Beyond the fact that they’re both violent anime shows, Chainsaw Man and Attack on Titan don’t seem to have much in common. Chainsaw Man blends a modern, capitalist world with fantastical shonen tropes, while Attack on Titan evolves beyond its shonen roots, transforming into a meditation on the genre itself and the darker nature of humanity, more akin to a seinen narrative.
But look a bit deeper, and the similarities become clear. Both stories are set in harsh environments that parallel real-world struggles, and both feature teen protagonists who face hardship from a young age and are stuck in a state of arrested development as a result.
[Ed. note: Spoilers below for Chainsaw Man and Attack on Titan.]
In Chainsaw Man, the world is overrun by Devils — manifestations of human fears, like war and mold — that coexist with humanity in a chaotic society where Devil Hunters risk their lives to protect others for money or power. It’s a grim reflection of capitalism where survival often comes at the cost of morality and emotional connection. Meanwhile, in Attack on Titan, humanity lives in a city sheltered behind enormous walls, believing itself to be the last survivors of a world dominated by man-eating Titans. As the story unfolds, this supposed sanctuary reveals itself to be a cage built on lies, exploring themes of oppression, war, and the cycle of vengeance that defines human history.
Both serve as powerful metaphors for the world young people are growing up in today, one defined by capitalism run amok and the self-imposed isolation of social media. But while the creators of each show place their characters in brutal worlds that threaten to literally chew them up and spit them out, the biggest difference between them is that Chainsaw Man suggests there’s still hope for a lost generation of young people, while Attack on Titan’s worldview is ultimately much more pessimistic.
The protagonists of Chainsaw Man (Denji) and Attack on Titan (Eren) represent two sides of the same emotionally stunted coin. They are two young men who need freedom and love but have lost their moral compasses through their respective struggles. Eren embodies the male power fantasy, a broken boy finally thrust into urgency, finding purpose through rage and using his friends’ safety to justify his violence against a world that’s wronged him. Denji, on the other hand, is a more vulnerable reflection of that same pain. He’s a boy with simplistic ambitions who lets himself be used, mistaking obedience for affection and direction. Together, Denji and Eren illustrate the duality of modern masculinity and the male loneliness epidemic: those who rebel against a society that rejects them, and those who internalize their suffering instead.
Denji grows up dirt poor and burdened by his late father’s debt to the yakuza. To survive, he works as a Devil Hunter alongside his loyal canine companion, Pochita (who is actually a Chainsaw Devil in diminished form). However, the yakuza betray him, killing Denji in exchange for a contract with the Zombie Devil. In a final act of love, Pochita makes a contract with Denji, saving his life and granting him Chainsaw powers on the condition that he lives a normal, comfortable life. Enter Makima, the first person to show him kindness, offering him a job due to his newfound powers and a life he always wanted — a home and a “family” of fellow Devil Hunters. Denji goes from being used by the yakuza to being used by Makima in an instant, and he mistakes this for love, affection, and direction rather than manipulation.
Eren Yeager spends his childhood content within the safety of the three towering walls protecting humanity — until his best friend shows him a book describing the outside world, where plains of grass, landscapes of sand, and vast oceans existed, waiting to be explored. Soon, Eren begins to see the walls as a cage and grows to despise the Titans that keep humanity confined. When those same Titans destroy the walls and slaughter his family, Eren’s dream shifts from simply seeking freedom to a desire to “kill them all.” Then, Eren finds out he’s also a Titan, the very thing he vowed to destroy. His rage shifts from the Titans to the outside world — a society of “animals” that condemned his people simply for who they were: humans who could turn into Titans.
Denji is a “soft, broken child who didn’t have a chance,” according to his English-language voice actor, Ryan Colt Levy. There’s a distorted innocence to the character, which pushes him to commit reckless, immoral acts like murder, driven by his naïve perspectives. Attack on Titan takes this one step further: during his most destructive acts as an adult, Eren is animated to look like a young boy. Regardless of how they got there — whether through rebellion or self-pity — both characters ultimately embrace violence based on childish worldviews, but only Denji seems to see a way out.
The way these characters experience romance also reflects their stunted emotional status. Denji and Eren are both frequently manipulated by others due to their simplistic worldviews, in which good and evil seem clear-cut, yet their moral compasses often waver.
When Denji discovers that Makima, the woman he idolized, had been manipulating him and was behind the deaths of his friends, he loses all will to live. It’s only through embracing his love for Makima that he’s able to do the right thing and let her go. As a result, Denji is given a new purpose: caring for a child, a chance to learn a different kind of love, one that’s selfless and platonic. It’s a surprising turn that shows even the most pathetic characters can still find happiness.
The closest Eren ever gets to love is Mikasa, a childhood friend who almost becomes something more. As they grew up, no matter how much they lost or how harsh the world became, they remained in each other’s lives. Eren hid his feelings for Mikasa as brotherly affection, while Mikasa’s love for him was obvious to everyone but him. Eventually, Mikasa can no longer follow Eren down his violent path. Realizing too late that he loves her, Eren chooses to push her away rather than tell her the truth.
Eren is driven by an unyielding hunger for freedom and conflict, and as a result, can’t see the good in life, even when she’s staring right at him. Meanwhile, Denji yearns only for love and a normal life. In the end, Denji learns the same truth that Mikasa comes to understand: To truly love someone, you must be willing to let them go. Eren is unable to let anything go — his hatred, his enslavement for the pursuit of freedom — and so he dies a slave to his ambitions.
The fact that so many people identify with characters like Denji and Eren is concerning, to say the least. But in an age defined by constant global unrest and the unfiltered chaos of the internet, it’s easy to see how gallows humor in toxic comment sections, self-proclaimed gurus preying on the lonely, and a lockdown that stunted an entire generation’s growth could collectively distort one’s sense of morality.
In that context, Denji feels like someone worth aspiring to be like. Unlike Eren, he doesn’t surrender to fate or abandon his own growth. Chainsaw Man’s protagonist offers a glimmer of hope and a testament to ultimately accepting love rather than rejecting it out of hurt.
Or as Denji’s voice actor Ryan Colt Levy puts it: “A lot of his choices and actions resonate. That kind of loose, free energy is so cathartic and inspiring.”
