Godzilla Final Wars

Godzilla Final Wars (2004)
Toho Studios / CP International / Zazou Productions / Napalm Films
Director: Kitamura Ryūhei, Asada Eiichi (special effects)


For Godzilla’s 50th birthday, Toho organised a co-production with what might still be the largest budget of any Japanese kaiju eiga – an estimated 1.9 billion yen – including location filming in Australia and America, a dozen returning monsters, extensive CGI effects and a soundtrack by prog-rock pretentissimo Keith Emerson. They surely can’t have hoped to recoup that money, but they must have expected there to be some hype among cinemagoers. Yet, even with a limited release in cinemas outside Japan, Godzilla Final Wars made no more in ticket sales than Godzilla vs Megaguirus (2000) had. It’s the only Millennium series Godzilla movie to make a gross financial loss, and a substantial one at that.

This isn’t to say that Final Wars killed the Millennium series. Toho were already planning to rest Godzilla by this point – the 50th anniversary celebration was just a bonus. A very expensive bonus.

This film features a lot of callbacks to earlier Toho tokusatsu films. The synopsis that follows will include frequent pauses to note those callbacks, which readers will hopefully find helpful rather than confusing.

With celebratory anniversary episodes of media franchises – and the bigger the number, the more so, although I’m struggling to think of more than a handful that have made it as far as 50 years – the point isn’t to produce an exemplar of the series. It’s nice if that happens, but the real point is for the fans and the creators to look back and wallow in nostalgia. It’s more about iconography than substance. Hey, look, it’s this thing again. Remember that thing? Ha ha, we repeated the other thing. What made the franchise successful or interesting in the first place is hollowed out and presented as the gift shop souvenir version of itself.

Final Wars takes that to an extreme. There’s no suggestion here that the daikaiju might symbolise anything or offer any sort of comment on current affairs, unless it’s to whale on the Tri-Star Godzilla (1998) once again. They only exist to fight each other for our amusement, and they do precious little of that. Godzilla and his sparring partners get scant screentime, with most of the fight scenes – and admittedly there are a lot of them to get through – wrapped up in moments. All that money spent on new costumes and CGI models for a dozen old monsters, and they’re barely even there. I think Hedorah’s on screen for a total of 18 seconds. The film is far more interested in showing us scenes of humans (and humanoid aliens) fighting each other, posturing and looking butch while they drive motorbikes and flying submarines. (Ha, I nearly said the film was “more invested in its characters”! What an idea. The nearest anyone gets to character development is the revelation that they own a dog, and even that’s only in there for a plot reason.)

When the Godzilla movies of the 1970s were emptied of deeper meaning and reduced to a more superficial formula, they at least had camp appeal to fall back on. There’s some camp business here – Matsuoka Masahiro as Ōzaki and Kitamura Kazuki as the young Xilien leader are so arch they’re parabolic – but on the whole, Final Wars isn’t trying hard enough to justify being labelled as camp. What it seems to be aiming for is a kind of generic Hollywood brand of macho nihilism, and it’s quite lazy about it. It’s a rolling parade of explosions, tumbling vehicles, eye-rolling, grimacing and casual sexism with moments of outright misogyny, punctuated by classic Toho references that go nowhere, while a hyperactive dance/rock soundtrack rattles away underneath it all.

I wouldn’t say it takes itself entirely seriously. Exhibit A for the defence is the scene of a television talk show during the “X” craze, in which a panellist declares that it’s the dream of scientists everywhere to fight full contact with an alien. Exhibit B is the moment during the climactic bust-up when Ōzaki repeatedly punches the Xilien leader while, on a screen behind them, we can see an identically framed shot of Godzilla punching Monster X; this is the closest this film comes to offering anything that could be described as art. Exhibit C is the brief scene of a child in Canada playing with an army of kaiju action figures, which almost feels like a comment on Final Wars itself – in the course of its two long hours, the movie conveys all the narrative logic and sophistication of that child. Still, the overall tone of Final Wars is a humourless one.

In support of that is the washed-out cinematography. There’s a blue theme for scenes aboard the Gotengo and a yellow interior for the Xilien mothership, but everything else just looks grey. For a world that’s embraced international peace and harmony, it doesn’t look all that appealing. It’s more like a vision of Soviet-era futurism. Throughout the movie, Captain Gordon looks like he’s cosplaying a beefed-up version of Joseph Stalin. In fact, it looks a lot like a dry run of Iron Sky (2012), the crowd-sourced sci-fi comedy film about Nazis on the Moon, but with less self-awareness. And, well, maybe this speculative vision is fair enough. If the world is in a constant state of emergency because of all those daikaiju, and the diplomatic authority of the UN has yielded to the military authority of the EDF, maybe this is just what it would look like. Perhaps this is a more honest take than the more wholesome, photogenic heroism of G-Force (1989-95) or the JXSDF (2002-03).

