Index

Welcome to "Massive Organisms Approaching", a blog about kaiju/giant monster movies. This was a limited project, posting once a week over the course of a year to mark the 70th anniversary of Godzilla (1954). I don't currently have any plans to add to this blog, although that may change.

For your convenience, the table below provides links to each specific post and specifies which film or films the post covers. You could also use the "Labels" section on the right hand side of the page to browse the blog.


Post title Covering
King Kong King Kong (1933), Son of Kong (1933), Mighty Joe Young (1949)
Godzilla The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953), Godzilla (1954)
Godzilla Raids Again Godzilla Raids Again (1955)
Rodan Rodan (1956)
American re-edits Godzilla, King of the Monsters! (1956), Varan (1958), Gigantis, the Fire Monster (1959), Varan the Unbelievable (1962), King Kong vs Godzilla (US, 1963), Godzilla 1985 (1985)
The Three Treasures The Three Treasures (1959)
Mothra Mothra (1961)
King Kong vs Godzilla King Kong vs Godzilla (1962)
Mothra vs Godzilla Mothra vs Godzilla (1964)
Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster (1964)
Gamera the Giant Monster Gamera the Giant Monster (1965)
Invasion of Astro-Monster Invasion of Astro-Monster (1965)
The Daimajin trilogy Daimajin (1966), Return of Daimajin (1966), Wrath of Daimajin (1966)
Gamera vs Barugon Gamera vs Barugon (1966)
The War of the Gargantuas Frankenstein vs Baragon (1965), The War of the Gargantuas (1966)
Ebirah, Horror of the Deep Ebirah, Horror of the Deep (1966)
Gamera vs Gyaos Gamera vs Gyaos (1967), Gamera vs Viras (1968), Gamera vs Guiron (1969), Gamera vs Jiger (1970), Gamera vs Zigra (1971)
Son of Godzilla The X from Outer Space (1967), Gappa (1967), King Kong Escapes (1967), Son of Godzilla (1967)
Destroy All Monsters Destroy All Monsters (1968)
All Monsters Attack All Monsters Attack (1969)
Godzilla vs Hedorah Space Amoeba (1970), Godzilla vs Hedorah (1971)
Godzilla vs Gigan Godzilla vs Gigan (1972)
Godzilla vs Megalon Godzilla vs Megalon (1973)
Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla (1974)
Terror of Mechagodzilla Terror of Mechagodzilla (1975), King Kong (1976), Gamera Super Monster (1980), Star Fleet (1982-83)
The Return of Godzilla The Return of Godzilla (1984)
Godzilla vs Biollante Princess from the Moon (1987), Godzilla vs Biollante (1989)
Tremors Tremors (1990)
Godzilla vs King Ghidorah Godzilla vs King Ghidorah (1991)
Godzilla vs Mothra Godzilla vs Mothra (1992)
Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II (1993)
Yamato Takeru Yamato Takeru (1994)
Godzilla vs SpaceGodzilla Godzilla vs SpaceGodzilla (1994)
Gamera: The Guardian of the Universe Gamera: The Guardian of the Universe (1995)
Godzilla vs Destoroyah Godzilla vs Destoroyah (1995)
Gamera 2: Advent of Legion Gamera 2: Advent of Legion (1996), Rebirth of Mothra (1996), Rebirth of Mothra 2 (1997), Rebirth of Mothra 3 (1998)
GODZILLA Godzilla (1998)
Gamera 3: Revenge of Iris Gamera 3: Revenge of Iris (1999)
Godzilla 2000: Millennium Godzilla 2000: Millennium (1999)
Godzilla vs Megaguirus Godzilla vs Megaguirus (2000)
Godzilla, Mothra and King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack Godzilla, Mothra and King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack (2001)
Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla (2002)
Godzilla: Tokyo SOS Godzilla: Tokyo SOS (2003)
Godzilla Final Wars Godzilla Final Wars (2004)
Gamera the Brave Gamera the Brave (2006)
Parodies Big Man Japan (2007), Monster X Strikes Back: Attack the G8 Summit (2008), Geharha: The Dark- and Long-Haired Monster (2009)
Pacific Rim Pacific Rim (2013), Pacific Rim Uprising (2018)
Monsterverse Godzilla (2014), Kong: Skull Island (2017), Godzilla: King of the Monsters (2019), Godzilla vs Kong (2021), Monarch: Legacy of Monsters (2023-present), Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire (2024)
Shin Godzilla Shin Godzilla (2016)
Colossal Colossal (2016)
Anime Godzilla: Planet of the Monsters (2017), Godzilla: City on the Edge of Battle (2018), Godzilla: The Planet Eater (2018), Pacific Rim: The Black (2021-22), Godzilla Singular Point (2021), Skull Island (2023), Gamera Rebirth (2023)
Godzilla Minus One Godzilla Minus One (2023)

