Embedded Files
WARNING: this review contains many spoilers, please be aware.
Doc Tran:The kaiju film is (pardon the pun) an unusual beast in the landscape of cinema. These films focus on a man in a giant monster suit often indifferently destroying miniature sets and possibly wrestling other men in suits while helpless mortals watch in awe and terror. Character background, their foibles their aspirations – all of these things are treated as important up until the point when a nigh-indestructible monster the size of a building shows up to annihilate the entire landscape. What is fascinating about these films is how they can spend so much time looking at human struggle, and then be so comfortable throwing it all away. Kaiju films often find themselves both literally and figuratively shouting at the audience about how unimportant the human experience is in the end. The kaiju film is primarily concerned with not just examining, but parading the fact of man’s inherent helplessness before the forces of nature. If drama can be considered the art of replicating the human condition, then the kaiju film must be respected as the art of illustrating unfathomable power.
Dio:
I've grown up with kaiju films since I was a child, both as an imported oddity on late night tv movie channels and with the infamous Mystery Science Theater 3000 whom covered a good number of Godzilla and Gamera films, even the british attempt at the genre with Gorgo (a film that shares a good amount with the more recent film Cloverfield than its origin Gojira). I actually was introduced to the genre by way of Gamera, specifically Vs Baragon, and I had always assumed that kaiju may have had origins in a cautionary tale of nature setting right the ways of man, but that the big rubber suit beating on other rubber suits was a genre that evolved to be for children. Indeed, there must be some connection with all kids building and destroying, as if the acts of both help a child find their place as well as power in both creation and destruction. Why else would the films evolve towards children's fare then evolve back to the awesome fright that a giant creature wrecks upon hapless humanity. I'm no dummy. As much as I delight in watching Godzilla mow his way through city after city--marveling at the wonderful minatures the actor gets to demolish with almost satified glee--I understand that it is no game, even to the monster himself. Like dusting beetles off my leg or shooing flies, the kaiju in these films aren't concerned with property damage or civic economics, or the desperation of a race struggling to escape the business end of a scaled foot. They're only concerned with matters that are their own size and threat--unless you're Mothra, and your concerns are significantly smaller than the affairs to man.
Doc Tran:
Power, and all its dynamics lie at the heart of Shin Godzilla, which Dio and I were lucky enough to see just recently. Like most kaiju films, the story doesn’t focus on the invincible nuclear powered reptile, but rather orbits the creature. What viewer are led on is a journey through the halls of power in Japanese society. Rather than following random soldiers or journalists, Shin Godzilla has us peeking over the shoulders of policymakers and other people whose actions would realistically have a major effect in a giant monster attack.
It is in this world of Ministers and Cabinet Officials that the movie reveals a series of unique languages that the characters speak. Broken down by generation and to an extent political affiliation, we see different views of understanding the world as a matter of geopolitics. What emerges is a cast of characters that talk like they should be in a Tom Clancy film rather than a kaiju film. You wonder if you're watching an episode of The West Wing.
Dio:
Right off the bat in the film, you are seeing Hideaki Anno and Shinji Higuchi take the normal formula of a kaiju film and shatter it before your eyes. A common narrative to a kaiju film is as follows: humans appear, establish some sort of affront against nature or accident that shifts normal laws, the kaiju may take up to half the film to properly appear while the humans attempt to right their wrong or further the wrath of the creature they've descicrated, then the monster or monsters attack, leaving the humans scrambling to save their cities, and figure out how to 1) kill the monster(s) or 2) make them go away; the likes of such can range from experimental weaponry, shooting them into space, or even kaiju wrestling stalemate. At the end, we learn a lesson of humanity keeping their britches in the size they're meant to, and look forward to a future where they may have less hubris. You spend half the movie waiting for your star in the title to show up and perhaps the last 15-30 minutes of the film watching the epic fights. While its formulaic, it worked, and has worked for decades. You do not fault a detective novel for having its obligatory parlor scene nor berate the action film for its car chase, nor the love story's resolution of a marriage or a break up. You're along for the ride and its what you paid for. To expect anything else is at the least madness, and at the most stupid.