Here's what I think might have happened behind the scenes, and bear in mind this is purely speculation on my part. IMDb credits Mimura Wataru and Tomiyama Shōgo with developing the storyline for Final Wars. Tomiyama was the executive producer of every Toho kaiju movie from Yamato Takeru (1994) onward, including this one; Mimura had worked on the scripts for Yamato Takeru, Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II (1993) and three previous Millennium series Godzilla films. I imagine they came up with the idea of marking Godzilla’s 50th anniversary with something like Destroy All Monsters (1968) but bigger, drawing heavily on the tokusatsu movies of their youth for inspiration. (There is a definite lean in Final Wars towards commemorating the Shōwa era, and I think that’s significant. Barring Zilla, and we all know why that’s there, the daikaiju are exclusively Shōwa era veterans. Those creations that were original to the Heisei and Millennium series do get a nod, but only glancingly, in the opening montage of clips and in the toys scattered on that Canadian child’s floor.)

As the actual scriptwriters, IMDb credits the director, Kitamura Ryūhei, and Kiriyama Isao, who has collaborated with Kitamura on several of his films. Nothing in their resumés indicates any history with kaiju eiga, or with any cinematic genre other than hyperkinetic action thrillers. They’d become international big shots with hi-octane flicks like Versus (2000) and Azumi (2003). I suspect they were brought in to make Godzilla’s birthday movie as saleable as possible to the international audience that had responded so well to sci-fi films like The Matrix (1999) – the Wachowskis’ breakthrough movie is specifically referenced in the Xiliens’ trenchcoats and a couple of “bullet time” shots in the fight scenes. I think Isao and Kitamura took the shell of what Tomiyama and Mimura had plotted out and used it as a frame on which to hang the gung-ho Hollywood-style martial arts explosionbuster they really wanted to make.

At some point, someone must have noticed that the plotline about superhuman mutants offered a link to the hugely successful Marvel comics spinoff X-Men (2000) and its 2003 sequel, and that that in turn resonated with the presence in Toho’s back catalogue of a species of aliens from Planet X, in Invasion of Astro-Monster. Maybe it was baked into the original storyline, maybe it was added into a later draft. The Xiliens we see here are a kind of amalgam of several Shōwa era alien invaders. They have more in common with the aliens from the nebula next door in Godzilla vs Gigan – using specific humans as disguises, actually sort of insectoid in appearance, plus of course they control Gigan. The parallels with Destroy All Monsters, meanwhile, might make us expect the Kilaaks to turn up. It’s plausible that this movie’s villains weren’t originally intended to be the Xiliens. Apart from their deceptive offer of help to humanity and their penchant for Matrix-friendly clothing, they don’t share many of the characteristics of the original visitors from Planet X.

There are further Shōwa era reprises in the casting. Mizuno Kumi, who made a recent comeback in Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla (2002), appears as the head of the EDF, and in a direct callback to the character she played in Invasion of Astro-Monster, her character here is called Namikawa. Takarada Akira, playing the UN Secretary-General, also starred in Invasion of Astro-Monster, Mothra vs Godzilla (1964) and the original Godzilla (1954). Sahara Kenji is unrecognisable as the EDF’s chief scientist; he’d been the star of Rodan (1956) and King Kong vs Godzilla (1962) and had a recurring minor role as a government official in the Heisei series movies. Representing the more recent film series and cameoing in the pre-credits scene of the Gotengo burying Godzilla in Antarctic ice are Nakao Akira and Ueda Kōichi, as the vessel’s original captain and his first officer; they’d played the Prime Minister and a senior Defence Ministry official in Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla and Godzilla: Tokyo SOS, and Nakao had made repeat appearances as the head of the UN’s anti-Godzilla strike force during the Heisei series.

Stealing most of the scenes he’s in with his sheer physicality is Don Frye, playing Captain Douglas Gordon. Frye was a mixed martial artist and pro wrestler who was popular in Japan, so he clearly met the filmmakers’ requirements as far as the fight scenes were concerned. But Frye seems to have parlayed this opportunity into a switch to an acting career. I note purely as an aside that, at time of writing, his IMDb listing is longer than Kitamura Ryūhei’s.

It would have been a shame if this cavalcade of absurdity had been the final hurrah for Godzilla. There will be more Godzilla movies, but it’ll take a few blog posts to get to them. For now, let this stand as the last film to feature a Godzilla portrayed by a stunt actor in a costume. Three cheers for Kitagawa Tsutomu, the main Millennium Godzilla; Satsuma Kenpachirō, the main Heisei Godzilla; Nakajima Haruo, the main Shōwa Godzilla; and all the other stunt actors who stepped into the role when needed.

Godzilla: Tokyo SOS

Godzilla: Tokyo SOS (2003)
Toho Studios
Director: Tezuka Masaaki, Asada Eiichi (special effects)


I must admit up front, I like this film. Of course I do – it’s a sequel to the 1961 Mothra that also happens to feature Mechagodzilla. Koizumi Hiroshi’s reprise of Chūjō, 42 years later, is the fanservice I didn’t know I wanted.