Godzilla Minus One

Godzilla Minus One (2023)
Toho Studios / Robot Communications Inc.
Director: Yamazaki Takashi, Shibuya Kiyoko (special effects)
Also known as: The posters and trailers styled the title as “Godzilla -1.0” or just “G -1.0”. A black-and-white version was created in post-production and commercially released a few months later as Godzilla Minus One / Minus Color (“Godzilla -1.0 / C”, 2024).


Reminder: This blog contains plot spoilers, possibly in the main body as well as in the plot summary section. Read on at your own risk!


The anime trilogy came and went, while over in America the Legendary Pictures series rumbled on, but Toho did continue to produce a very small amount of live action Godzilla material. Having launched an annual “Godzilla Fest” in 2017, they filmed a very short metafictional piece for the 2020 event that featured a man in a Godzilla costume acting out a scene of urban destruction. This was well received, and each year since has seen a new short film produced for Godzilla Fest. These sequels also used the old “suitmation” special effects but switched to presenting straightforward dramatic scenes of combat between Godzilla and a succession of classic kaiju adversaries.

In 2021, the Seibuen amusement park near Tokyo launched a new Godzilla-themed motion simulator ride. Godzilla the Ride: Giant Monsters Ultimate Battle featured a 3D animated fight between Godzilla and King Ghidorah which was scripted and directed by Yamazaki Takashi, with visual effects by Shibuya Kiyoko based on Yamazaki’s creature designs. Yamazaki had a couple of dozen credits to his name by this point, including a live action remake of Space Battleship Yamato (2010), an acclaimed three-part live action adaptation of the ongoing manga series Sunset on Third Street and a couple of 3D animated franchise films. Of greatest relevance to Toho, he’d included a fantasy sequence at the start of Always: Sunset on Third Street 2 (2007) in which one of the protagonists, a struggling writer, imagined Godzilla attacking his neighbourhood. Shibuya produced the special effects for that, too.

By the time the amusement park ride launched, Toho had already offered the multi-award-winning Yamazaki his dream project, the next full-length Godzilla film. Once again Shibuya joined him to work on the special effects sequences. Among a distinguished cast, Yoshioka Hidetaka (playing the science boffin character Noda) was the only actor Yamazaki brought across from the Always: Sunset on Third Street trilogy.

Like Shin Godzilla (2016) and Godzilla: Planet of the Monsters (2017), Godzilla Minus One doesn’t just put aside all previous sequels to the 1954 original but ignores that too, creating a new continuity from scratch. Unlike the other films, it doesn’t modernise Godzilla with a new contemporary or near-future origin story, but instead pushes his first appearance further back into the past, to the immediate aftermath of the Second World War. The film’s trailers presented this setting as the key to understanding its title – if Japan had been knocked down to nothing by its defeat and surrender, Godzilla would reduce it even further, from zero to minus one. Toho’s marketing campaign in the month before the title was revealed, by contrast, listed out the previous 29 live action Godzilla films in reverse order, effectively counting down to the new film placed numerically at “-1” before the first in the series. Although it was a year early for it, the production was officially labelled as celebrating Godzilla’s 70th anniversary.

Like Shin Godzilla, Godzilla Minus One focuses on its characters and isn’t simply an effects-driven action movie. But it goes back to the franchise’s roots in the melodramatic cinema of 1954, or (probably more to the point) the heartwarming emotional fare of Yamazaki’s Always: Sunset on Third Street trilogy. The characters aren’t satirical cyphers but are recognisable dramatic types whose psychology plausibly reflects the mood of postwar Japan. Notwithstanding the fantastic elements, I would say this is the most “realistic” Godzilla film to date, not only in its characters but in the real-world science used in Noda’s counter-Godzilla plan and in the incidental details that deviate only slightly from actual history (if this ship hadn’t been scrapped a year before... if more of those tanks or those planes had rolled off the production line...).

