When
I decided to feature Godzilla (1954) as part of my
Thanksgiving monster-thon, I had an important decision to make.
Should
I review the Americanized Godzilla: King of Monsters -- which is the film I would have seen on WOR-9
TV in the seventies, and eighties -- or the original, unaltered Japanese
version, which wasn’t released on DVD until 2004?
With
apologies to nostalgia, I decided to choose the better film: the searing,
gut-wrenching Japanese original. Even
today, it packs a visceral punch.
And
after a diet of several King Kong movies, which concern, overall,
an adventurous escape from modern life, it was a bit of a shock to countenance
the grave, lugubrious, even mournful Godzilla.
This
is an unremittingly dark film, dominated by unsettling images of widespread
destruction and human suffering. Those
images of disaster – and of a city on
fire – are all the more uncomfortable because of Japanese and American
history in the 20th century.
I
realize that many folks associate Godzilla movies (especially of the
1970s) with kiddie-matinees, rubber monsters, abundantly-obvious model-work and
the like. Yet the original Godzilla endures as nothing less
than an atomic age nightmare, and it
is anything but juvenile.
There are two galvanizing incidents roiling beneath
the surface of this monster movie. The
first is the atomic bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima by America in August of
1945. Today, these are still the only
instances of nuclear warfare in human history.
The second is the detonation of a 15-megaton
American H-Bomb on Bikini Atoll, which irradiated 7,000 square miles of ocean. The entire crew of a Japanese tuna boat, Lucky Dragon, later developed radiation
sickness.
Godzilla
mastermind and director Ishiro Honda utilizes these historical incidents as the
seeds of his fantastic but meaningful story.
As the film opens, nuclear testing near Japan has
awakened a prehistoric goliath, or “deep
sea organism,” a dinosaur-like creature with the power to emit radioactive
fire breath. Upon Godzilla’s awakening,
several small fishing boats are destroyed at sea, their crews murdered in
blinding, white-hot flashes.
A paleontologist, Dr. Yamane (Takashi Shimura),
conducts research and determines Godzilla’s origin in the Jurassic Age. He follows the monster’s (over-sized) trail
to Odo Island, where the locals recount old legends of the monster Godzilla: a creature
that lived in the ocean and fed on humanity to survive. In ages past, the islanders conducted a kind
of “exorcism” ritual (with native
girls as sacrifices…) to appease Godzilla.
While Godzilla moves irrevocably closer to mainland
Japan, the government establishes a “Counter Godzilla Headquarters” whose first
gambit is to destroy the beast at sea with depth charges. When that move fails to stop the beast’s
progress, a second defense gambit is devised. It involves the construction of
an electric fence along the coast to ensnare Godzilla.
That defense attempt fails as well, and Godzilla
reduces most of Tokyo to rubble in a night of unending fire and smoke. Dr. Yamane’s daughter, Emiko (Momoko Kochi),
however, knows of a secret that could reverse Japan’s fortunes.
Her former betrothed, Dr. Serizawa (Ahihiko Hirata)
has developed a weapon even more deadly than atomic bombs, a so-called “oxygen destroyer.” He has sworn her to secrecy about the device
however, because he fears it will be taken out of his hands, and used on an
international, even global scale.
With Godzilla’s reign of destruction unstopped, however,
Serizawa must re-consider using the doomsday weapon. He knows if he uses it, however, he must also
die with Godzilla, so the oxygen destroyer will never be used again by mankind…
Godzilla
commences with the strange mystery at sea regarding the sinking of several
Japanese fishing ships (reflecting the Lucky Dragon incident), and then moves
into a tale of epic destruction and survival.
One facet of the film that remains so effective, even today, is the
almost whirlwind, documentary approach
to the narrative. Early on, Dr. Yamane
delivers a briefing about Godzilla’s possible origins and nature, and it’s like
we’re sitting in on a university lecture.
Also, there’s a heated
discussion -- or fight -- in the
halls of Japanese government about whether or not to reveal Godzilla’s nature
to the public. These and other similar moments
feel like the audience is eavesdropping on real conferences and legislatures. It’s quite unique how the film “moves” from
one plot to another with these meetings, briefings and other formal moments. The characters, though very interesting
(particularly in the love triangle of Ogata/Emiko/Serizawa) don’t dictate the
flow of the story in any meaningful way until the final act. That’s important, because this fact plays
into the epic feel of the drama. These
men and women -- and all of Japan indeed -- are swept into a story beyond their
control.
