Godzilla vs Mothra

Godzilla vs Mothra (1992)
Toho Studios
Director: Ōkawara Takao, Kawakita Kōichi (special effects)
Also known as: Godzilla and Mothra: The Battle for Earth (the US title, apparently meant to distinguish this film from Mothra vs Godzilla (1964), which had been marketed under a confusing variety of titles).


Following on from the previous movie’s fresh take on King Ghidorah, Mothra is the second kaiju to make a comeback in Godzilla’s new cinematic series. The new twist on the premise is that she has a more aggressive counterpart, Battra, who’s also tasked with defending Earth but is less concerned about defending humanity. The movie was a big hit – the highest grossing Godzilla film Toho had ever made, and that title wasn’t taken from it until Shin Godzilla (2016) came along. When Toho put Godzilla on hiatus to make way for TriStar Pictures’ 1998 USA-made effort, they turned their attention back to Mothra and gave her her own trilogy of movies, aimed at a younger audience, in the late 90s.

There's an obvious environmental theme to Godzilla vs Mothra – you might notice that the employees of an ecological agency feature prominently among the human cast. Battra is explicitly the embodiment of the planet's revenge for the environmental damage people cause when they don't keep their technology in check. We see the harm done by the Marutomo Company not only on Infant Island but also on mainland Japan, where a crowd protests their deforestation of the land around Mt Fuji. The scriptwriter certainly didn't miss any opportunity to drum the message home in the dialogue.

But the message is garbled. Mothra and Battra are both guardians of the Earth, one peaceful and the other aggressive, except that they're also violently opposed to one another – the Earth kind of does and doesn't want to wipe us out. Battra's mission is to take those hominids down a peg or two, which Godzilla was already doing, also in response to irresponsible human actions, but Battra ends up seeing Godzilla as the greater threat. Battra's mission is also to sort out a meteor that's due in 1999, so it's kind of lucky it was woken up by the meteor that strikes at the start of this movie. And that meteor is also potentially an expression of the Earth's vengeance, as are earthquakes and volcanic activity, probably.

There are a couple of familiar faces here. Odaka Megumi returns as Saegusa Miki, although she feels shoehorned in here as an employee of the National Environment Planning Bureau. It’s certainly an odd career sidestep for the character. Her only plot function as Miki is to help psychically locate the Cosmos when they're summoning Mothra to Tokyo. Takarada Akira plays the bureau's director – he was the male romantic lead in the original Godzilla (1954) and was last seen in a Godzilla movie in 1966. Kobayashi Akiji reprises his minor role of Dobashi, the man from the Ministry, from the previous movie. He’s in more scenes this time, grimacing and wringing his hands during Mothra’s assault on Tokyo. It kind of looks like the writers were building him up to be a regular comic relief character in the Heisei Godzilla series, but in fact this is his last appearance in the franchise.

Once again, the “Toho Cinderella Audition” plays its part in the casting. The duo playing the Cosmos, Imamura Keiko and Osawa Sayaka, were both prize winners in the third contest, held in 1991. Remember how Mothra (1961) and Mothra vs Godzilla showed us that the natural instinct of a businessman, when faced with the supernatural wonder of the Shobijin, was to capture them and exploit them on the stage? It's almost too good to be true that Toho, having locked these young women into studio contracts, should show them off in this specific role. I doubt anyone at Toho intended it as any kind of self-aware statement, but still...

The effects work here is pretty good. The composite work is mostly effective, notably around the Cosmos and shots of the JSDF in action, although there are bumpy moments. The miniatures look better around the Mothra and Battra larvae than they do around Godzilla, no doubt due to the relative sizes of the kaiju when portrayed by stunt actors in costumes. Staging the final battle at night helps to hide some of the shortcomings of the studio set – and this is a trick the effects team will continue to use during the rest of the Heisei series – but some aerial shots of Toyko at night behind the flying Mothra and Battra really help sell the illusion. At the other end of the film, the location footage for the scenes set on Infant Island is beautiful and blends seamlessly with the studio material to give the island a sense of place and scale it never had in the 1960s.