The realism in Kōichi’s characterisation is most obvious, and the film pulls no punches. The welcome he gets from his neighbour on his initial return home is probably one that greeted many Japanese servicemen, and we can see clearly how it compounds Kōichi’s survivor’s guilt. His PTSD, from his experiences of the war itself and of Godzilla’s 1945 attack, comes through powerfully in the scenes of his night terrors. The tension between this and the hopeful new life that starts to build itself around him means that the film’s emotional ending feels well earned, not simply another bit of melodrama.

About that ending though... It is perhaps a bit pat that things should work out as neatly as they do, and the fact that we’re initially baited with what looks like the expected tragic ending before being given more information in flashback makes it very easy for me to offer a more cynical interpretation. It looks a lot like Kōichi really does die at the end, and everything after that is some kind of last-second fantasy on his part. At least, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Yamazaki had perhaps tried out the tragic ending, been given notes by the producers or from a test audience and added on the happy ending.

Then again, it would have been quite a comedown after Noda’s rousing “Nobody dies today” speech, so perhaps not. The overall tone of the film is certainly one of hope, of rebuilding after a catastrophe, which I’m sure would have been welcomed by Japanese audiences even a decade after the Tōhoku earthquake. This is also a film that places a high value on life, condemning the tragic waste of war and particularly the Japanese experience of the Second World War. It could fairly be described as a feelgood Godzilla movie.

A couple of months after its cinematic debut, Godzilla Minus One was rereleased to Japanese cinemas in black and white. This wasn’t the first experiment of this type: back in October 2023, there’d been a monochrome rerelease of Shin Godzilla, screened alongside a handful of earlier Godzilla films selected by Yamazaki as part of the buildup for Minus One. I don’t know if this was done as a way of testing the waters for the later release of Godzilla Minus One Minus Color or if the latter film was created because of a good response to it. Either way, I’m not entirely sure why Shin Godzilla got the treatment – Minus One at least has the excuse of being set in the 40s, an era of monochrome film.

It’s interesting to contrast this with how another extremely long-running franchise, Doctor Who, has been interacting with its past lately. (My sorry-not-sorry apologies for bringing Doctor Who into this, or indeed any other conversation.) In an effort to bring the series’ earliest episodes to the attention of today’s audience, off the back of its 60th anniversary, the present showrunner of Doctor Who has had heavily edited, colourised versions of two pivotal 1960s stories rereleased to the general public. The evident rationale is that the slow pacing, designed for one-off transmission over several weeks, and the black-and-white-ness are barriers to a contemporary audience engaging with the material. I’ve no idea if this stratagem has had the desired effect, or merely created something else for existing 20th century Who fans to collect. “G -1.0 / C”, meanwhile, hasn’t touched its 1954 ancestor but has reshaped itself, presenting another way for an older generation of fans who care deeply about the original to get on board with what the contemporary audience are already watching. I’m honestly not sure which of these is the more effective approach for a franchise to take, assuming either is effective at all.

In the final analysis, Godzilla Minus One is a perfect reboot, an excellent stepping-on point for new Godzilla fans and a good indicator of the concept’s viability heading into the future. Astonishingly, it won an Oscar for Best Visual Effects – the first Godzilla film to win or even be nominated for an Academy Award. (Not quite the first giant monster movie to win an Oscar, since Peter Jackson’s remake of King Kong (2005) won Best Visual Effects and a couple of others, although I’m sure that can be partly put down to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ well-known fetish for films about film-makers.) The win also made Shibuya Kiyoko, as the creator of the visual effects, the first woman of colour to win that award. And it didn’t hurt the film’s reputation that those effects were put together on a fraction of the typical Hollywood blockbuster’s budget.

At time of writing, Yamazaki has confirmed that he’s working on a sequel to Godzilla Minus One. (It’s rumoured to be set in the 1960s, which would make it a narrative contemporary of his Always: Sunset on Third Street films – in other words, he has form in successfully depicting that time period in his films.) I think Godzilla’s future is in safe hands.

Anime

Godzilla: Planet of the Monsters (2017) / Godzilla: City on the Edge of Battle (2018) / Godzilla: The Planet Eater (2018)
Polygon Pictures / Toho Animation
Director: Shizuno Kōbun, Seshita Hiroyuki
Also discussed: Pacific Rim: The Black (2021-22), Godzilla Singular Point (2021), Skull Island (2023), Gamera Rebirth (2023).


