The idea of Godzilla as a larger franchise is simple to understand. He’s a giant, radioactive lizard who stomps through cities with that echoic yell. It’s Monster Movie 101. You create an unstoppable beast and try to have humanity stop it. I suppose on some level, classifying one of Japan’s most successful exports as simply a monster is to ignore his greater meaning. It’s what kept me from giving into his charms more, with my dad insisting that the movies were dumb, and having poorly dubbed actors yell his name while pointing to the sky. I shouldn’t say that I hated Godzilla so much as I misunderstood him. He is a monster sent to destroy the world, but that’s to ignore his greater cultural impact.
Full disclosure: I haven’t seen every Godzilla movie, nor do I keep up with Toho developments of every project. I am simply the casual fan who comes to the franchise with curiosity and I’m happy to say that we’re living in a zenith. After having no awareness of Godzilla Minus One (2023) even two weeks ago, Twitter talked me into seeing the latest. It was a movie that promised to commemorate the franchise’s 70th anniversary. Not only that, but we were going to get one of the absolutely quintessential, undeniable classics. Given that I carry some regret about missing Shin Godzilla (2016) in theaters, I knew that I had to be more proactive than usual.
On the one hand, I think adding the greater cultural subtext to Godzilla Minus One reflects why I think it’s a masterpiece and the best kaiju film I’ve seen from my lifetime. In fact, it’s sewn so thoroughly into the cloth of this story that’s difficult to ignore. Following World War II, Japan was suffering a series of crises including how the country was going to move forward. At its core was the traumatic bombings by America that resulted in radioactive fallout. From that came Godzilla, symbolic of the country’s biggest fears presented through fantasy. It may not be where things ended up in the decades to come, but it’s one of the definitive examples of art as expression.
Godzilla Minus One exists in the wake of WWII in the same way that the original does. In the opening scene, the protagonist is seen failing to stop a land invasion by Godzilla to wipe out his entire squad. As the only survivor, he has guilt that lingers in his mind. He couldn’t stop the disaster. While it’s a more straightforward scene, something is thrilling and horrifying about watching this Godzilla for the first time chomping up helpless men, posing a threat that doesn’t feel half as palpable from America’s MonsterVerse alternative. Nobody is safe here. As the story goes, buildings and lives are destroyed.
All the while, the film has one of the more honest discussions around post-traumatic stress disorder that’s been set to screen. I had gone in expecting a film that’s heavy on action but not necessarily character. Then again, contemporary Toho has focused on serious themes. Shin Godzilla was a commentary on the inability of Japan’s government to prepare for environmental threats. In Godzilla Minus One, it’s about the lingering influence of WWII. The protagonist is doomed to witness disaster over and over, even having dreams where the world is burning. As people die around him, he struggles to find ways to destroy the demons both literal (the monster) and metaphorical (the trauma).
The crew behind this film has done a phenomenal job of creating something that feels personal. Having that within a monster movie is difficult, and having the emotional beats land is even more commendable. The balance in this movie is insane, managing to create a community that you care about and spend the entire film leaning forward, wanting to believe that they’ll save the day. We’ve seen these buildings knocked over before. What’s going to be different this time? After 70 years, one would assume that the well would be dry, and yet Godzilla Minus Zero proves that there isn’t. He is an amorphous, transformative character who applies to every situation possible. In this case, it’s an existential drama buried in historical analysis and franchise commentary. To nitpick every detail in this film is to go down several rabbit holes, realizing that, yes, Godzilla has withstood the test of time for an obvious reason.
Yes, the film is about the trauma experienced by Japan. It’s at the heart of the entire story and one that I think plays out beautifully. However, I think that is to ignore what makes this my favorite of the franchise.
One of my favorite types of films is those where a group comes together to solve a problem. There is something subliminal about it that reflects a lot of things. The most noteworthy is the compassion of your fellow men and the optimism that society can rebuild itself. Godzilla Minus One may spend a lot of time in doom and gloom, but the third act is better because of the Rube Goldberg design it’s set up for itself. No one person can complete it by themselves. What is necessary is a stroke of luck that will eventually amount to victory. However, the writers cleverly put in enough doubt that it never seems certain. In fact, the few failures are enough to keep curiosity alive, your heart racing as you ponder what it takes.
On the one hand, you could read this as a grand commentary on a franchise. On the other, you can just enjoy this as a straight-up monster movie that delivers on a scope unfounded for a $15 million budget. Whatever shortcomings it has are perfectly hidden, emphasizing the idea that less is more. Where else are you going to get a scene as shocking as Godzilla taking a missile blast to the face before healing in the most devastating way possible? This film knows exactly what the viewer wants. We must see Godzilla going crazy, creating despair wherever he steps. The fact that it’s counterbalanced by some of the most tragic scenes of the year is profound. In fact, there was a scene where ash falls from the sky and it was the moment that I knew, yes, this film understood the assignment.
I indeed loved sitting in a theater and taking in the classic orchestral score. I even stuck around during the credits to hear those melodies play one last time. This was unashamed to be a monster movie with an insurmountable gambit. Could you beat a regenerative beast that has beaten you down physically and emotionally? Godzilla has rarely felt this threatening, and I love it.
To be honest, I am not an expert on Japanese history or even this franchise. I can’t say what everything means within the greater context. However, one of the beauties of this film is that there’s no barrier to entry. I was fascinated by the idea of Japanese viewers seeing this as some commentary on overcoming national grief. It wasn’t a clean or convenient answer like America would’ve sought. Instead, even the triumph came with so much sacrifice that the melancholy exists alongside the parade. The world can begin to heal, but the road there isn’t going to be easy. It’s the whole point of Gojira (1953) and its dexterous output.
Most of all, I left the theater feeling like I had witnessed something spiritual. At that moment, I was caught up in every detail and willing to give in to the unknown. There was a thrill of being there with a crowd and sharing our love for this giant. Part of me wants to believe that we all share the same compassion for the human element. Their struggle was real. The hopes of being freed from their own haunting past were commendable both on a social and individual basis. It’s everything that you’d want from a film. I was in love with the Godzilla-ness, but also just the idea that as I parsed through the plot beats and symbolism I found more to love. Even now, my heart races while thinking about it, believing that I will find more pieces whenever I watch it again.
In America, going to theaters has been a mixed bag. Many franchises are crumbling in real time. The question of where cinema’s future is going hasn’t felt this immediate. Outside of something like The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (2023), it’s hard to say this has been a great year. To me, 2024 doesn’t look all that more promising.
However, I went to Godzilla Minus One and felt something different. Here was a franchise more than triple the age of Marvel and they have withstood the test of time. They’re putting their best work out alongside some of their most ridiculous. What makes Toho so successful while we flounder? I think it’s just a passion to reward fans and give them spectacle as well as story. Most of all, Godzilla was always more than a silly monster. He was symbolic of why Japan is best when it’s unified. They come out stronger and capable of taking down any foe. For reasons both metaphorical and otherwise, America maybe doesn’t have that on a cinematic level. What is providing hope for the future? It’s hard to say. All I know is that if you make a movie that people get excited about and want to see, they will come to see it. This is maybe the greatest example I’ve seen from any country this year, hands down.
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