All things considered, this is quite a lightweight sequel to Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla. It’s nice to shift the focus from the previous movie’s Top Gun (1986) shenanigans onto the mechanics (or at least, for them to share the limelight with the pilots), but the story beats are pretty similar and there’s not much here that we haven’t seen before. The military characters bitch at each other, but with less reason than they had in the previous movie. Once again Kiryu goes off the rails because Godzilla awakens his predecessor’s ghost, even though that problem was supposedly fixed last time. The ethical problem of exploiting the 1954 Godzilla’s corpse is made more of this time, with the whole business of Mothra being willing to fight humanity over it, but nothing comes of it – in the event, Kiryu is dispatched to give support to an ailing Mothra and no more is said about it.

The question of Kiryu being “alive”, which was raised in the previous movie, is developed here but in a subtle way. No one but Yoshito sees Kiryu’s farewell message to him and it isn’t commented on at all, but the implications are huge. Clearly, the 1954 Godzilla’s genetic material – or presumably it would be more accurate to say his consciousness (or soul?) – has fused with Kiryu’s computer systems to such an extent that he/it can communicate verbally and identify individual humans by name. There have been occasional moments in the past when Godzilla seemed to single out specific people for victimisation (Godzilla vs King Ghidorah (1991), Godzilla 2000: Millennium (1999)) and when it was suggested that there might be some kind of linguistic meaning behind Godzilla’s roars (Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster (1964), Godzilla vs Gigan (1972)), but this is something else again. It looks like the JXSDF have inadvertently created a kaiju-derived AI with human-level cognitive ability. That the (re-)reawakened Kiryu reacts intelligently and compassionately instead of going on another rampage suggests that, sometime between the two movies, it has recognised and grappled with the same moral dilemmas as the human characters – and solved them. It’s a shame there wasn’t a third movie, or more time in this one, to expand on this further.

There’s arguably a hint of romance between Yoshito and Kisaragi, following in the footsteps of the pilot-plus-scientist romances in Tezuka Masaaki’s previous Godzilla movies, but honestly, there’s just as much or more of a hint of romance between Yoshito and Akiba. They start off fighting each other, but by the end, Akiba is the one ejecting from his plane to catch Yoshito and it’s the two of them lounging in a dinghy waiting to be rescued, playing James Bond and Love Interest. (You decide which is which!) Kisaragi even comments on how Yoshito, who spends all his time focused on his work, isn’t interested in women. If any kaiju fans out there are looking for queer subtexts, a) you’ve probably picked the wrong genre, but b) you could do worse than look to this film.

Once again, the Shobijin are played by the Grand Prix and Grand Jury Prize winners of the most recent Toho Cinderella talent contest (the fifth one, held in 2000). Once again, feel free to read some meta hilarity into their casting as this pair of objectified magical pixie women. On the plus side, they didn’t get kidnapped and exploited by an unscrupulous businessman this time.

As with the previous movie, the special effects are good. It seems to be a standard Toho trope now for Godzilla’s first appearance to be heralded by a tsunami-like wall of water. Mothra is well realised, both as a practical model and through CGI – the opening scenes with the JASDF jets are nicely done, and there’s a very pretty shot later on of Mothra silhouetted against a setting sun that stands out. There’s a cute moment early on when Kiryu’s rampage from the last movie is presented in a TV news report as a bit of shaky handheld camera footage. The acting is mostly OK, although there’s some terrible acting from the Americans among the cast, and some terrible dialogue for them to deliver. I truly pity the poor bastard playing the submarine’s sonar operator, who was expected to deliver the line: “Oh Jesus – big heartbeats!”

The post-credits scene hints at a third Kiryu movie that never came to pass. After the promise of Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla, the reception of Tokyo SOS was a grave disappointment and the longed-for trilogy was, once again, abandoned. And that might have been it for the Millennium series, except that 2004 would be Godzilla’s 50th anniversary year. Toho couldn’t let that pass without marking the occasion, could they?

Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla

Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla (2002)
Toho Studios
Director: Tezuka Masaaki, Kikuchi Yūichi (special effects)
Also known as: On the posters it’s Godzilla X Mechagodzilla, with the “X” pronounced “tai” like the 1974 film’s title. Some use the acronym GXM for convenience. I don’t think anyone’s seriously interested in calling this one “Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla III”.


Godzilla, Mothra and King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack (GMK, 2001) was the most successful of the first three Millennium series Godzilla movies by quite a margin, taking well over twice its budget in domestic ticket sales and enjoying widespread critical acclaim. Director Kaneko Shūsuke had done it again, revitalising a beloved but flagging daikaiju franchise with modern sensibilities, a large dose of mysticism and a dash of horror.

For reasons, executive producer Tomiyama Shōgo decided not to ask Kaneko to make another Godzilla movie, but instead brought back Tezuka Masaaki, the director of Godzilla vs Megaguirus (2000), objectively the least successful of the three movies. Perhaps he felt Tezuka’s vision – less horror, more heroic action – was a better fit for Toho’s or his own view of what a Godzilla movie should be. (It’s worth noting that Toho released several of the Millennium series Godzilla movies on double bills with children’s animated films about Hamtaro, an anthropomorphised hamster...) Tomiyama was so confident in his choice that he backed Tezuka to direct multiple films – having abandoned their plan for a trilogy based on Godzilla 2000: Millennium (1999), Toho would absolutely, definitely follow through on a new trilogy featuring the fan favourite character Mechagodzilla. Given the strong military focus of Godzilla vs Megaguirus, Mechagodzilla and Tezuka must have looked like a match made in heaven. The gamble paid off, for this first movie at least.