Reminder: This blog contains plot spoilers, possibly in the main body as well as in the plot summary section. Read on at your own risk!


No sooner had Shin Godzilla (2016) been released than Toho announced their plans for an anime Godzilla movie for the following year. Or, as it turned out, the first part of a movie trilogy. It was released in Japanese cinemas in late 2017 and distributed internationally via Netflix early in 2018, and the other two parts followed suit later that year.

This wasn’t the first time the world had seen an animated Godzilla, but it was the first time a Japanese studio had done the animating. (At least, as far as we know. It wasn’t unheard of for Japanese companies to be subcontracted to do uncredited work on American animated TV series.) Hanna-Barbera’s Godzilla (1978-79) and Tri-Star’s co-produced Godzilla: The Series (1998-2000) had both been hamstrung by the requirements of American broadcasting standards and practices that no deaths should be shown, which severely limited what could be done in a story about Godzilla. Toho weren’t subject to such limitations. They turned to the Japan-based Polygon Pictures, one of the oldest digital animation studios in the world, to create a full-blooded Godzilla anime.

It’s quite surprising it should have taken until this recently for Toho to present an animated take on Godzilla. Not that it would necessarily be cheaper for them than staging live action tokusatsu – the quality of animation on display here is high, but even the flattest, most basic animation is pretty labour intensive and therefore costly. The particular benefits of animation as far as directors are concerned are that it gives them absolute control over what happens on screen and that it’s easier to realise fantasy imagery. Kaiju eiga, with their heavy reliance on special effects scenes that can easily go wrong and require expensive remounts and retakes, ought to be an ideal fit for animation.

The chief complaints about this anime trilogy from the kaiju fan community are that it’s dull and that the changes it makes to popular monsters are too much. As far as that first complaint goes, these aren’t overlong films, but they certainly do drag a bit. But the real issue is that they focus more on character interaction than on kaiju fights. It’s an undeniable fact that a large number of kaiju fans just aren’t that interested in anything other than slambang action. There are action scenes here, but they all unfold quite slowly and, barring the human participants, nobody’s really moving around very much. In fact, the denouements of the second and third films positively depend on the kaiju involved being stuck in place. Anyone expecting a lively Shōwa-era-style wrestling match will inevitably be disappointed.

As far as the reimaginings of old kaiju are concerned, I’m not going to fault the writers for trying something new, and I think what they did here is interesting and a natural extension of the original concepts. For decades, successive filmmakers have tried to outdo each other by presenting The Biggest Godzilla Yet, inflating him either to compete with ever taller modern buildings or simply for the sake of it. This trilogy takes the idea to an absurd extreme, presenting a Godzilla the size of a mountain. And, as he’s sometimes written as a kind of vengeful avatar of nature or an animate natural disaster, why not write a story in which he’s taken over the Earth’s entire ecosystem? Poor old Mothra, the true defender of Earth, is in abeyance and appears only as an egg and the silhouette of a moth in Haruo’s mind. The humans left behind, who’ve developed a kind of symbiosis with Mothra in order to survive in Godzilla’s world, have effectively become the new Shobijin, as suggested by the motif of the twins. This neatly echoes the suggestion in Godzilla vs Mothra (1992) that the Shobijin themselves were members of a once advanced pre-human civilisation.

Mechagodzilla, which has more than once represented the folly of over-reliance on technology, here becomes a literal military-industrial complex that threatens to assimilate its creators and overrun the world, in direct competition with Godzilla. Perhaps it’s as much a comment on consumerism as on technology now. And how better to make King Ghidorah, previously the tool of alien invaders, even more alien than by turning him into a monster from another dimension, not even subject to the same laws of physics as the terrestrial characters? There’s something genuinely eerie, something very deeply wrong about the scene in which he manifests and his heads snake down from their three separate portals. (It’s never mentioned, but it does also beg the question: what’s going to happen when he tries to drag Godzilla back through those three holes with him?)

In a reversal, Ghidorah is no longer the puppets of his alien associates but their master. The Exif obviously stand in for the classic Xiliens, but the Bilusaludo (this trilogy’s “black hole aliens”) seem to have taken on their mania for rationality and uniformity. Instead, and in opposition to the Bilusaludo’s science-worship, the Exif are religious emissaries, with Ghidorah as their nightmarish god. It’s a good twist on the old material.

