Gamera: The Guardian of the Universe

Gamera: The Guardian of the Universe (1995)
Daiei Film Co, Ltd
Director: Kaneko Shūsuke, Higuchi Shinji (special effects)


A note on the title: This isn’t exactly an “Also known as” – there’s no debate about the film’s Anglo title, but there is some difference of opinion over the punctuation. Very helpfully, the on-screen title caption for the film includes an Anglo version in tiny lettering underneath the Japanese. The colon is barely visible, but it’s definitely there (and slightly easier to spot on the Blu-ray than it was on earlier formats). Other sources use titles with a comma, or with no punctuation at all, or even with punctuation but without the first “the”.

You’d hardly know this came from the same film company that produced Gamera Super Monster (1980). Much of the credit belongs to the directors.

Kaneko Shūsuke started out as a director of high-budget “pink” movies for Nikkatsu, but switched to making more mainstream films for other studios in the late 80s. Several of his films have a genre element – notably for Anglo audiences, he was one of the directors on Brian Yuzna’s horror anthology movie Necronomicon (1993). He brings a good pace and dynamic shooting to the non-effects scenes.

But what really sets Guardian apart from Toho’s contemporary output is the effects work directed by Higuchi Shinji. A fan turned pro, he worked in the modelling team on The Return of Godzilla (1984), then directed a feature-length kaiju parody the following year that brought him into the orbit of the student startup Daicon Film. Daicon reformed in 1985 as Gainax, with Higuchi as a key contributor to the breakthrough anime successes of co-founder Anno Hideaki. (Anno and Higuchi would much later collaborate on Shin Godzilla (2014) – but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.) With this background, Higuchi not only had a fannish eye for what would appeal to the audience but already had practical experience of trying some of it.

And it puts the Heisei Godzilla movies to shame, with all of their wide, distant shots of kaiju battles and close-up shots at Godzilla’s own eye level. Guardian takes the camera down to street level, putting us right in the middle of the destruction and incidentally showing off the effects team’s finest miniature work. While it’s down there, the camera shoots up from underneath the kaiju, giving them a sense of scale the Toho movies have been lacking lately. The absolute masterstroke for me is the shot of Gyaos’ head slamming into an office block during the climactic fight, filmed from inside an immaculately furnished miniature office. All of this helps to tie the improbable fantasy action back to the viewer’s everyday experience and make it feel more real than the escapades of G-Force and Little Godzilla. And yet the directors have an eye for beauty too – just look at that shot of Gyaos nesting on the truncated Tokyo Tower at sunset.

On another note of (relative) realism, Guardian acknowledges that in a situation like this, the JSDF wouldn’t be able to simply wheel out the sci-fi weaponry and would have to file the paperwork asking for permission to do anything more than react. The idea of the Japanese government making the wrong call and only getting in the way of those better suited to handle the crisis is believable and a refreshing thing to see in kaiju eiga (and an early preview of Higuchi’s and Anno’s take on Godzilla 20 years later – but again, I’m getting ahead of myself).

Granted, in all their close-ups the Gyaos heads are very, very obviously hand puppets. I find this delightful rather than a deal-breaker. On the bright side, they’re not the rigid props familiar to us from the Shōwa era Gamera movies.

Guardian does make a few references back to Gamera vs Gyaos (1967), its most obvious forebear. We see Gyaos eating the commuters out of a train carriage, wounding Gamera’s forelimb in their first major confrontation, cutting off her own foot to evade Gamera. We see her sonic beam stuttering out after the final showdown, just as it cut off when Gyaos was dumped into a volcano in Gamera vs Gyaos, although it makes a bit less sense here given Gyaos’ head has just been blown off. Wisely, Guardian doesn’t pick up on the original Gyaos’ never-explained ability to incapacitate Gamera by producing a fire-retardant powder from its wings. Just to keep us guessing, the script plays on the young Gyaos’ photosensitivity, as in the 1967 movie, but surprises us by revealing that the fully-grown adult Gyaos isn’t vulnerable to sunlight.