The first thing to say about Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla is that it’s almost a note-for-note reprise of Godzilla vs Megaguirus. A female officer of the JSDF’s anti-Godzilla force holds a personal grudge against Godzilla because of her commanding officer’s death in a disastrous operation a few years earlier. There’s a suggestion of romance between her and a frankly obnoxious scientist who’s been key in developing a physics-defying superweapon to fight Godzilla. There’s also a precocious child with ties to the opposing kaiju that she confides in. Unsurprisingly, as well as sharing a director, this movie was scripted by one of the two writers behind Megaguirus.

I think it all gels better here than in Megaguirus, though. The JXSDF feels like a more satisfying tribute to the Heisei series’ G-Force than the G-Graspers in Megaguirus, which felt a bit too much like a dozen people operating out of a downtown office. As the overly forward scientist, Yuhara is awkward and unfiltered rather than offensive in the way Kudō was, while Yashiro has more personal motivation than merely having lost a colleague to Godzilla, which Tsujimori would have had in common with her entire battalion. Making the child character a relative of one of the adult leads provides a more credible reason for her to keep meeting up with Yashiro than was the case with Jun and Tsujimori. On a technical level, too, this movie outshines Megaguirus throughout. The opening scenes of the JXSDF fighting Godzilla at night in a typhoon stand out as particularly good.

If Tesuka’s back as director, then so is Ōshima Michiru as the incidental music’s composer. This time the old Ifukube march doesn’t even get a look in. The main theme from Megaguirus is reused whenever Godzilla makes an entrance and over the end credits, but there are some great new themes as well for Kiryu and the JXSDF.

At first glance, Kiryu seems to serve much the same narrative function as Mechagodzilla did in its 1993 appearance: a military solution to a natural problem, which in this case becomes as bad as the original problem. There are some important differences, though. For one thing, Kiryu is actually effective – the cost was terrible, but it got results in the end. And then there’s Kiryu’s name, which is more “authentically” Japanese than Mechagodzilla, which just makes the 1993 machine sound like a piece of imported technology and made the 1974 version more obviously an alien creation. It’s significant that Kiryu is the product of a specifically Japanese military-industrial organisation, not an international body with American involvement like the UNGCC in Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II. This is unmistakably Japan’s dilemma: can it, should it solve its contemporary problems by rearming? The question of rearmament is very briefly mooted in this movie but swiftly glossed over. The answer, supported by the film’s conclusion, seems to be not only that the circumstances might warrant it, but that the end would justify the means.

The question of rearmament is one that Japan has faced since the end of the American occupation in the 1950s, when the US urged them to rearm and they understandably demurred. It would come to the fore again soon after this film’s release, when Japan was asked to join President George W Bush’s “coalition of the willing” in the 2003 invasion and occupation of Iraq. Japan sent ground troops, but only in their constitutional capacity as a defensive force, not as aggressors. It’s only in the last couple of years that the Japanese government has passed the changes to their constitution necessary for Japan to build and maintain an offensive capability again. This move is believed to have been prompted by the intimidatory actions of their neighbours China and North Korea.

The other interesting thing Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla does is raise the question of whether Kiryu is in any sense “alive”. Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II had that bit of nonsense at the end about “life against artificial life”, but Kiryu contains organic components and genuinely seems to be haunted. Reclaiming and weaponising the corpse of the 1954 Godzilla has quite literally raised the spectre of that original assault on Japan. This would seem to work against the upbeat ending of Kiryu’s eventual success by suggesting that by aping our enemies, we’ll only become like them.

The only other thing I’ll say about Kiryu for now is that, by having it be Japan’s superweapon (à la 1993) and having it attack Tokyo (à la 1974), the creators of this movie are very much having their cake and eating it.

Let’s end with a bit of actor-spotting. There are some familiar guest stars playing the two Prime Ministers in this movie. Portraying the 1999 Prime Minister is Mizuno Kumi, who appeared in several Shōwa era films, perhaps most notably (for us) as the alien infiltrator Namikawa in Invasion of Astro-Monster (1965). As an aside, there has never yet been a female Prime Minister of Japan in real life. The 2003 Prime Minister, formerly the Science Minister with responsibility for the Kiryu project, is, delightfully, played by Nakao Akira. Nakao featured in Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II and the two movies that followed it as Colonel Asō, the head of G-Force who oversaw the construction of the Heisei Mechagodzilla. It’s about time that I also mentioned Ueda Kōichi, who played a variety of officials and other characters in small but memorable roles as far back as Godzilla vs Biollante (1989). Here he plays General Dobashi, a top Defence Ministry official, a role which he’ll reprise with substantially more screen time in the next movie.

Godzilla, Mothra and King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack

Godzilla, Mothra and King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack (2001)
Toho Studios
Director: Kaneko Shūsuke, Kamiya Makoto (special effects)
Also known as: GMK, which has been widely adopted for brevity’s sake.