The very end of the trilogy looks like the most militant expression yet of the environmental message familiar from other kaiju eiga. No doubt it’s the explicitly science-fictional setting that makes this possible. Godzilla, an apocalypse of mankind’s own making, has overturned the natural order and, in order to survive, humanity – in the form of the Houtua – has had to revert to a pre-industrial lifestyle and live with Godzilla as best they can. Once Haruo comes to understand the part his generation’s technology played in that apocalypse and the threat it poses now, he sacrifices it all to protect the Houtua’s way of life. Although this is couched in terms of a fantasy set thousands of years in the future, it feels like an uncomfortable comment on the climate catastrophe looming on our own horizon.

All in all, although this is by no means an edge-of-the-seat experience, I don’t think the anime trilogy is the damp squib it’s sometimes described as. The ideas are bold and substantial even if the plot is leisurely. The animation style is easy on the eye – it looks like a blend of CG objects and creatures and rotoscoped people, with smooth character movement. The main fault I’d pick with it is that, like so many other science-fictional anime (but then, like so much other science fiction generally), it assumes a future in which everyone has a military rank.


The anime trilogy was soon followed by a flurry of animated kaiju miniseries, all of them also distributed via Netflix – most of them, in fact, conceived as Netflix original series. (I’ve seen it suggested that the trilogy itself was first planned as a miniseries, which might make more sense of its ambling pace.) Legendary Pictures got in first with Pacific Rim: The Black, also employing Polygon Pictures as the animators. This series, which takes the films’ concepts into some unusual places, follows two teenagers with a training Jaeger as they search for their parents across a Kaiju-infested Australian outback. Meanwhile, Toho went to the Japanese animation studios Bones and Orange for a miniseries with a more traditional visual style, Godzilla Singular Point. This presents several familiar kaiju and some new ones in a near-future world that’s never heard of Godzilla before. The plot is a little convoluted and features a surprisingly prominent role for Jet Jaguar (the superhero robot first seen in Godzilla vs Megalon (1973)). Legendary struck again in 2023 with Skull Island, a Monsterverse tie-in with 2-D animation from Texas-based Powerhouse Animation Studios, a pretty basic plot and an underwhelming script. Also in 2023, Kadokawa resurrected Gamera in a six-part series animated by their own subsidiary ENGI, Gamera Rebirth. Featuring a similar CG/rotoscoped style to the Godzilla trilogy, the point of this miniseries seems largely to have been to pit Gamera against grimdark redesigned versions of all his Shōwa-era adversaries except Barugon.

It's notable that, while Godzilla Singular Point, like the film trilogy, features adult protagonists, the other three all revolve around child characters. It’s probably no coincidence that those three are also the Netflix original series – I suspect that Netflix subscribes to the pervasive belief that animation is something that ought to be marketed at children. Still, I think the recent burst of animated kaiju activity bears out my suggestion that this genre can benefit from this production method.

Colossal

Colossal (2016)
Voltage Pictures / Route One Entertainment / Union Investment Partners / Sayaka Producciones / Brightlight Pictures
Director: Nacho Vigalondo


Reminder: This blog contains plot spoilers, possibly in the main body as well as in the plot summary section. Read on at your own risk!


This film debuted in September 2016 at the Toronto International Film Festival. It didn’t win any awards, but it was picked up for cinema release in the United States, which eventuated in April 2017. It was distributed by Neon – not the streaming service owned by Sky and based in New Zealand, the other Neon – which has successfully distributed several Cannes Palme d'Or winners in the years since, but which was then only three months old. Colossal was, in fact, the very first film they distributed. I don’t think it was marketed very well, although the fault may be ignorance on my part. The fact that Toho sued over early press around the film that compared it by name with Godzilla probably had some bearing on its subsequent low media profile. It tanked at the box office, but to judge by online reviews and comments among the kaiju fan community, it’s generally well thought of.

The remarkable thing about Colossal is that it takes the principle that giant cinematic monsters aren’t just there for their own sake but symbolise something – a principle frequently overlooked in American monster movies and embraced in Japanese kaiju eiga – to a personal extreme. The gigantic creature and robot that terrorise Seoul don’t represent existential real-world threats or some significant recent event, but the faults of the individual characters. For what I think might even be the first time, the skyscraper-sized forces of destruction are external manifestations of destructive behaviour on the human, personal level – Gloria’s alcoholism and Oscar’s control freakery.