Beyond the
documentary approach, Godzilla utilizes its atomic
bogeyman as a metaphor or signifier for
nuclear destruction, and accordingly many of the images feel like authentic
documentary footage from the Hiroshima or Nagasaki aftermath. For instance, at one point there is a long, deliberate pan across a ruined,
twisted, formerly-urban landscape.
The scene is one of total desolation, a testament to the searing power
of nuclear weapons (or Godzilla’s fire breath, as the case may be).
A city once
stood there, but now only twisted metal remains.
Shortly after
that revelatory shot, other footage reveals doctors and nurses moving dozens of
patients on stretchers into a make-shift hospital or recovery center. The scene is one of human suffering on an
almost impossible-to-believe scale. The
impression given is of a perpetual war-zone, a blazing hell on earth.
Godzilla
pretty plainly uses the aftermath of Nagasaki and Hiroshima as its formative
imagery, recalling a real-life nuclear terror not even a full decade in the
past at the time of its production.
The Honda film also
reflects the dawning nuclear age in another trenchant way, namely in the character
of Dr. Serizawa. Pretty plainly, he is a surrogate for J. Robert Oppenheimer,
the theoretical physicist who worked at the Manhattan Project and is known,
historically as “The Father of the Atomic Bomb.” According to interviews, Oppenheimer once remarked,
after witnessing a test atomic bomb detonation that he had “become death” and a “destroyer of worlds.” In a sense, Godzilla is Oppenheimer’s child,
then.
Dr Serizawa in Godzilla
is acutely aware that he might suffer the same fate as Oppenheimer, and may be
remembered the same way…and he doesn’t want
that. His Oxygen-Destroyer is more
destructive, more monstrous even than the H-Bomb, and Serizawa knows that it
very rapidly would become the object of a new international arms race. He makes a moral, individual decision,
however, and decides that knowledge of the weapon should die with him (after he
has burned his notes). A second,
post-nuclear arms race is thus averted through his individual sense of right
and wrong, and his willingness to sacrifice himself.
If Godzilla
is a warning about the dangers of Pandora’s Box opened in the Atomic Age, then
Serizawa himself is an indicator that the box can only be shut via the auspices of individual conscience. Even though Serizawa has created something of
monstrous destructive potential, he nonetheless possesses the moral barometer
to see his work destroyed, not unloosed on the world.
Unfortunately,
as the film’s ending reminds viewers, not all men are as noble or moral as
Serizawa was. As long as nuclear tests
persist, Dr. Yamane warns, other “Godzillas”
could rise up to threaten human civilization.
If this final
warning sounds preachy to you, it may be because you haven’t just finished
viewing the film. Godzilla’s scorching
imagery -- a world of black-and-white but mostly black -- earns the filmmaker
the right to ponder big philosophical issues at the denouement. Above all else, the movie serves as a
cautionary tale for an age where the future of nuclear war was unwritten.
Many Godzilla
movies have come and gone since this one premiered. I remember seeing the less-than-satisfactory
(though fun) Godzilla 1985 at the Center Theater in Bloomfield, New Jersey,
for instance.
However, this first
film -- light on rubber monster suits and heavy on fire, blinding-light and suffering -- remains an
indelible viewing experience. Some have
called Honda’s Godzilla a “grotesque” work of art.
But I wonder if that descriptor isn’t a
commentary on mankind more than it is Godzilla.
An absolute classic of the genre. At least in it's original form.
ReplyDeleteJKM: Great commentary as always!
ReplyDeleteThis may be something that has been discussed elsewhere (but I haven't seen it), but one thing that always struck me as an "elephant in the room" regarding the Japanese-language Gojira (as opposed to the Raymond Burr version) is the lack of Americans. In 1954, there was still a *major* U.S. presence in Japan: The "Occupation" may have officially ended in 1952, but we still had (and still have) bases there. But when the Big G. starts stomping, American jets and ships are nowhere to be seen. The last time I screened Gojira, it made me wonder if there was perhaps another subtext to the flick--could G. represent the U.S.? That is, a massive, unstoppable, amoral, barbaric force of destruction that cares not for culture or civilization? That Gojira's 1954 face resembles (to me) a pit-bull reminds me of the wartime Japanese insult, "Yankee dog." Could there be a connection?
I don't mean to stir up trouble, but it was a thought I had. Your comments?
Have a happy and healthy (and Godzilla-infested) Thanksgiving!
--Ivan
PS: Can't wait for your comments about G vs. Monster Zero!