Still looking for that elusive spark that would reignite the fortunes of the Godzilla franchise, Toho turned to director Kaneko Shūsuke. This was a dream assignment for Kaneko – he’d expressed an interest in directing a Godzilla movie in the early 90s and been rebuffed. He’d then gone on to direct the Heisei era Gamera trilogy for Daiei and kicked arse. He even got to co-write the third one, and he’d get the chance to co-author GMK too. Toho had distributed the Gamera trilogy through their cinemas and presumably couldn’t help but notice their success. Could Kaneko do for them what he’d done for Daiei?

At first sight, this might look like a reimagining of classic daikaiju to rival anything that happened in the Heisei series. King Ghidorah not evil? Mothra without the singing fairies? But that came about by accident rather than by design. Kaneko’s original plan was to pit Godzilla against three forgotten monsters of the Shōwa era: Baragon, Varan (who featured in an eponymous film in 1958 and made an unnamed cameo appearance in a Godzilla movie in 1968) and Anguirus (last seen in 1974). Toho’s response to this first proposal was to ask for the more popular Mothra and King Ghidorah to be included instead. Kaneko and his co-writers made little to no effort to accommodate this change beyond renaming the kaiju.

But I’m damned if I know which kaiju subbed in for which. As a lake monster who also flies, Varan looks like a match for Mothra, but then the big final showdown involves a flying kaiju and happens in the water in Tokyo Bay, so maybe he was replaced by Ghidorah. Anguirus, by contrast, looks underqualified for either role.

What did stick was the idea to switch Godzilla from being a mutated victim/avatar of American nuclear weapons tests to being the nightmare embodiment of the vengeance of everyone who suffered during the Pacific War. (That term, incidentally, is frequently taken simply to mean the Pacific wing of World War II, but could potentially encompass the Second Sino-Japanese War which started in 1937.) The scene in which Admiral Tachibana asks his daughter why the souls of dead Japanese soldiers who fought for their country would want to attack it, and she observes that many other Asians and Americans died in the war too, saves this from coming across as a nationalist aggrandisement of the military dead. Godzilla’s wrath isn’t the frustrated, reactionary grumping of old imperialists but a broader stand-in for “the sins of the past”, something a bit more in line with the indiscriminate curses of contemporary J-Horror films and with Kaneko’s horror-inflected take on the Gamera mythos.

Recasting other monsters of the atomic age as ancient, mystical guardian spirits of Japan is a bold choice, though. Perhaps there is a hint of a less aggressive kind of nationalism in there, a suggestion that it might be in modern Japan’s interests to reconnect with older parts of its culture. Then again, it’s only one step away from what Kaneko did with Gamera, turning him and Gyaos into genetically engineered weapons of ancient Atlantis. Perhaps, if Kaneko had been given the chance to make a sequel to GMK, he would have taken Toho’s daikaiju further into the realms of BS Digital Q’s National Enquirer-esque fantasies.

There’s a certain curmudgeonly flavour to the way GMK handles its unnamed characters. Delinquent youths are responsible for disturbing two of the guardian monsters and get a swift comeuppance. This seems a little undeserved given that, as it turns out, it’s a good thing those monsters were released and if those kids hadn’t desecrated those roadside shrines, that mysterious old man certainly would have. Kaneko, who was still in his 40s at this time, was by his own admission a grumpy old man at heart.

As for the little vignettes of people who are about to be killed by Godzilla, these were apparently meant to humanise his victims, in lieu of the usual scenes of anonymous crowds. But they more often come across as comical, either as mean-spirited jokes (the man at a urinal on the island where Godzilla makes his first landfall, the woman in a hospital in Shizuoka) or as punishment for the characters’ stupidity (the tourists who pose for holiday snaps in front of an oncoming daikaiju at Hakone).

On the subject of mean jokes, GMK features the Millennium series’ first explicit, undeniable, no-interpretation-required dig at Godzilla (1998). In the opening scene, Admiral Tachibana specifically mentions a recent monster attack in New York as a reason for the JSDF to stay alert. Two members of his audience whisper to each other about this. Wasn’t that Godzilla, asks one. That’s what they say in America, replies the other, but the Japanese don’t think so.

As far as the major characters go, Yuri feels like a suitably rounded protagonist and Admiral Tachibana, the main military figure, is humanised by the scenes of him at home with his daughter and reminiscing about his childhood in 1954. The rest are filled in with quite broad strokes and there’s not a lot of depth to them. Even Tachibana’s childhood trauma is dropped in front of us but never really followed up on. For an ostensibly moody film, GMK actually doesn’t waste that much time on mood or on human drama, focusing instead on knockabout action. I don’t know what to make of the final, cheesy twist – that old campfire tale standard, “but he died nearly 50 years ago!”

There are a couple of familiar faces among the cast. Hotaru Yukijirō, clearly a favourite of the director, having played the comedy cop Osako in the Gamera trilogy, cameos as the suicidal businessman who discovers Ghidorah’s lair. The mysterious old man who tries to warn everyone about Godzilla’s return is played by Amamoto Hideyo, a stalwart of the Shōwa era. He was Dr Who (not that one) in King Kong Escapes (1967) and the friendly neighbour Shinpei in All Monsters Attack (1969). Yuri’s editor at BS Digital Q is played by someone we’ve seen quite recently, Sano Shirō, who was the government scientist Miyasaka (with much shorter hair) in Godzilla 2000: Millennium (1999).