Godzilla vs King Ghidorah

Godzilla vs King Ghidorah (1991)
Toho Studios
Director: Ōmori Kazuki, Kawakita Kōichi (special effects)


Godzilla vs Biollante (1989) had done well enough at the box office to justify the continuation of what was becoming a new series of Godzilla films, but it hadn’t built on the success of The Return of Godzilla (1984). In order to boost the series’ popularity, rather than create more original daikaiju like Biollante, the filmmakers decided to bring back some of the best-known old monsters but with a twist for the new audience. The first of these returning foes was perennial favourite King Ghidorah. In all his previous appearances in the 60s and 70s, Ghidorah had been the pawn of alien invaders. The Heisei series hadn’t yet gone so far as to introduce aliens, and rather than take that step the writers chose instead to bring Ghidorah in through the far more reasonable narrative device of time travel.

This is the first and (to date) the only Godzilla movie to involve time travel. Warning: contains non-linearity!

The first thing I think I ought to do here is try to make sense of the time travel plot. This will be a bit spoilery, but also potentially dull for anyone who can watch this movie, shrug and not care how much sense it makes. So if it matters to you, click the button below, but if not, please just read on.

This is one of those Godzilla movies that sets off some people’s Nationalism Alarms. After all, it does moot the possibility of Japanese global domination in the future, and the villains want to prevent that, so maybe – depending on exactly how you interpret the temporal convolutions of the plot (or, dare I say it, on how closely you’re paying attention) – the film is saying that it’s a good thing? But there’s no suggestion of a resurgent Japanese military empire. Rather, what’s hinted at is a world in which Japan dominates the world economically, and specifically Japanese business interests. It’s not so much a nationalist dream, more the kind of dystopia beloved of cyberpunk novelists, in which capitalism has gone into overdrive and nations as we once knew them have given way to the rule of transnational corporations. It’s just phrased rather awkwardly.

The key figure here isn’t any of the time travellers, but Shindō Yasuaki. A major in the Imperial Japanese Army in 1944 and the chairman of the Teiyo Group in 1992 – which we’re told is the most powerful organisation in the world in 2204 – he thus bridges Japan’s militaristic past and its objectionable potential future. He’s practically a James Bond villain already – he has his own nuclear submarine, for goodness’ sake. (And for bonus points, he’s played by Tsuchiya Yoshio, the Controller of Planet X in Invasion of Astro-Monster (1965).) He thinks he’s special enough to stare Godzilla in the face and get away with it during the kaiju’s rampage through Tokyo. Godzilla, who is presented as both an existential threat to Japan and, according to Shindō’s old comrade Ikehata, potentially its saviour, doesn’t think nearly so highly of Shindō. I think we can take that as a rejection of the future Shindō represents.

If we’re looking for a message in Godzilla vs King Ghidorah, it might be this: that wanting to change Japan's past, and specifically the bits between 1939 and 1954, won't solve today's problems. The Prime Minister jumps at the chance to thwart Godzilla, who once served as a reminder of how America subdued Japan during the war, but that hope is frustrated. Godzilla is still there – he’s always there. If it hadn’t been one thing, the film seems to say, it would have been another thing and we’d be in the same fix today. Japan’s future appears to be in flux, but its past is something the characters just have to come to terms with.

The issue of revisiting Japan's past would have been a topical one in 1991. Akihito, latterly referred to as the Emperor Heisei, had only recently acceded to the throne. One of his earliest public acts, during a state visit by Chinese Premier Li Peng in April 1989, was to express his remorse for the wrongs that Japan had previously committed against China. This was the first of many conciliatory statements from Akihito towards Japan's neighbour nations. It may look to us like a half-hearted almost-apology, but two things make it remarkable. Firstly, the revised Constitution of Japan drawn up under the post-war American occupation limits the Emperor's position to that of a purely ceremonial figurehead. Even commenting publicly on political matters in this way is more than many people would have expected of him. Secondly, some of those wrongs, notably including the 1937 invasion of China and the Second Sino-Japanese War, had occurred during the reign of Akihito's own father Hirohito, the Emperor Shōwa. Akihito's statement of remorse came just two months after Hirohito’s state funeral.

At a less introspective level, the theme of changing history in Godzilla vs King Ghidorah is appropriate given the fluid nature of the political landscape at that time. 1990 had seen the first secessions of former member states of the Soviet Union, with many more to follow in 1991, as well as the treaties that formalised the reunification of Germany. The USSR would be officially dissolved less than two weeks after the cinematic debut of this movie. In the basin of the Persian Gulf, Iraq invaded Kuwait in late 1990. The USA, which might have been hoping for an era of peace after “winning” the Cold War, ended up leading a military campaign against Iraq in early 1991 to shore up the political stability of the region, and incidentally protect its oil import interests. The volatility of Japan's own future in Godzilla vs King Ghidorah – raised high or brought low by forces beyond the understanding of the contemporary characters – may reflect anxiety over this real-world political turmoil.