The action begins within the first few minutes of finding an abandoned ship in the bay, where jets of steam and water arise and the underwater tunnels burst and flood. Within the first maybe 20 minutes, we're already catching glimpses of the cause, the monster itself, and the immediate results of its awakening. Don't forget about the numerous amounts of people and videos online that show the anomaly, a sort of tongue in cheek poke at the speed of internet dissemination (I think I saw a website like or was nico nico as footage of the destruction of the tunnel showed). Cut quick to the characters you will be following for the duration of the film: the politicians and cabinet members as they attempt to not only calm the nation but tell them accurate information to keep the transparency of the crisis up to date. Forget reporters, soldiers, children and researchers. You are thrust into a world that Anno took care to not satirize in the strictest sense, but to reproduce with some liberty to bring us closer to it. He spoke with actual politicians on the film, to make it seem more authentic. You can tell the difference, but similarities with some hallmarks in Anno's best known work Neon Genesis Evangelion. Eva's fingerprints are all over this film, from the music cues to the cutting, to the unique camera angles and effects.
Doc Tran:The older generation of Japanese politicians we are introduced to at the beginning of the film speak in the language of the Post-World War II era. How they understand the world is shaped by a vocabulary of terms like “mutual defense treaty” and “UN security resolution”. Their actions are limited and shaped by the legal and political structures created by the United States after World War II. These characters, who in other films would be regarded with nothing but contempt, are instead regarded with a sympathetic, but often frustrated understanding. They not just men and women who are selfishly trying to profit off the situation like they would in other films. Rather, they are people who are limited by their perspectives, and the tools available to them, and they know it and deep down hate it almost as much as their younger counterparts. Issues of constitutional legality and their inability to adapt to the situation due to bureaucratic structures become a major problem in the film.
Dio:
There is a sympathy you have to feel for these men and women as they grapple with the helplessness of the situation, wanting to do the right thing in the way that was thrust upon them in the name of Democracy. They're at first reluctant to look at the situation outside of the norm, more than tradition, but because they don't have the capacity or tools to see things that way. Their priority is to convey correct information or risk even greater panic. They are in charge, and they have responsibility; responsibility to the people is a theme that runs beneath this film as well. The Japanese have a unique way of looking at that word. One has the responsibility to protect their own, by any means. This isn't negotiable. Japan is their country, and they, as the cabinet, have not only the responsibility, but the right to make the decisions that truely benefit them. Why should an outside force tell them otherwise? Would you stop a mother from raising their child just because you think you have a better way of doing it, better than she? Do you agree with agencies depriving children of their families just because the parents let them play outside in the backyard BY THEMSELVES IN THEIR OWN HOME? HELL NO.
Doc Tran:The United States’ perspective in the film is framed in the language of the Cold War. Though the situation is a Japanese crisis, the actions of the United States are with an eye towards China and Russia and its greater international implications. Terms like “deterrence” and “nuclear proliferation” shape their vocabulary. Rather than the stereotype of being cruel, greedy and manipulative, the American portrayal is very similar to real life American foreign policy. It is shown to possess overwhelming military and political might, seemingly meritocratic to a fault, and is relentlessly utilitarian, even at the expense of seeming opportunistic or imperialistic. Of note is how Japanese officials are bewildered by the speed with which the US government takes action. They often find themselves struggling to keep up with US intelligence and policy decision.
Dio:Speed is best portrayed in Kayoko Ann Patterson (a name that seems to feel at home in a Clancy novel) who noticebly speaks MUCH faster in Japanese than anyone else in the film, even compared to the few Americans who do appear. She mixes her speech with English when speaking, though this unfazes Rando Yaguchi, whom often takes her cue in the switching of languages quite smoothly.
Also of note on the subject of speed: there's a sense of awe in the cabinet at the US's speed of response. The older generation begrudingly acknowledges it, but the younger members look upon like with a sense of admiration. An admiration of the freedom to act, perhaps, or even wonder. They realize, this is what its like to be one of the "big boys", one of the major players in the world, in globalization. You have to act quickly, and with determination. I felt a feeling of the younger members looking at the situation and thinking that now Japan needs to step it up. This is the big leagues and eyes are watching Japan to see how well they react, or perhaps see that Japan "needs help".
Doc Tran:
What is also interesting is the language of the younger generation we see in the film. Kayoco Ann Peterson’s character, played by Satomi Ishihara is probably the youngest of the cast, and speaks from the perspective of a Japanese-American; one that despite appearances, is deeply connected emotionally to “her grandmother’s country”. There is no doubt that the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki at the end of World War II left an indelible mark on the Japanese psyche, but it’s especially interesting that this perspective is reflected by an American. In some senses, her views and language are very similar to those used by the older Japanese politicians represented by the Prime Minister’s cabinet.