On the whole, GMK is a very good-looking film. (Well, except for Baragon. Baragon looks like the kind of thing that was parodied in the opening scenes of Shin Ultraman (2022).) There’s a shot up from ground level of Godzilla coming ashore, with a fishing boat dropping from his shoulder, that truly makes this giant nightmare version of the character look impressive. In its story and its characters, I think it’s weaker, but it has enough momentum to stop you noticing that until after you’ve watched it. It was the most successful of the Millennium series Godzilla movies by a clear margin and it’s well liked by the fan community. It just doesn’t quite tick all the boxes for me.

Godzilla vs Megaguirus

Godzilla vs Megaguirus (2000)
Toho Studios
Director: Tezuka Masaaki, Suzuki Kenji (special effects)


On the morning of 30 September 1999, a criticality accident took place at a uranium enrichment facility attached to Tōkai Nuclear Power Plant. Nearly seven times the legally mandated maximum quantity of uranyl nitrate was deposited into a precipitation tank, achieving critical mass and sparking a chain reaction that rolled on, firing out gamma rays and neutrons across the facility, until it was brought under control the following morning. The 1999 Tōkaimura nuclear accident was the worst Japan had seen and would only be topped by the 2011 Fukushima Daiichi incident.

The causes of the accident were a litany of failures including inadequate training, poor workplace supervision, lax regulatory oversight and cut corners, all the way down to the technicians mixing the enriched uranium manually in steel buckets. It was a stark illustration of how badly things can go wrong when industry ignores regulations and health and safety practices. The two technicians who’d had their hands on the buckets when criticality occurred died of organ failure after months in hospital, and hundreds of others within the facility and in the surrounding area received dangerously high doses of gamma radiation. In March 2000, the facility owner, JCO, was stripped of its credentials and its President resigned. Six of the plant’s staff – including the supervisor of the two technicians who’d died, who had himself received three months of treatment for radiation sickness – were charged with criminal negligence in October 2000. JCO itself and three of the individual defendants were charged with violating the relevant regulations.

Although that’s just two months before the release of this film, I imagine the prosecution was a foregone conclusion when scripting began. The defendants pled guilty but argued extenuating circumstances. The sentence that was finally handed down in March 2003 was much lighter than might have been expected, with suspended prison sentences for the individuals and a fine of 1,000,000 yen for JCO’s violations. By way of comparison, Godzilla vs Megaguirus had a budget roughly 950 times that amount.

So here, released mid-December 2000, is a movie in which corruption and complacency in the energy industry are revealed to be the cause of Godzilla’s destructive rampage. Tsujimori even gets to punch the chief executive responsible in the face, which I’m sure must have been a cathartic moment for contemporary cinemagoers. Perhaps in order to soften the commentary, the disaster that strikes Tōkai Nuclear Power Plant is moved back to the year of its commissioning and Japan’s nuclear energy industry is replaced with the more science-fictional deuterium-based plasma energy industry, fronted by the glib Mr Sugiura. (It’s not entirely clear if Sugiura is meant to be a businessman or a civil servant, or some combination of the two, like the villainous Katagiri in Godzilla 2000: Millennium. As the head of the Bureau that developed plasma energy, he takes a very hands-on interest in the related Dimension Tide project and is a constant background presence in the scenes set at G-Graspers HQ.)

And yet Godzilla vs Megaguirus equivocates. The whole premise of Japan finding an alternative to nuclear energy and Godzilla attacking anyway seems to suggest that nuclear’s as good as any other option, notwithstanding the dangers. The opening backstory makes it clear that safer, renewable energy production methods such as solar, wind and hydroelectric – at least, at the state of advancement they were at in the 90s – aren’t enough to meet Japan’s high energy demands. (Even with nuclear energy production in full swing around the time this film was made, Japan still depended on imported fossil fuels – oil, coal and natural gas – for roughly 80% of its power. Today that figure’s closer to 90%.) An unrepentant Sugiura insists that he had to play fast and loose to give the domestic energy industry a leg up and help Japan to become more self-reliant. That’s pretty much exactly the rationale JCO gave for their crimes after the public found out about them.

While we’re looking for hidden meanings, perhaps Megaguirus, as a product of the Carboniferous Period, could be said to stand in for those fossil fuels. Draining away Godzilla’s H-bomb-given energy (taking nuclear’s market share?), Megaguirus comes to resemble him and is as dangerous and destructive. And then there’s the flooding in Shibuya, which can be attributed to the hatching Meganulons although the exact cause remains unclear. Rising sea levels were a concern in pop culture at least as far back as King Kong vs Godzilla (1962), and climatologists have increasingly come to understand the part that burning fossil fuels plays in affecting the ecosystem and causing those water levels to rise. I don’t know, though – perhaps this is an interpretation too far. In this reading of the film, Godzilla would have to represent nuclear energy as a “clean” substitute for fossil fuels – much as he did in Godzilla vs Hedorah (1971) – while simultaneously being a generic stand-in for “the bad things that happen to/at power plants” in the rest of the movie.