Tremors

Tremors (1990)
No Frills Productions / Pacific Western Productions / Universal Pictures
Director: Ron Underwood


Meanwhile, in America...

Tremors arrives too late to ride the coattails of the remake of King Kong (1976) or Jaws (1975), which it more closely resembles, and ahead of Jurassic Park (1993) and the late 1990s / early 2000s wave of smart-alecky CGI-enabled monster movies that will follow after. Tonally, it feels separate from all of these – it’s less cynical, less knowing and winking, more innocent. Nice, even. It’s an unassuming love letter to the American creature features of the 50s, with the added polish of some outstanding practical special effects and a healthy dash of modernity.

In plot terms, that modernity can be seen in the refusal to give the viewer pat explanations for where the Graboids come from. We know from a map glimpsed halfway through the movie that the little town of Perfection is in Nevada, but no mention is made of the Nevada Test Site, America’s most thoroughly used domestic nuclear testing ground, or the famous Area 51 USAF facility, beloved of UFO fanatics, both of which are located further south near Las Vegas. Are the Graboids the product of radioactive mutation? Some kind of escaped government experiment? An alien life form? A 50s monster movie would undoubtedly give us one of these answers. Here, the characters moot all of these possibilities but, in the absence of any clues, they don’t arrive at a conclusion. And honestly, it makes no difference to them where the creatures have come from – their only interest in the matter is not being killed by them. This gives the otherwise unreal proceedings a veneer of realism.

Having a monstrous threat lurking literally beneath the surface of rural America looks absolutely like an invitation to look for deeper meanings. (Granted – and I don’t think it’s unfair of me to say this – self-awareness isn’t exactly Hollywood’s forte.) But do the Graboids symbolise anything? I honestly can’t see it. Is it small-town racism? And yet the two BIPOC characters are accepted without question or comment by the other characters. Miguel admittedly doesn’t get much to say or do and feels like a passenger for most of the movie. Walter Chang has a far more substantial part, and although he doesn’t make it all the way through the movie, he certainly gets the best death scene (and the actor certainly makes the most of it). His presence is a straightforward reflection of the influx of Chinese mine workers into Nevada in the 19th century. Well then: do the Graboids symbolise small-town conservatism more generally? And yet historically Nevada’s political representation, in state and federally, has been quite balanced between Republicans and Democrats, and socially it’s among the more liberal American states. I’d be hard pressed to argue that the Graboids symbolise any particular aspect or conflict in any of the lead characters’ psyches. I think I’d have to conclude that it really is just the writers having a bit of fun with the idea of sharks in the desert – a grown-up, open-air game of “the floor is lava”.

(Of course, it’s just possible Frank Herbert’s novel Dune (1965) was an influence – giant, burrowing, worm-like creatures that hunt by following vibrations. The way the Graboids’ jaws hinge open hints more at the 1984 film adaptation than at the novel itself.)

The modernity in the lead characters is, I think, obvious. Female scientists appear fairly regularly in 50s creature features, but as assistants to male scientists (see, for example, It Came from Beneath the Sea (1955) or Tarantula (1955)) or their daughters (as in Them! (1954)), and they typically end up merely providing a love interest for the butch, uniformed hero. Rhonda is allowed to take centre stage in Tremors as the only scientist in the movie – the other characters can’t help but look to her for answers. She defies the young horndog Val’s expectations by being a capable woman and not sexualised eye candy, although granted she does end up in a clinch with him. (According to bonus material on the Blu ray release, this moment was added to the end of the movie in response to the test audience’s feedback. The original script ended on another realist, but dissatisfying, note in having the pair awkwardly go their separate ways without expressing their feelings for each other.) Val and Earl, meanwhile, far from being bullish authority figures, are humble itinerant handymen, simple working-class men. And they’re scripted with delightful maturity – Val gives frequent flashes of vulnerability underneath the bluster, and Earl, behind his gruffness and his “pardon my French” old-fashionedness, shows clear affection and admiration for the youngsters he keeps company with.