Dio:
Indeed, I felt that while Peterson represents the US as an envoy, she is undoubtably Japanese. The mention of the bomb is for a western audience, but more than that, she steps up to the plate more as a Japanese representative than an American or even one of the UN. She is able to act and use her connections in a way that Yaguchi needs to move the plans to save his country. He may not be able to do it, but through her, he is, and it gives him the energy and hope, even when things begin to look bleak.
Doc Tran:
On the Japanese side of that younger generation is Mid-Level Cabinet Official Rando Yaguchi, played by Hiroki Hasegawa. Yaguchi is in many ways the young rebel of the story, and his speech reflects that. It is perhaps the great irony of our current political climate that the young progressive voice in this film speaks in the language of right-wing Japanese nationalism. Terms like “mobilization” and “self-determination” form a lexicon that frankly would be right at home in a speech by Japan’s current Prime Minister, the conservative Shinzo Abe.
Dio:
When Yaguchi sees the monster with his own eyes, musing to himself that he is seeing this force of nature with his own eyes, you can see so many different emotions: fear, awe, and most of all, anger. This creature is destroying his country, his city, and he can't do a single thing about it. Yaguchi in this and the following scenes as he is elevated when the cabinet is vaporized in the second attack not only addresses the very real feeling of a nuclear and natural disaster--lashing out in anger at his collegues before being told to calm down--is the most purest and honest feeling one can feel when faced with utter anihilation. If this is an indictment of the Japanese government handling the recent tsunami and nuclear disaster in Fukushima, its the most blatant as well as genuine. Most kaiju films have that message, and Shin Godzilla has a LOT of messages to pass on, more than the care of handling the power of nuclear fission, or pollution. Yaguchi represents the threads that bind a country to doing what needs to be done, and there is plenty of blame to go around.
Doc Tran:When faced with the possibility that a nuclear strike may be needed to kill Godzilla, Japanese politicians are both horrified and grudgingly forced to acknowledge that no matter how bad it looks, it may be the most sensible decision given the situation. Yes folks, this may well be the first and probably only film to ever portray the United States being willing to bomb Japan with a nuclear weapon and say that might be the only sensible decision.
Dio:
The nuclear strike is the only logical way to handle this beast, or so most of the world thinks. Efficiently destroying the problem with the biggest gun they have, after all other weapons cease to work, is logical. But is it right? The US isn't really the bad guy, or as much as countries like China and Russia, whom support the strike with all the terrible strings attached. The UN is useless as well (but that's to be expected). The US not only sent stealth bombers (expensive mother fuckers to be sure), but they sent more than one, which shows that the US is invested in saving the country as much as Japan is. The US too feels a responsibility to "fix" this problem; they knew about this and the scientist who may have started the kaiju's rampage. Perhaps this is their way of atonement, or perhaps accepting responsibility for not caring for this situation when they had the chance. Also, what other film can you thank France for giving Japan the time they needed to circumvent the strike with their own plan? You're welcome, world.
Doc Tran:
Last but not least is the Japanese Self Defense Force. Often the whipping boy for marauding kaiju, the JSDF is instead given a remarkably positive portrayal. In fact, of all the groups and entities shown in the film, the JSDF is portrayed as being perhaps the most effective and conscientious. Their decision making processes, at least the ones they have control over, are extremely efficient and effective. Furthermore, the film goes out of its way to portray the JSDF as incredibly concerned with preventing unnecessary civilian casualties. Imagine a Michael Bay movie sanitized of its swaggering machismo and jingoism, and you get the JSDF of Shin Godzilla.
Dio:
The JSDF isn't a full military, and we can thank all those articles the west foisted onto Japan after the war for that. but damn do they do their damnedest. The military and the government's biggest priorities are evacuation, as impossible as that would seem. There are arguments that its inefficient and ineffective, the endless rolls of red tape and bureaucracy that even one character chidingly reminds: "this is democracy". This is how democracy is at work.
For critics who complain of this, I can only point the accusing finger right back: this is what became of Japan after the war, after Occupation. YOU, westerners, YOU HAVE CRIPPLED JAPAN, and thus you have no true right to complain at the speed and hobbling of the government, the inability to make the quickest decisions for itself, to be forced to rely on outside entities of the UN, other hungry countries that wish to keep Japan underfoot. And if this accusation seems harsh, dear readers, its because I believe in it so whole heartedly. This movie, like the first Godzilla was not made for the west, let alone America--which I must remind you, added an American character to the story like a Self Inserted Mary Sue. This movie was a japanese movie made with the Japanese in mind. Take into account the contemporary of folklorist Lafcaido Hearn, Takeshi Umehara, whom argued that japan cannot be truly understood by "foreigners", let alone their folklore; he "promoted the idea of the 'uniqueness' of the japanese people and believe that their history, culture, art, and philosophy could not be easily understood by outsiders." (1) While I generally disagree with that position, one must be mindful that as a viewer who watches a "foreign" film that WE are the foreigners, and we are observing something we may not fully understand or comprehend. We can lessen the walls and lenses between us and the true heart of it if we take the time to try to understand it, to be curious of the differences and to see why they are different, and hopefully see more of what they might see.