Godzilla vs Megaguirus subordinates the commentary, if any, to the simpler business of presenting a slam-bang kaiju action movie, and that's fair enough. On that front, this is a return to more familiar territory after the slightly more grounded Godzilla 2000. Japan’s response to the threat of Godzilla once again consists of a well-drilled paramilitary outfit with access to outlandish fantasy weapons, not two scheming civil servants and an amateur investigative team armed with seismographs. But the G-Graspers are a pale shadow of the Heisei series’ UN-backed G-Force. (I mean, “G-Force” at least offered a play on words – what’s “G-Graspers” even supposed to mean?) As a reimagining, this movie treads quite a lot of familiar ground. Again, we have an antagonistic kaiju realised at least partly through CGI that wants to become like Godzilla (so again, decide for yourself whether this is a dig at Godzilla (1998) or just an overused Toho trope). Dr Yoshizawa’s concern over the possible future abuse of the Dimension Tide looks like a superficial reference to Dr Serizawa’s dilemma over the Oxygen Destroyer in Godzilla (1954) but without the noble sacrifice at the end. (The similarity in the characters’ names, Yoshizawa and Serizawa, might even be deliberate. Incidentally, Hoshi Yuriko, as Dr Yoshizawa, presents the most familiar face in the cast - she played the female journalist leads in Mothra vs Godzilla and Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster (both 1964).) Besides being an unexpected reprise of the less well-remembered monsters from a 1956 movie, the Meganulons present us with a swarm kaiju just two Toho Godzilla movies after Godzilla vs Destoroyah (1995). (Or perhaps, with their insectile appearance and their appetite for energy, they’re a little closer to the Legion footsoldiers in Daiei’s Gamera 2 (1996)?)

In terms of the effects, CGI is clearly gaining a foothold at Toho. The establishing shot of the near-future parallel Tokyo is a little too obvious – it’s the CGI bullet trains that give it away. There are some very odd directorial choices in the climactic kaiju fight, with plenty of bad, jerky slow-motion moments and a comically sped-up shot of Godzilla shaking his head after a fall. There’s an absolutely crazy shot from below of Godzilla leaping through the air to bodyslam Megaguirus. Apart from that moment, we’re back to the old standard of daikaiju being shot from their own eye level, which makes the scope of the action feel somewhat limited. There is one scene of Godzilla marching through the streets of Shibuya towards the Science Institute that I think does benefit greatly from being shot from overhead and behind.

The scenes of the Meganulons and Meganula, by contrast, offer some human-scale action and are uniformly well realised. Scenes of the Meganula shedding their Meganulon skins and taking flight are very nicely achieved through CGI. The daikaiju suits and city miniatures are all as good as they’ve ever been. There’s one scene in which the effects team actually exceeded my expectations and I’m in two minds about it: the prop for Kudō’s aquatic drone (presented at actual size) very clearly isn’t the minisub prop (a miniature standing in for something the size of a car), it’s a different colour and shape, but it would have been so cheeky if they’d had Kudō walking in holding the same prop.

The character work is so-so. There isn’t exactly a romantic subplot between Tsujimori and Kudō – it’s vaguely hinted at but it comes to nothing, and after all, Kudō’s off-puttingly arrogant. Tsujimori is a stalwart lead, capable and focused, and her personal grudge against Godzilla is paid off in a nice Moby-Dick moment when she climbs over Godzilla’s back to plant the tracker on him. She has to put up with a level of casual sexism that’s actually surprising in this movie when you compare it to the Heisei series or the 1990s Gamera trilogy, with little Jun asking her what a woman’s doing in the G-Graspers and Kudō developing a desktop assistant that's an objectified version of her. The other adult characters are too bland to leave an impression, but Jun feels like in another world he could have been the child star of a Gamera movie.

The last thing I’ll draw attention to is the music by composer Ōshima Michiru. Ifukube Akira’s iconic Godzilla theme is, inevitably, heard again in this movie, but around it is, I think, the first score by another composer that can really give Ifukube a run for his money. She delivers a tremendous military march that plays over the scene of the JSDF confronting Godzilla in 1996 and the later fight between Godzilla and Megaguirus. The stridulating violin theme for the swarming Meganula shows, by her own admission, the influence of the synthesised soundtrack of Hitchcock’s The Birds (1963) and maybe a hint of Psycho (1960) as well. We’ll hear from Ōshima again.

Godzilla 2000: Millennium

Godzilla 2000: Millennium (1999)
Toho Studios
Director: Ōkawara Takao, Suzuki Kenji (special effects)
Also known as: The slightly re-edited American release was just called Godzilla 2000 (2000).


I’ll bet Toho were glad they retained the right to continue making their own Godzilla films when negotiating the terms for TriStar’s Godzilla (1998). Within a year and a half of the American movie’s release, they’d produced the first of a new wave of films that could be seen as reclaiming the daikaiju’s legacy and responding to the choices made by Dean Devlin and Roland Emmerich. Although these all came out during the Heisei era, they’re generally referred to as the Millennium series to avoid confusion with the 1984-95 Heisei series.