The plot point of the protagonist having a glowing magatama that gives them mystical powers and a link to their larger-than-life protector looks like it’s been borrowed from Toho’s Yamato Takeru (1994). Then again, as there’s only eight months between the release dates of those films, I should probably give the benefit of the doubt.

It’s clear, mind you, that the makers of Guardian have been taking notes from Toho’s recent output. Strong female characters to appeal to the predominant cinema audience in 90s Japan? Asagi plays the obvious counterpart to Toho’s Saegusa Miki, as the young woman with a psychic link to the heroic kaiju. Unlike Miki, she’s not beholden to the political or military hierarchy of an anti-Gamera strike force, so can more plausibly be her own person, and a surrogate for the viewer, in between the big kaiju fights. (In classic Gamera terms, she’s standing in for all those smartarse kids who took centre stage in the Shōwa era movies. As the “Guardian of the Universe”, Gamera is no longer a “friend to all children” but rather a friend to all humanity. The nearest we get to a nod to the old era is when Gamera stalls Gyaos to let Yonemori and Nagamine get a small child off a bridge halfway through the film.) Dr Nagamine, meanwhile, is a professional, independent woman who becomes the national authority on Gyaos. She runs rings around Inspector Osako and stands her ground against her government liaison, even reprimanding him when he becomes too deplorable to bow to. Even today, this film stands up well in its presentation of its female characters.

For that matter, not only is this one of those rare kaiju eiga with an explicitly female monster, it’s the first movie to cast a female stunt actor as the monster. Kameyama Yūmi plays Gyaos in the fight against Gamera through the streets of central Tokyo. She even gets a non-kaiju cameo as a newsreader.

There’s a romantic subplot between Nagamine and Yonemori, and it at least feels more natural than anything in Godzilla vs SpaceGodzilla (1994) – the scene in which he heroically rushes in to help her and a small child get off an imperilled bridge goes some way towards setting it up. And pleasingly, it doesn’t end up defining either character’s involvement in the plot. It falls down, cheesy dialogue notwithstanding, simply because Ihara Tsuyoshi’s performance as Yonemori is so rigid – Nakayama Shinobu is doing all the heavy lifting as Nagamine. She absolutely carries her scenes in this movie. We’ll see Nakayama again later in this movie series. Hotaru Yukijirō turns in a solid performance as the comedic cop Osako – we’ll see him again too. (Interested parties can spot him in the recent (2024) adaptation of James Clavell’s Shōgun (1975), playing the late taikō Nakamura.) We won’t see Onodera Akira again, although he gives perhaps the most competent male performance as Asagi’s father. I suppose this is where I should repeat the one fact that most people who know about this movie are likely to already know, that Fujitani Ayako, who plays Asagi, is the daughter of former action movie hero and current Putin apologist Steven Seagal. She does a commendable job in her film debut.

In all respects, this film blows the Heisei Godzilla movies out of the water. I don’t know that it’s about anything particularly in the way the earlier Heisei Godzillas are. It’s also not a straight-up cash-in in the way the Shōwa Gamera series was. It’s more of a digestion of and response to four decades of kaiju eiga through the lens of a media savvy fan. Its purpose is simply to make Gamera – Gamera! of all characters! – believable and interesting for a 90s audience, and I think it succeeds admirably. It’s only a pity that Godzilla was about to take a break and wouldn’t stick around to rise to the challenge.

Godzilla vs SpaceGodzilla

Godzilla vs SpaceGodzilla (1994)
Toho Studios
Director: Yamashita Kenshō, Kawakita Kōichi (special effects)


Coming on the heels of Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II (1993), Godzilla vs SpaceGodzilla looks like a strained attempt to strike box office gold again by sticking other words in front of Godzilla’s name. And it did make its money back, although reportedly its budget suffered from the fact that Toho hadn’t made back the very large amount they’d spent on Yamato Takeru (1994). The directing covers up at least some of the shortfall. Credit to the creative team for trying a new adversary again after three films of old favourites, but the repeated callbacks to Godzilla vs Biollante only draw attention to the unoriginality of having it be an antagonistic clone of Godzilla.

