited hatred and whether cycles of violence can ever be broken. And yet, despite its powerful themes, it ultimately lands on a deeply cynical answer: no, they cannot.

The show builds its narrative around recognizing the humanity in "the other," highlighting shared struggles across different groups like Eldians and Marleyans. It leads us to believe that understanding and compassion might be a way to overcome cycles of violence and hatred. The series meticulously explores the impact of harmful political ideologies, showing how characters like Gabi and Reiner must unlearn Marleyan propaganda, which has led them to internalize self-hatred about their Eldian identities and accept the second-class treatment imposed upon them. Similarly, Eren has to learn and unlearn the ideologies of Marley and Eldia—rejecting the propaganda of both while also cultivating his own ideological beliefs. This complex process reflects how the next generation of Eldians, whether in Marley or Paradis, struggles to carve out a new path and redefine their identities in the face of systemic oppression.

But then the ending tells us that, despite all this, humanity will always return to war—that no matter how much we understand each other, we are doomed to repeat the same destructive patterns. The Titans may be gone, but conflict persists. While that may be a bleakly realistic take, it also feels like a missed opportunity—one that contradicts the journey it took us on. If nothing ever truly changes, then what was the point of taking us through all these layers of complexity and suffering? Why ask us to invest in understanding the other if, in the end, understanding achieves nothing?

Stories, even those rooted in harsh realities, have the power to imagine alternative possibilities. Attack on Titan could have explored what it truly means to break a cycle. What does it take to build something different? What does peace require beyond destruction? Instead, it settles for an unflinching but ultimately reductive conclusion: war will always persist.

Despite my frustrations with its ending, Attack on Titan remains a deeply impactful work. It captures the horror and humanity of war in a way few stories do, making it an essential—if imperfect—piece of storytelling. But it is hard not to wonder: what if it had dared to imagine something more?