The conceit of all but one of the Millennium series films is that each one ignores all the material that’s preceded it except for the original Godzilla (1954). (In practice, how much or how little each film will ignore will vary greatly.) Presenting a string of new takes on Godzilla might have been a way for Toho to show certain overseas film producers how they thought it should have been done. It seems, though, that it was really just a pivot from a planned series after Toho saw the underwhelming ticket sales for Godzilla 2000. Presenting a selection of reboots was an expedient way for them to try other approaches until they found one that worked for Japanese audiences. TriStar themselves undertook to distribute Godzilla 2000 to American cinemas, but ended up trimming and re-dubbing it to create another in the long line of American re-edits. Subsequent entries in the series received limited exposure, if any, in US cinemas.

As is often the case, the new Godzilla movie riffs on a recent Hollywood blockbuster. Here it’s Twister (1996), following a plucky scientific team with their off-road vehicle and their ramshackle equipment as they race a better-funded rival to pursue and study a natural disaster. This may be significant, as Twister was the film that director Jan de Bont took on after he walked away from TriStar’s Godzilla project. We’d rather have seen de Bont’s take, Godzilla 2000 seems to say. That the kaiju antagonist is (initially, at least) a computer-generated image that tries to imitate Godzilla could also be a subtle dig against Godzilla (1998).

Of course, it could equally just be a knock-off of the end of Godzilla vs Biollante (1989), in which Godzilla defeated a foe mimicking his form by firing his atomic breath ray down its throat. Pale shadows of Godzilla can also be seen in Godzilla vs SpaceGodzilla (1994) and the three films thus far to feature Mechagodzilla (1974, 1975, 1993). This isn’t a new idea in these movies... but it does take on a new significance in the wake of the Devlin/Emmerich movie.

The nuclear plant that Godzilla attacks at Tōkai is, in fact, the oldest in Japan. In March 1997, there’d been a serious radiation leakage at an attached nuclear waste management facility, which might have had a bearing on its choice as a location in this movie. It only plays a minor role, though. A far worse incident happened at a nearby enrichment facility at the end of September 1999, only a couple of months before the movie’s release and almost certainly too late to have influenced the script. We’ll hear more about that in the next blog post.

There’s another reference to a nuclear power station, more (in)famous now than it was at the time, when Shinoda checks in with a colleague in Fukushima. It seems the GPN keeps an active watch over Godzilla’s most likely targets. Interesting, then, that the other GPN operative we hear from is based in Matsushima. There are a couple of towns of that name, but presumably this is the one down south in Kyūshū, which is home to a large coal power station. Shinoda firmly believes that Godzilla is interested in attacking other energy sources besides nuclear, an idea that really isn’t followed up on in this film, but which, again, will be explored further in the next film. I can’t find any indication of any large power stations in the Nemuro area, so what kind of facility Godzilla attacks there must remain a mystery.

The introduction of “Organiser G-1” and, with it, the suggestion that Godzilla is functionally immortal is quite a departure from earlier films. Hitherto, Godzilla has been resilient, certainly, but not invulnerable. The nearest any previous film has come to this is the broad suggestion in Godzilla vs Biollante that Godzilla’s cells hold some sort of regenerative factor and, at the other end of the rationality spectrum, Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II (1993) resorting to mysticism to bring him back from the brink of death. A quarter of a century later, Godzilla Minus One (2024) will show a Godzilla with a similar super-healing ability, but without any explanation.

As far as the visuals go, the cinematography is far too dark in some crucial scenes, notably across the entire last half hour, making it difficult to follow what’s going on. The American re-edit goes some way towards mitigating this, turning the brightness up a bit as well as tightening up the pacing. The compositing is noticeably better than in the Heisei series movies, and director Ōkawara Takao seems to have got the memo about shooting from street level for greater impact, although that’s more in the earlier scenes. The climactic (and too damned dark) fight falls into much the same pattern as in previous films, with characters watching the events unfold from a nearby rooftop as if to deliberately justify the default use of kaiju-eye-level long shots.

Having all the lights go out in Nemuro as Godzilla wades in and crashes through the power lines is a nice touch, too often overlooked in similar scenes in the past. There are a handful of other moments I’d consider highlights of this film. One is the title caption scene, as a spooky moment in a fogbound lighthouse becomes the reveal of Godzilla carrying a ship past the window in his teeth. Another is Ichinose’s first encounter with Godzilla as Shinoda reverses his truck out of a tunnel with the kaiju in pursuit, plunging his feet through the tunnel roof. (But why on Earth did the effect of the windscreen shattering need to be realised with CGI?)

Old hands might notice two familiar faces among the cast. Shinoda is played by Murata Takehiro, who had a secondary role in Godzilla vs Mothra (1992) as Andō Kenji, the company man with a conscience. Apparently he got a lot of positive attention for that performance, and he proves to be a capable leading man here. And the villainous Katagiri is surely unmistakeable to anyone who’s seen Yamato Takeru (1994), in which he played the evil Moon god Tsukuyomi. He chews the scenery just as much here – in what might be the movie’s most bizarre moment, he seems to try to outroar Godzilla seconds before being swatted with a gigantic forelimb.