I’m hard pressed to think of anything else driving this movie other than “let’s put Space in the name”, though. The space programme shenanigans in The Return of Godzilla (1984) looked plausibly like a comment on Ronald Reagan’s infamous “Star Wars” orbital weapons project. Here they look like an arbitrary return to the kind of alternate world science fantasy we used to see in the Shōwa era films. All of a sudden, NASA has an interstellar research facility and Japan is capable of launching a very unaerodynamic mecha into orbit and sending it all the way out to the asteroid belt in what might be a few hours or a few days, depending on how we calculate the internal continuity of the movie. (And then somehow finding and retrieving it, again in a matter of days, unless they really did build a spare one as I suggested above.) Perhaps we should infer that all of this has been made possible by the further exploitation of Mecha-King Ghidorah’s hardware? But it’ll never be followed up on, so I suppose we’re welcome to rationalise it in whatever way we see fit.

We also see the upshot of bringing Godzilla’s child’s design more into line with the “new Minilla” concept Toho had originally wanted. All pretence at plausibility is gone – he doesn’t have the puffy, “busakawa” look of Minilla, but he does look uncannily like the dragons in the Taito video arcade game Bubble Bobble (1986). I wonder if having him blow bubbles instead of smoke rings at the end of the movie was a deliberate reference. As the last of the Heisei Godzilla series’ references to Shōwa era kaiju, it strikes a bum note.

The film disappoints in other ways too. The special effects budget clearly couldn’t stretch to a transition between kaiju SpaceGodzilla on the ground and spiky meteor SpaceGodzilla in the air – we just cut away from one form and cut back to the other. There’s an extremely odd comedy scene of a couple of salarymen in a coin-op arcade in Sapporo just before SpaceGodzilla flies overhead that disrupts the flow of the story. I’ve looked the two actors up on IMDb and can’t see any other film or TV series that they were in together, so it looks like this wasn’t a cheeky shoutout to a contemporary cultural phenomenon – it’s just a weird scene that’s jammed in where it doesn’t belong. Also jammed in are the romantic subplots between Miki and Shinjō and between Yūki and Gondō. “Subplots” probably isn’t the right word – there’s not really enough substance to them for that. There’s a scene where the men are about to pilot MOGERA into battle and the women see them off when you realise the scriptwriters actually mean it, and it simply doesn’t land.

It was around this time that pre-production formally began on TriStar’s American take on Godzilla. They’d acquired the rights back in 1992, but had taken a while (and would take a while longer) to get the project moving. Toho had retained the right to continue making their own Godzilla films, but decided that now was the time to wrap up the series and make way for Hollywood’s big-budget reimagining. In his next cinematic appearance, Godzilla would have to die.

Yamato Takeru

Yamato Takeru (1994)
Toho Studios
Director: Ōkawara Takao, Kawakita Kōichi (special effects)
Also known as: Orochi, the Eight-Headed Dragon (the American direct-to-video title).


Readers may recall that back in 1959, Toho Studios filmed a lavish adaptation of the legend of Prince Yamato Takeru. This film featured superstar actor Mifune Toshirō and a substantial dose of nationalism and was marketed in a celebratory way as the studio’s thousandth production. It included some of the foundational stories of Shintō mythology by way of plot background, hence its original title, The Birth of Japan, and its English language title, The Three Treasures, both of which put the focus of the audience onto those origin stories.

In fact, you might want to take another look at the blog entry for that film, just to remind yourself of all the details of the story. And then forget all about them.

Yamato Takeru is a very different adaptation. The title, for a start, throws the focus back onto the hero of the main narrative – The Three Treasures was a hero-driven adventure movie too, but Yamato Takeru makes it more personally about the prince. Meanwhile, the Anglo title, Orochi, the Eight-Headed Dragon, emphasises for the benefit of American fans of Godzilla that this is a movie with a giant monster in it. In fact, this is quite a kaiju-heavy movie, boasting two new creations in prominent set pieces as well as the legendary Yamata no Orochi in a much expanded role.