Doc Tran:
Japanese nationalism, though not jingoism, plays a huge role in the film. Those who follow international politics understand that Japan is in many ways a protectorate nation of the United States. This film uses Godzilla, a seemingly immortal and unstoppable god of death and destruction to address, like many Japanese are now, whether or not this status quo should change. Should Japan rearm? Should Japan become a nuclear nation? How does a militarily sovereign Japan fit into the international community? These are difficult questions to ask, and this film arrives at an interesting answer. The prevailing stereotype, one perpetuated by anti-Japanese sentiments in China and North Korea is a rearmed Japan being as brutally imperialistic as the one that spread untold death and destruction across East Asian during World War II. The film suggests instead the idea of a sovereign Japan acting on equal stature and partnership with the United States and indeed the world community as a whole. Japan now has its very own nuclear arms, in the form of a grotesque monster, sitting in the center of their city. They've entered the world as an equal power; they've shown they can hold their own against an unknown and nearly unstoppable enemy.
Dio:Anno's most seminal work in anime was a turn-off, I admit. After Eva, I couldn't trust a man who needed help to produce something consistent. I watched this film knowing I was going to see Anno make of break his career, and I'm glad to see he more than surpassed my expectations. Talking kaiju for halloween sounds odd, but with the designs of Shin Goji that may or may not have been inspired by Junji Ito, my favorite horror manga author, I gave the film a go. I'm used to my Godzilla being a little cute and always a man in a suit (not that it always has to be; such things are murder to wear but man they look amazing), showing up and atomic breathing his way across a landscape until the humans find someway to make him stop or go away. In fact, my favorite Godzilla films are Godzilla Vs Megalon and Godzilla: Final Wars, which is basically the best Godzilla film EVER. My favorite kaiju is Gamera, and you haven't lived until you've seen him do gymkata and play his theme song on a monster's back with spikes he tore off from it.
So going into Shin Godzilla, I had to expect something a little less cute and a little more scary. Take into account GMK's Godzilla, which was the wrath of all the people who died in WW2 and came to destroy Japan for its transgressions. That fucker was one of the scariest things I've ever seen or beheld. You can't fight the wrath of the dead, and Japan knows that.
What I got in this film was nothing short of actually terrifying. I actually cried out in the theater, seeing the juvenile form of Godzilla (oh by the way, this thing EVOLVES) which is a fever dream of Junji Ito's world. The eyes, the neck, the way it lumbers about. I won't put a screen here of it because it truly needs to not only be seen, but also beheld in motion. Its grotesque, its frightening, and its HUGE. Of note is its larger tail, which makes sense when you see this thing stand for the first time on its ponderous back legs. It glows and expels some hideous red fluid that's radioactive from its gills. There is no rhyme or reason to its form as it changes to better destroy everything around it. It has tons of teeth, but no tongue. Even as its arms finally grow from its massive torso, after its form has grown twice its size, you can't help but think that this creature is nothing short of a god come to punish humanity, whether it deserves it or not. When its second form finally comes to using its atomic breath, a sort of gaseous expulsion that then ignites from its sheer heat and nuclear fission--as its lower jaw actually splits open and stretches to accomodate the blast, the effect is horrifying. I've seen Tokyo destroyed in tons of movies, kaiju or not. Seeing the fires, the explosions, the footprint of its radioactivity ravish the city, I felt myself actually crying.
Outside of emotional films like Up or anything with a dog in it, I have NEVER wept in a theater.
I cried, I realized, because I was scared. I was terrified. I have never seen anything in my life so powerful that it could do such things with little effort or even with no conscious thought of punishment. It was helplessness and fear that made me watch this film with emotions I have never felt in a film, or likely will anytime soon. I asked Doc "weren't you scared?" because we both agreed, outside of GMK, this Godzilla was the scariest ever brought to film.
Doc Tran:
I wasn't scared. I was in awe. And twisted as it is to say, I felt...honored. That I could see something so unearthly, so beyond the scope of humans, so powerful as a god that walked the earth.