Among the lead cast, surely the most recognisable is Kevin Bacon, of the proverbial six degrees of separation. He’d been acting in films for over a decade, with his big break as a leading actor coming in dance movie Footloose (1984). He came to Tremors off the back of parenthood comedy She’s Having a Baby (1988) and Hollywood satire The Big Picture (1989) and would shortly afterwards appear in the “Brat Pack” horror fantasy Flatliners (1990). Bacon’s career has been a succession of reinventions and comebacks, and his casting as Val in this comedy-horror movie looks like quite a smooth transition between the genres of his preceding and successive roles. Fred Ward, playing Earl, was two decades into a steady film career that has consisted mostly of smaller character parts. Rhonda was Finn Carter’s second cinematic role and, judging from her IMDb listing, quite likely her best; she’s had a much more successful career in television. Oddly, probably the biggest household name in America at the time Tremors was released would have been Michael Gross, cast as maniacal survivalist Burt Gummer after seven years playing the father in the smash hit sitcom Family Ties (1982-89). There are a couple of notable guest stars among the secondary characters: Victor Wong (Egg Shen in Big Trouble in Little China (1986)) as storekeeper Walter Chang and country singer Reba McEntire, in the first of what would become a string of occasional forays into acting, as Burt’s wife Heather.

Tremors wasn’t written specifically for 1990. Scriptwriters Brent Maddock and SS Wilson had had the idea knocking about for years; they started to get traction for it in the mid-80s, after the huge success of their film Short Circuit (1986), in which a military robot gains sentience, develops a cute personality and liberates itself from its creators. But 1990 feels like the right time for Tremors just the same. The rise of the Solidarność workers’ resistance movement in Poland had triggered uprisings in countries across Eastern Europe in late 1989 that signalled the imminent collapse of the Soviet Union. The Berlin Wall fell just weeks before the film was released in cinemas. American political economist Francis Fukuyama prematurely, and with absolutely staggering cultural narcissism, proclaimed “The End of History”. At any rate, people were talking about having “won” the Cold War and, for at least a year (with the first Gulf War breaking out in earnest in January 1991), the American populace had every reason to feel good about themselves and the world at large. The good humour, small-town folksiness and simple heroism of Tremors chime very nicely with this moment.

So it’s a shame the film didn’t perform better at the box office. The filmmakers have suggested that inadequate marketing was to blame. American cinemas had already seen Ghostbusters (1984) and Gremlins (1984), so it’s not like the distributors should have been confused by a film blending elements of light fantasy horror and comedy. And yet the trailer for Tremors is undeniably poor. (If Universal Pictures could only have compared notes with Columbia and Warner Bros...) Happily, the film found a cult following on home media, which led to a string of sequels that are apparently still going. Fred Ward came back for Tremors 2: Aftershocks (1996) but left it at that; Michael Gross has appeared in every single one of them. I’d say Aftershocks is worth a look, but it’s already a case of diminishing returns, and good luck to you if you decide to try the later instalments of the franchise.

Godzilla vs Biollante

Godzilla vs Biollante (1989)
Toho Studios
Director: Ōmori Kazuki, Kawakita Kōichi (special effects)
Also discussed: Princess from the Moon (1987)


The Return of Godzilla (1984) performed well enough at the box office to justify a sequel, although it took Toho five years to produce one. Godzilla vs Biollante shows more of an interest in picking up on details from its predecessor than most of the Shōwa era films – this is an early indication that the Heisei series will be a much more interconnected affair than the movies of the 60s and 70s. Here we have a new kaiju whose existence is only made possible by the events of The Return of Godzilla, and which in its turn will have an unexpected bearing on a later instalment in the series.

A quick note on the Japanese title. Shōwa era movies that pitted Godzilla against a titular adversary, starting with King Kong vs Godzilla (1962), used the word 対, pronounced “tai”. Godzilla vs Biollante actually has an English "VS" in the title. This is how it’s going to be for the rest of the Heisei series.

There are no prizes for guessing what this movie’s all about. Genetic engineering became a practical science in the 1970s – the first recombinant molecule was created in 1972, the first genetically modified bacterium in 1973, the first GM mouse in 1974. In 1978, the company Genentech was founded and by 1982 it was producing synthetic medical insulin. Then and ever since, the scientific community and the general public have voiced concerns ranging from the religious (the idea that scientists are “playing God”) to the legal/ethical (the fear that corporations might take out patents on living organisms) to the medical/nutritional (the worry that the introduction of GM crops into the food chain might spread allergens across species or have other negative side effects on conventional food crops). Alongside this, in popular fiction and the tabloid press, there have been GM scare stories that draw from a broad palette of partly understood science and outdated, discredited or pseudoscientific ideas about biology.