I can’t find any suggestion that this was marketed as a big celebratory film or prestige production for Toho. If it had been filmed in 1992 as planned, it could have marked the studio’s 60th anniversary, but script rewrites pushed it back by two years. Nor are there any casting coups on a par with Mifune, although we’ll look at the lead cast after the plot synopsis. This appears simply to have been a fantasy action blockbuster, not some kind of grand cultural statement but a bit of lurid entertainment.

Before we start on the plot, it’s worth just reminding ourselves about the famous “three treasures”, also sometimes referred to as the crown jewels of Japan. These are the bronze mirror Yata no Kagami, the sword Kusanagi no Tsurugi and the magatama, or comma-shaped stone bead, Yasakani no Magatama. According to legend, all three of these were given by the sun god Amaterasu to the grandfather of the first Emperor of Yamato. At least one of them, the sword, also passed through the hands of Yamato Takeru – it’s because of his exploits that the sword has its present name, the “Grass-Cutting Sword”, prior to which it was called Ame no Murakumo no Tsurugi, the “Heavenly Sword of Gathering Clouds”. Watch out for the echoes of these three sacred objects in the synopsis that follows.

The Three Treasures embellished the legend of Yamato Takeru, and one of those embellishments is picked up here: the inclusion of a villain the audience can boo, an advisor to the Emperor who connives against the prince. There, the advisor was an uncle of the Emperor’s younger sons trying to manoeuvre his relatives onto the throne. Here, the other sons are pruned from the plot and so, instead of being an ambitious political manipulator, the villain becomes a sorcerer who serves the film’s supernatural antagonist. He thus also serves the overall shift of tone from the plausibly historical to the whimsically fantastic. This mutation of the legend is a bit like how the British legends of Robin Hood or King Arthur have been added to and changed over the centuries, as well as the tonal shifts of successive film and TV adaptations. If Toho ever makes a third film adaptation of the legend, it’ll be interesting to see if the insertion of Tsukuyomi or any of the other fantasy elements are carried over into that.

And fantasy is very much the order of the day here. As a folkloric adaptation, Yamato Takeru is much more Robin of Sherwood (1984-86) than Arthur of the Britons (1972-73). I think it might be best understood in the context of the occasional American fantasy films of the previous decade, such as Legend (1985), which also ends with a supernatural villain banished but not entirely defeated; Ladyhawke (1985), which also ends with a dramatic shot of a solar eclipse; or Willow (1988), an ensemble adventure which I think most closely matches the tone of this film. (And like those movies, it seemed like a good idea but didn’t perform well at the box office.) It also owes something to the popular fantasy-tinged science fiction cinema of earlier years. The Star Wars (1977) optical effects business in the sword fights is obvious to the point of shamelessness. I think there’s also a clear debt to Superman (1978) in the title visuals and in Tsukuyomi’s crystal UFO. (Sadly, his lunar castle is no Fortress of Solitude.) Closer to home, the metallic look of Amaterasu’s messenger bird and the gods’ warrior champion suggests an attempt to appeal to fans of the mecha-heavy boys’-own variety of anime. All the “gods as alien astronauts” stuff fits neatly alongside the similar ethos of Princess from the Moon (1987) and the von Dänikenism of some of the later Shōwa era Godzilla movies – it was a tried and tested trope, the filmmakers had every reason to believe it would work this time too.

Meanwhile, the militarism is played down. That the prince is sent to subdue the Kumaso territory all on his own (with the help of the three companions he meets along the way) might look like a cost-saving measure, but it’s closer to the original legend. There’s no suggestion in the Kojiki that the Emperor sent him off with an army, although he does seem to have had a household entourage with him, and the entire final battle in The Three Treasures was invented for that film.