Dio:
A sentiment that though I didn't feel at the moment, I somewhat understand. When Seijiro Makabe in Fatal Frame 2 finds out he is to be sacrified (and tortured first) to the Hell Gate beneath Minakami Village, he was most of all in awe and elated at seeing something he'd longed to see with his own eyes. Even if it meant it was the last thing he would see, that he had the honor and the "blessing" to see the unseen and untold was enough for him. To see this creature--nay, a god, lay waste to the city and without the inkling of sentience--or sentience we can understand--is a sight to behold. Even if it becomes the last thing you see.
The ending part of the film even shows the end of its deadly tail, with vestigial...creatures, beginning to split off from the tip. Vaguely humanoid but terrifyingly malformed like its origin, you get a feeling that, despite the temporary nature of a frozen Godzilla in the center of the city, the plan to stop it comes in the nick of time, with just barely a moment to spare. These things could only be assumed to be the creature's ability to self-replicate, a fate that is just barely avoided, or at least so we think.
The effects are something to behold. There isn't a man in a suit, but there is a mo-capped actor, which gives a good real feeling to the kaiju. The animation almost seems purposefully ponderous, watching the juvenile form try to navigate the buildings, tumbling over them like a fat pug over a chair leg; they matched the uneven movements a man in a suit would make. The fire and weapon effects are well done, and the beams that are emitted from its body look just as deadly as they are, cutting bombers and helicopters with ease. Even the climax at the film, the train crashes that look like great white snakes attempting to subdue the monster are impressive.
In addition, tying into the idea that Godzilla isn't merely some sort of natural disaster, but also has its roots in a traditional Japan, it should be noted: the researcher Goro Maki that was monitoring it also mysteriously disappears. He was angry at the world, angry at the US fro dropping the bomb that killed his wife, angry at Japan for not stopping it. And amid his emotions of rage, Godzilla emerges from below his ship, where his notes, a paper crane, and the words: "do as you please" are left. What can we surmise from Maki's efforts is that perhaps he allowed himself to become a part of the creature, fueling his rage and what he felt was right punishment to the world that took so much from him. His last words may be an indictment (do as you wish and destroy yourselves for all I care), or perhaps it is judgment and a test, as someone mentions in the film. If they can deal with Godzilla, perhaps humanity has hope.
If we are to believe that perhaps Maki is a part of, or had become Godzilla, then he has basically become aa onryo or vengeful ghost/god seeking restitution. As it is written by Zack Davisson: "Any who died amidst [the] chaos were capable of sustaining a powerful hatred--manifesting as a vengeful yurei called an onryo. And this vengeance was unfocused. Onryo did not limit their hatred to those whom had wronged them in life. The method of an onryo's revenge--fire, flood, pestilence, and famine--did not allow for such precise targeting." (2) You could even take those few examples as pretty much exactly what Godzilla brought: fires from atomic breath, tsunamis from its entering land, pestilence in the form of radiation, and famine from perhaps the collapse of the economy (such fears during the film are voiced more than once). Godzilla became that pestilent god that was born from the hatred of a human wronged. And it becomes unfocused: the people of Tokyo are technically removed by time from the atomic bomb, though not all, and it has no intelligent idea other than destruction. It even takes a traditional art for Japan, origami, to help the scientists figure out the make-up of the creature, if they are to stop it before the bomb is dropped. Maki left a single red paper crane, which not only provides the clue, but perhaps calls forth the story of the girl who made 1000 paper cranes with the wish to reverse the effects of the bomb dropped on her country. Such a Chekhov's gun isn't lightly used. Its precise. "Man is more terrifying than Godzilla" indeed.
Shin Godzilla is a loaded film, much more than an average western viewer may see, even more than for many American's. As Doc stated, its a very nationalistic film, though not jingoistic. Not completely what we would know as japanese right wing conservatism. You may not need to know the politics or the mythology and cultural significance of Anno's choices (whom only accepted the film if he could equal or surpass, and in the end equalled the impact of the original), but if you find you're grasping at straws as to why certain things are the way they are, it would behoove you take the time to learn. You might be surprised at what you find.
--Dio & Doc Tran (10/15/16)
(1) Yurei: The Japanese Ghost by Zack Davisson, "Chapter 4: The Rule of the Dead" pg. 59
(2) Yurei: The Japanese Ghost by Zack Davisson, "Chapter 4: The Rule of the Dead" pg. 61
Images from Funimation.com and wikipedia.
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