Godzilla vs Biollante straddles the line between believability and sensationalism. There are real-world efforts to engineer hardier food crops that can grow in the desert that mirror what we’re told about Dr Shiragami’s early work. And the idea that Godzilla’s atomic-powered biology might offer the key to creating bacteria that could break down nuclear waste doesn’t seem too far-fetched either – there’s been similar research into using synthetic microorganisms to clear up plastic waste, which Kazuto even mentions while he’s escorting Kuroki and Gondō to his lab. On the other hand, the notions that Shiragami has somehow transferred his daughter’s soul into his roses by splicing human DNA into them, or that adding kaiju DNA would cause the flowers to mimic Godzilla’s gross anatomy, are pure fantasy. Still, it’s no more egregious than most other examples of SF cinema I can think of. And although Godzilla vs Biollante isn’t the first big screen take on genetic engineering – notable forerunners include The Boys from Brazil (1978), which involves cloning a monster of another kind, and Blade Runner (1982), which hybridises the noir detective genre with a GM reimagining of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818) – it might be the first GM giant monster movie, anticipating Michael Crichton’s novel Jurassic Park (1990) and its film adaptation (1993).

As far as the realisation of Biollante goes, it’s highly imaginative and largely successful. Sadly I can’t award it the crown of being the first Japanese plant kaiju – Tsuburaya Productions got there first with an episode of Ultra Q (1966). (In fact, it’s partly a plant kaiju and partly female thanks to Erika’s influence, which makes it a member of two underrepresented kaiju communities.) I do think it owes more than a little to Frank Oz’s musical film version of Little Shop of Horrors (1986), particularly in the toothy buds on its tendrils. Although I’d say it works on screen, it’s pretty obvious how the effects team have used wires to animate those tendrils.

Beyond that, the effects shots are fine but not spectacular. There's a touch of the Gerry Andersons about the Super X2 in flight, notably in shots of it circling Godzilla or entering the sea. The best composite shot in the film is probably when the characters first see Biollante standing in Lake Ashi, although the sheer novelty value does a lot to sell that scene. The city miniatures are, again, a pale shadow of what they once were, and one building placed right up in the foreground in one scene spoils the illusion completely.

The characters are an odd bunch. Dr Shiragami is the focal character of the film, but he’s no hero. On the contrary, he's an unethical scientist who creates a monster, although he does get to deliver the expected "We're the real monsters" speech during the denouement. Nominally, the hero ought to be Kazuto, but he feels like one of those side characters who just gets dragged into the main plot for the benefit of the others – they only want him for his microbes. How on Earth has he ended up in the action scenes? Let’s be honest, Asuka is only there for the multiple conveniences that she’s a) Kazuto’s girlfriend and his boss’s daughter, b) an old friend of Shiragami’s daughter, and c) an administrator at the school for gifted youngsters that has produced Saegusa Miki. She can thus tie three plot strands together in her first couple of scenes and stand around for the rest of the movie. Miki isn’t the hero yet, although she’ll become the lynchpin of the Heisei Godzilla series. Major Kuroki is too driven and unemotional to be a really heroic figure, and Colonel Gondō is just nuts. This film oozes 1980s cynicism – where are the storybook heroes?

Kuroki is a character to watch. Here he’s played by Takashima Masanobu, the son of Takashima Tadao who starred as Sakurai in King Kong vs Godzilla and was the commander of the weather research team in Son of Godzilla. (Hmm... once again I wonder if the inclusion of a weaponised weather control system in Godzilla vs Biollante is a callback to the latter film...) The character will reappear in Godzilla vs Destoroyah (1995), but there he’ll be played by the actor’s brother Takashima Masahiro, of whom we shall hear more in due course.