The Three Treasures, surprisingly given the Anglo title under which Toho marketed it, downplayed its presentation of Japan’s crown jewels to the point that you’d only spot two of them if you knew your Shintō mythology and knew to look for them. The sword Kusanagi no Tsurugi, pulled by Susanoo from the tail of Yamata no Orochi, was the only one of the three that really featured in the movie. Yamato Takeru makes a great deal out of the “three lights” the prince will wield on the day he transforms into the Michelin Gundam, and you’d be forgiven for thinking these ought to be the famous three objects. And at first glance they do appear to be, but it’s more complicated than that. The mirror from Amaterasu’s shrine is presumably still in Yamato Takeru’s possession after he returns to Earth, so that seems to be a lock. We do see Yamato Takeru picking up the Kusanagi no Tsurugi after the big fight, while Tsukuyomi is lying inert on the ground – I don’t think he’s holding it on the journey home, but it’s plausible that he took it back. But it wasn’t one of the “three lights” – that was the other sword, the one the prince took from Susanoo. And the magatama, which is absolutely central to the plot, ends up tumbling away into space, so it clearly isn’t meant to be the Yasakani no Magatama. Granted, the Yasakani no Magatama is supposed to be sacred to Amaterasu while the prince’s magatama in the movie was a conduit for Susanoo’s power, so it would have been a stretch in any case to identify it with the Imperial treasure.

The expansion of Oto-tachibana’s role from the intermittent love interest who drowns herself to appease the gods to a kick-ass female lead who survives the movie is another significant change to the legend that I hope will influence future adaptations. I’d note again that women were the source of a substantial proportion of Japanese box office takings in the 90s, and this change to the text is in line with the foregrounding of strong female characters in the contemporary Godzilla movies. Toho would have wanted to make their fantasy blockbuster as marketable as possible. They also presumably wanted to get the most out of their lead actress, who deserved nothing less.

Yamato Takeru doesn’t boast a big name superstar in the way The Three Treasures did, but it could be considered a vehicle for two bankable stars. Both of them were about a decade into their film careers and had already starred in fantasy films for Toho, and both are on good form here. Prince Ousu, a.k.a. Yamato Takeru, is played by Takashima Masahiro, who played the Pteranodon enthusiast, G-Force dropout and "goofball" hero Aoki in Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla (1993) and would go on to appear in the next and last film in the Heisei Godzilla series. The priestess/princess Oto-tachibana is played by Sawaguchi Yasuko, who was also the only speaking female actor in The Return of Godzilla (1984) and Princess Kaguya in Princess from the Moon (1987). Among the other cast, watch out for Abe Hiroshi, playing Tsukuyomi, who will go on to play a villainous role in a later Godzilla movie.

All in all, this film is a classic 90s mix of the spectacular and the cheap-looking. (I say “cheap-looking”, knowing that it actually went over budget.) The CGI, still cutting edge at the time, has dated a bit. It’s most obvious in the fight scene with Kumaso-gami but subtler in scenes like the build-up to the heroes’ transformation in the climactic battle, and I’m sure there are other instances so subtle that I haven’t spotted them. I’m not entirely sure whether some of the visual effects were computer generated or classic optical effects. The shot of Yamata no Orochi approaching Earth in the related tale of olden times is astonishingly bad, but the practical kaiju effects in the rest of the movie are executed well. The music is cheerfully bombastic, with one catchy cue that’s reused on every single fight scene – it’s a bit like the stock music used in dramatic scenes in Star Trek (1966-69). There’s no very good reason why I should like this movie more than The Three Treasures, but I do. Quite apart from being an hour shorter and thus not outstaying its welcome, it’s just more fun.

Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II

Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II (1993)
Toho Studios
Director: Ōkawara Takao, Kawakita Kōichi (special effects)
Also known as: Well... The title’s really just Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla, but it’s known in Anglo markets as Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II to distinguish it from the 1974 film of the same name. The “II” doesn’t have any other significance – it’s not a sequel to the earlier film. Japanese viewers won’t have this problem, because this film’s on-screen title includes the English “VS” whereas the 1974 film’s title features the kanji character 対.


Following the successful makeovers of King Ghidorah and Mothra, we get a veritable cavalcade of reimagined kaiju in this movie. Firstly and most obviously, Mechagodzilla. Introduced as an alien weapon in the 1970s movies, here it becomes a symbol of the futility of humanity's attempts to solve natural problems with military hardware. This is more or less what it'll continue to stand for from now on. (Spoiler alert: it won’t reappear in the Heisei series, but we will see Mechagodzilla again in the 2000s.) Godzilla and Rodan clearly mirror and triumph over Mechagodzilla and Garuda. There's even a bit of guff at the end about life winning out over "artificial life", just in case the viewers weren’t paying attention.