The difference between the two is that Gloria is essentially self-destructive, at least up until the point when she discovers she’s also responsible for hundreds of South Korean deaths. I get the impression that she was content enough with her life in New York, and even potentially in Mainhead – it’s only when she realises she’s harming other people after all that she’s driven to go sober and take responsibility for her actions.

Oscar, by contrast, thrives by controlling, possessing and harming others. He’s clearly delighted to learn that he has the power of life and death over the people of Seoul – it’s something that not only gives him more power directly over other people but gives him another means to control Gloria less directly, by playing on her guilt and by threatening to go on the rampage if she doesn’t do what he wants. The relationship between Oscar and Gloria is transparently meant to put us in mind of more conventional abusive relationships – the stalking, the gifts, the insinuations, ultimately the coercion and the violence. Gloria is fortunate enough that a never explained supernatural force has granted her the power to confront Oscar and bring home the consequences of his behaviour.

This wouldn’t be the first overtly feminist monster movie, although I can’t think of very many others. (The Heisei era Godzilla and Gamera films are pretty good on female representation, but that’s not quite the same thing.) There’s Attack of the 50 Ft. Woman (1958) – a straightforward revenge fantasy which also centres on an alcoholic woman and a manipulative, abusive man – and its 1993 remake – in which Daryl Hannah literally grows as a person by asserting herself. Colossal belongs to the era of the “NotAllMen” hashtag and meme, which started to take off on social media in 2013. This was a way of satirising men who get all defensive, sometimes in bad faith and sometimes obliviously, in response to women’s complaints about institutional misogyny. The foundational example was a tweet in which the female writer complained about how men habitually interrupt her and was interrupted by an anonymised man who asserted that not all men do that. Colossal also makes something of a point out of the notion that Oscar’s behaviour isn’t anomalous.

Oscar is clearly a model of toxic male behaviour. But Gloria’s ex-boyfriend Tim doesn’t come out of this too well either – having dumped Gloria for pretty good reasons, instead of moving on he continues to police her behaviour and attempts to reinsert himself into her life when it suits him to do so. His standoff with Oscar in the bar presents us with two controlling men in parallel, offering more of a comparison than a contrast. Joel doesn’t fare too badly, appearing as an attractive and slightly naïve alternative romantic interest for Gloria, but in the final analysis he’s subordinate to Oscar, quietly enabling him from the sidelines. The best of the men in this story, as far as I can judge, is probably Garth, who disappears from the film after Oscar actively forces him out of the bar with insults.

The plot has its problems. It’s too fantastically convenient that Gloria’s old home, which she says her parents have been renting out (apparently at a distance, since they’re nowhere to be seen), should have been completely vacated just in time for her to move back in. Assuming that that’s true, of course – but if not, who’s been keeping the old place spotlessly clean? It’s not clear where Gloria finds the money for a plane ticket to South Korea – surely Oscar isn’t paying her that much for her bar work? The ending requires a bit of a leap of faith from the viewer, but is explicable – the earlier scene with the helicopter shows us that there’s some sensory connection between Gloria and her avatar. But how does she pinpoint the right spot? And how much of Mainhead and its surroundings has her giant creature demolished? Mind you, these are the sorts of convenience that films and TV programmes tend to be riddled with, so perhaps we shouldn’t take too much exception to them.

The cast is small but fairly stellar for a giant monster movie. Character actor Tim Blake Nelson as Garth is probably the least surprising of the big names. Anne Hathaway was a huge catch for this film – she was reportedly drawn to the script for artistic reasons, having reached a point in her career where she could afford to pick and choose. She’d recently been Catwoman in The Dark Knight Rises (2012), won the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for Les Misérables (2012) and starred in Interstellar (2014), all significant cinematic performances. Her leading roles go as far back as her debut on film in The Princess Diaries (2001) and on American TV in Get Real (1999-2000). Jason Sudeikis, meanwhile, plays against type as the abusive Oscar – he’s better known for his comedy roles. He did a stint as a Saturday Night Live writer and regular, won some supporting film roles then got his film breakthrough starring in Horrible Bosses (2011) and its 2014 sequel. He’s probably best known internationally for co-creating and starring in the sports-themed feelgood comedy/drama Ted Lasso (2020-23), which is a world away from his performance here.

