In
a lot of ways Godzilla is a perfect topic for me to write about. “Godzilla” is a common English expression
referring to something huge. We append
“zilla” to another word to suggest a giant-sized version, often with comedic
intent. The character has appeared in ad
campaigns (outside of Japan), comic books, and American Saturday morning
cartoons, but the Japanese have never bothered with an ongoing Godzilla
cartoon. Gareth Edwards’ new film Godzilla, hereafter called Godzilla (2014) demonstrates that plenty
of Americans get Godzilla, because this is certainly a Godzilla movie. It is not as layered and meaningful as 1954’s
Gojira, but Edwards’ film follows the
formula used by the majority of Godzilla movies. The plot unfolds in the same manner as older
Toho-produced Godzilla movies, and preserves the most enduring weakness of the
franchise: uninteresting humans. If you
fear this will be a repeat of 1998’s Matthew Broderick vehicle, fear no
more. This one is a real Godzilla movie.
But I am not writing a review of the
movie. I am here to examine why
Hollywood made this movie, and not Toho Studios itself.
Godzilla was inspired by the American
films King Kong and The Beast From Twenty-Thousand Fathoms. The last Japanese Godzilla film was Godzilla: Final Wars, released in
2004. Final Wars was conceived as a finale for the six films produced
between 1999 and 2004. Though it may
have one of the thinnest plots of any Godzilla movie, with 14 monsters, invading
aliens, gunfights, motorcycle chases, martial arts brawls, and mind-control, it
has more action than any other Godzilla film.
Final Wars, the title
notwithstanding, was never meant to be the last Godzilla film, but a breather before
the franchise wore out its welcome.
During the resting period, the studio would carefully come up with the
best way to reintroduce Godzilla. Considering
Godzilla’s roots as a reaction to the atomic bomb and WWII strategic bombing of
Japan, it is ironic that Hollywood would reintroduce the character. It is even more ironic if you remember the
disaster Godzilla (1998) was, both
critically and commercially. But, that
complete embarrassment proved the viability of the property, because response
to Godzilla (1998) encouraged Toho to
make their own Godzilla movie again: Godzilla
2000.
Godzilla began as a metaphor for nuclear
weaponry, but he is also a metaphor for World War II wholly. The audience that watched Godzilla level
Tokyo for the first time had lived through it for real and still see themselves
as victims of the war. In other words,
Godzilla also serves as a conceit for victimhood. Hollywood works well with victimhood because of
its innate drama. Using this conceit,
Gareth Edwards and Legendary Pictures produced a story in which the US becomes
the victim of nuclear powered monsters, because we all feel the fear in the
face of threats utterly beyond your control.
Gojira takes the nuclear
metaphor in an important direction: it meditates on the motives and
responsibilities behind scientific work.
Why do Americans get Godzilla so
well? He plays on our anxieties
too. Godzilla, even when portrayed
heroically as he is in Gareth Edwards’ film, represents unyielding
dangers. While Americans now do not fear
nuclear weapons as much as we used to, there was a time when we did. As the world has learned to fear new things,
Godzilla has adapted to represent them. Godzilla (2014) presents nature in
conflict; the monsters Godzilla must fight, the Mutos, appeared naturally and
fed on our own power plants and radioactive waste, making them a consequence or
our ignorance and carelessness. The
Mutos represent nature out of balance in the guise of our present fears: global
warming and pollution. Ken Watanabe’s
character Dr. Serizawa explicitly states that Godzilla exists to act as a
natural corrective to the Mutos (no, he never explains how he knows that), but
Godzilla does not show any regard for humanity--he will step on as many
buildings as he has to during his fight with rival monsters. Godzilla is protecting the Earth, not Honolulu and San Francisco. He is nature’s balance in response to the
Mutos (that is, human pollution). The
problem is, Godzilla does not care about us.
This notion, of uncaring natural balance, is a universal notion. Not a Japanese one, not an Asian or Western
one. It is not new for Godzilla either. As the dangers of nuclear weaponry faded in
the 1990s, the Godzilla movies of that decade and the 2000s reflected that
change. The villains were borne of
thoughtless, greedy corporations (Godzilla
vs King Ghidorah 1991), or nature falling out of balance (Godzilla vs Mothra 1992), even mystical
threats born of poor historical memory (Godzilla,
Mothra, King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack 2001). As the villain, Godzilla represents all of
our fears, but as the hero, Godzilla represents hope when all is lost. Americans get Godzilla because he is easy to
understand.
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