Sawaguchi Yasuko, who played Naoko in The Return of Godzilla, returns here as Erika, but it’s little more than a cameo role. The new rising female star of the Godzilla franchise is Odaka Megumi, playing the teen psychic Miki. Odaka was the winner of the second ever “Toho Cinderella Audition”, held in 1987, the contest that had launched Sawaguchi’s career. Odaka’s film debut for Toho that year was in Princess from the Moon (1987), which starred Sawaguchi. This was a glossy new fantasy take on a classic folk tale, the Tale of the Bamboo Cutter. It’s a popular story that’s been adapted several times in various media – a more recent and more traditional retelling was the Studio Ghibli animated film The Tale of the Princess Kaguya (2013).

The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter goes something like this. One day, an old bamboo cutter finds a tiny child inside a stalk of bamboo, which he and his wife adopt as their own. On later return visits to the forest, he finds caches of gold that they use to raise the child in increasing comfort. She ages quickly into adulthood and, because she lives like a princess, noble society accepts her as such. Several suitors approach her, but she sets them all impossible tasks to prove their good character and they either cheat or give up. She finally attracts the attention of the Emperor himself. Before anything can come of it, a caravan of celestial beings descends from the Moon and takes the princess away – she herself was a celestial being all along. She was sent to Earth to live a human life for reasons that are only vaguely defined, and she’s expected to forget her mortal life once she returns to the Moon, although it’s suggested she doesn’t entirely forget.

Princess from the Moon gives this story a von Däniken-esque spin, so the celestial beings from the Moon are aliens that literally live on the Moon, and they descend to Earth not in a divine procession but in a UFO that looks like it’s been borrowed from Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977). Adding a bit to the backstory of the bamboo cutter and his wife and their decision to raise the princess themselves, the film rewrites them as bereaved parents whose infant daughter is buried in the forest. The princess is thus able to use the dead child’s DNA as a template for her own body in a way that’s reminiscent of another feelgood American SF movie, Starman (1984). Instead of finding fairy gold inside bamboo stalks, the bamboo cutter is able to trade away fragments of the princess’ crashed space capsule, which seems to be made out of gold.

The film’s also of potential interest to kaiju fans because one of the princess’ suitors is sent to retrieve a gem from the forehead of a sea monster. Unlike the scuzzier suitors, he actually attempts it but ends up lost at sea. The design of the sea monster came from sketches that Toho had left over from a planned collaboration with the UK’s Hammer Films that had fallen through, which would have centred around the legendary Loch Ness Monster.

Toho clearly had high hopes for Princess from the Moon, although it got a mixed reception on its release. It was billed as their 55th anniversary film. Besides starring Sawaguchi as the titular princess, it co-starred Mifune Toshirō, an absolute giant of Japanese cinema and the former star of Toho’s quasi-historical epic The Three Treasures (1959), in the role of the bamboo cutter. This production had prestige written all over it. Odaka’s comparatively small role as Akeno, a blind village girl who befriends the otherwise aloof princess, was obviously meant to propel her to greater heights, and it did win her plaudits. Two years later, here she is playing probably the most significant non-kaiju character in the Heisei Godzilla series.

Here’s the thing: at some point in the five years since their big relaunch of Godzilla, Toho had realised that they needed to appeal to female cinemagoers. It seems that women formed the largest contingent of those who still regularly attended the cinema in TV-flooded Japan in the 1980s. Women had turned out to see The Return of Godzilla, and not just mothers taking their pre-adolescent sons to see a monster movie, but young professional women with disposable income looking for a fun evening out with their friends. If they wanted to hold onto this audience, the makers of any further instalments in the Godzilla franchise would have to provide better on-screen representation than they had with Return.

So this film introduces Miki, a young woman empowered with psychic abilities that enable her to build up a sort of bond with Godzilla and, from our perspective, give her an unusual authority to explain parts of the plot. And rather than have her be the only speaking woman in the film, as Naoko was in Return, the writers of this and the next five films wisely include at least one other prominent female character who carries her own plot strand as well as interacting with Miki. (Whether these films can be said to pass the Bechdel Test must depend on whether you’d count a conversation about Godzilla as a conversation about a male character...) Ōkouchi Asuka isn’t the best example of this, but she’s a start.

I’m not sure whether the fact that Biollante is genetically part woman counts as further representation or not. Let’s face it, I’m the wrong person to comment on the feminist implications of a film whose antagonist is an 85-metre-tall rose with teeth.

Like Return, Godzilla vs Biollante performed well but not outstandingly at the box office. Another sequel was justified, but Toho would take an extra year to think about it and would start bringing back the big-name antagonists to try to draw the crowds.