Shin Godzilla

Shin Godzilla (2016)
Toho Studios
Director: Anno Hideaki, Higuchi Shinji (co-director and special effects)


Reminder: This blog contains plot spoilers, possibly in the main body as well as in the plot summary section. Read on at your own risk!


As with the 1998 Tri-Star movie, when licensing Legendary Pictures to produce a new American Godzilla movie, Toho retained the right to make more of their own domestically. This time, when Toho released a new movie shortly after the American one, it wasn’t a rebuke to an embarrassing failure but was riding in the wake of a success. Toho again experimented with a new approach to the old subject matter, but it felt less like they were trying to show the Americans how to do it, and more like this and Legendary’s Monsterverse could co-exist as parallel takes on Godzilla.

In the event, only Legendary’s version would spawn sequels, but this certainly wasn’t due to any failing on Shin Godzilla’s part.

The “Shin” in the title is meant to be a Japanese word but is spelled out syllabically on promotional images, leaving it ambiguous which kanji character, and thus which actual meaning, might belong to it. It might be “New Godzilla”, “The Real Godzilla” or even “God Godzilla”. Perhaps we might think of it as the sort of “definitive take” that the big US comics publishers like to produce for their superhero characters – an “Ultimate Godzilla”.

The concept had supposedly been knocking around for a while even before Legendary’s success, and this is borne out by the degree to which Shin Godzilla comments on the current affairs of 2011 (but more on that below). The director brought in for this film was Anno Hideaki, one of the founding members of the Daicon/Gainax creative team alongside Higuchi Shinji, who directed the special effects sequences for Shin Godzilla and had done the same for GMK (2001) and the Heisei era Gamera trilogy. Anime had formed the backbone of Anno’s career up to this point, with work for Studio Ghibli and Gainax as well as on his magnum opus, the animated science fiction serial Neon Genesis Evangelion (1995-96) and its many follow-ons and do-overs. Toho had been trying to get Anno on board for a few years, struggling against the writer-director’s own depression and poor self-confidence. Having secured him, they marketed this film like their credit ratings depended on it.

No doubt about it, Shin Godzilla is a good-looking film. It’s directed dynamically and scripted wittily, so that even though it runs for more than two hours and is a lot heavier on the dialogue and meeting room scenes than you might expect, it doesn’t drag. It’s the first Japanese Godzilla film to use motion capture and CGI instead of having a stunt actor in a monster costume, and the digital designers took full advantage of that to sculpt a Godzilla that a) changes form over the course of the film and b) looks weirder than a man in a costume would have allowed. It’s not my favourite Godzilla design, but it’s bold and it’s new and that counts for something. The one fault I’d pick with Shin Godzilla is that the dramatic music (variations on the same cue) that plays over most of the scenes of people making important decisions constantly drowns out the dialogue. The sound balance on this movie is terrible – thank goodness for subtitles.

The focus of the film is not so much on Godzilla as on how the government reacts to him, with Yaguchi's special taskforce contrasted with the more conservative Cabinet. The taskforce are young, open to fresh ideas and technical innovation, freely discussing the crisis across departmental boundaries in what Yaguchi characterises as a flat team structure. (Although it’s not without its faults. Yaguchi's team are competent, focused and hard-working but they also have no work/life balance, sleep overnight at their desks and seem to eat nothing but instant pot ramen, even before the immolation of Tokyo puts them on an emergency footing. They're a model of the negative stereotype of Japanese workplaces.) The Cabinet are dogmatic, slow to act, reluctant to accept responsibility and quick to pass the buck or point the finger at each other's agencies. Shin Godzilla is as sharply satirical as any episode of The Thick of It (2005-12) – for anyone with personal experience of working in the public sector, the scenes of government meetings are likely to be painful and amusing in equal measure. (Particularly delightful is the moment when the Prime Minister is asked to make a decision and cries in horror, “Right this instant?!”) For anyone else, the numerous shots of men in suits dramatically marching down corridors in the first quarter hour might offer a kind of Monty Python absurdity, but I suspect many viewers might find them a bit dull.

The object of Shin Godzilla's satire, as is pretty well known, is the Japanese government's handling of the crisis at the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant following the Tōhoku earthquake. The magnitude 9.1 earthquake on 11 March 2011, accompanied by powerful foreshocks and aftershocks, caused tsunami waves that in turn caused flooding, loss of electrical power and material damage to the power plant infrastructure, notably to the plant's seawater coolant pumps. Later investigation found that safeguards and emergency management processes at the plant had been undermined by the same mess of corruption, cost-cutting and poor regulatory oversight that had been found at the Tōkai Nuclear Power Plant in 1999. With the risk of radiation leakage unclear, the people of Fukushima Prefecture looked to the national government to formally order an evacuation and to mobilise the JSDF to assist with the humanitarian response to the natural disaster. However, a lack of communication between the national and local authorities, poor collaboration between departments and the loss of information in unminuted meetings meant that the advice, when it came, was belated and contradicted decisions that had already been taken by local leaders. The Tokyo Electric Power Company, acting on government instructions, didn't formally acknowledge that a reactor meltdown had occurred until two months after the event. The public was understandably dissatisfied.

Yaguchi's team is clearly an idealised fantasy government, a cohesive team that has all the answers, while the dithering, squabbling Cabinet offer a more direct comment on the real-world government led by Kan Naoto. (Having said which, Kan himself, one of a string of Prime Ministers whose terms were cut short, reportedly worked harder and more decisively during the crisis than his on-screen counterpart does. He stuck out the immediate aftermath and survived a vote of no confidence before eventually resigning at the start of September 2011 after 15 months in office. He showed at least the blend of drive and accountability that Yaguchi exhibits here.) Godzilla, meanwhile, embodies the crisis itself - first the tsunami surging inland and causing damage, then the nuclear reactor overheating while the local population struggles to evacuate. The evolving situation (and the literally evolving kaiju) frustrates the efforts of the JSDF to respond to it. The problem, once stabilised, continues to loom over Japan and requires ongoing management – at time of writing, the treatment and gradual discharge of irradiated coolant water into the Pacific at what the International Atomic Energy Agency considers a safe level is expected to continue into the 2050s.

Of course, in Shin Godzilla the threat of Godzilla isn’t a purely natural disaster. Anno deftly updates the monster’s origin – it’s still tied to America’s postwar nuclear tests in the Pacific, but this new Godzilla has more plausibly (well, relatively speaking) mutated over the decades since rather than appearing immediately after. In this way we can have our nuclear commentary cake and eat it – Godzilla can represent the Fukushima Daiichi disaster and the unintended consequences of America’s nuclear weapons programme. This also provides a springboard for a consideration of Japan’s political relationship with America more than 60 years after the latter nominally ended its occupation of the former.

The deferential, telephone-only dialogue between the Japanese Prime Minister (and later, the acting PM) and the US President is sharply contrasted with the flirtatious partnership of Yaguchi and Patterson. Moreover, the film puts this pair forward as the model for a younger, more bullish generation of future world leaders, with Yaguchi seeing himself as Japan’s PM in perhaps ten years and Patterson harbouring ambitions to become America’s President by the age of 40. (She’ll be lucky – the minimum age requirement is low enough, but if the American electorate couldn’t bring itself to vote for a white woman as President, I don’t rate an Asian American woman’s chances. Then again, I expect it would depend on whether she’s a Democrat or a Republican.)

But Yaguchi’s determination to put the interests of Japanese civilians first is also contrasted with the globalist Realpolitik of his friend Akasaka, who accepts the call for an American nuclear strike on Tokyo in order to keep the international community on-side. This is one of those cases where I think it’s fair to suggest the film has a bit of a nationalist streak.

Shin Godzilla was a resounding success, critically well received and only outperformed at that year’s domestic box office by the anime Your Name (2016). Anno proposed a sequel, but this wasn't acted on and it seems unlikely now. Anno and Higuchi did, however, collaborate on the related Shin Ultraman (2022) and Anno scripted and directed Shin Kamen Rider (2023), cinematic remakes of beloved long-running tokusatsu TV series. The tongue-in-cheek Shin Ultraman, notably, nods and winks to Shin Godzilla in acknowledgement of the debt the original series owed to Tsuburaya Eiji's work on the Shōwa era Godzilla films. For a while there was talk of a "Shin" crossover franchise encompassing these three films and, implausibly, a 2021 film instalment in Anno's Evangelion series. This seems to have been a merchandise and marketing thing and not a serious attempt to create a shared cinematic universe, which really would have been hard to achieve given the rights negotiations for all the different production companies concerned. Still, once you've seen Godzilla shaking hands with Ultraman knock-off Jet Jaguar (in Godzilla vs Megalon (1973)), it's hard to resist the idea of Godzilla teaming up with the real thing.