Rodan is an unexpected bonus, although he seems to only be here to complicate the plot. The other, perhaps less obvious comeback kid is the new Son of Godzilla. Baby is a hell of an improvement on Minilla, not least because he actually looks like he might plausibly be related to Godzilla. Apparently this didn’t go over too well with some of the senior executives at Toho who seriously wanted to see Minilla back on cinema screens in 1993. Feedback was given and the design of Godzilla’s child was modified for the next instalment in the franchise. We’ll see how well that worked out in due course.

But never mind all that toot, what about the revelation that Baby Godzilla has two dads?!

All right, for the sake of being cheeky, I've made an assumption about Rodan's surrogate relationship to Baby. The research team on the island guesses that Rodan hatched from Baby's sibling egg, but that's never explicitly confirmed and remains supposition. When secondary sources comment on this element of the plot (and many don't), they accept it without question, but I think it's equally possible that Rodan is the parent. Godzilla left his egg in Rodan's nest with the expectation that something else would brood it for him, which implies there was a live Rodan parent around at the time. We're probably supposed to believe the pteranodon fossil was the Rodan parent, but that's been dead for whole geological ages and it's just too ridiculous to accept that connection. The island's location in the Bering Sea lines up with where this specific Godzilla was moved to by the villains in Godzilla vs King Ghidorah, and his subsequent mutation might be the kind of thing that would lead him to abandon his egg, which I think suggests a window of 1944 to 1984. Although the live Rodan we see is an adult, it might have hatched recently from the other egg - the hatchlings in Rodan aged to maturity in just a matter of days. But Rodan doesn't treat Baby's egg - or Baby - as a competitor for resources, which is the natural behaviour I would have expected from two hatchlings in the same nest. He consistently shows the kind of defensive or protective behaviour I'd expect from the nest parent.

(There is a third possibility... When we saw two Rodans together in the 1956 film, they were a mating pair. Maybe Rodan is taking such an interest in the egg because he expects a female Rodan to hatch from it? And he never actually sees Baby, who's stuck in a shipping container for most of the final showdown, so he wouldn't necessarily realise his mistake. But then again, he does respond to Baby's non-Rodan-like call for help at the end, at which point he very deliberately sides with Godzilla at the cost of his own existence. On balance, this feels like a less plausible interpretation than the other two.)

The evidence we're given on screen – the pteranodon fossil, the prehistoric psychic lichen on Baby's egg, the neat connection between the island's location and this specific Godzilla and the 1940s – is contradictory and won't stand up on its own. And either interpretation, parent or sibling, requires us to make some broad assumptions about how long Godzillasaurus or Rodan eggs might take to hatch, or how long they might be able to remain dormant. I just don't think there's a definitive answer to be had. I'm pretty certain the scriptwriter intended Rodan to be a surrogate sibling, but I find the idea of him as a surrogate parent more compelling.

And if that means Baby Godzilla has two dads, well... I'm not the fool who decided all kaiju should be male by default, am I?

Besides, it ties in better with the theme of parenting that lurks in the background of this movie. Aoki, in his more obnoxious moments, joshes Gojō about the two of them raising her gigantic surrogate child, and although she initially rebuffs his advances, she certainly reciprocates Baby's affection. Godzilla, who's been an absentee father to his egg, shows eyelash-fluttering warmth towards his child at the movie's end, and this development sets up substantial parts of the two remaining films in the Heisei series. The scenes of Rodan battling Godzilla for custody of Baby (I mean, look, how else can I possibly phrase this?) and making the ultimate sacrifice for his reptilian found family seem like they might be a part of this same theme.

There are a couple of familiar faces among the cast, in addition to the expected return of Odaka Megumi as Miki. Sahara Kenji has plenty of time on screen as Segawa Takayuki, the Secretary of the UNGCC. He appeared as an unnamed Defence agency official in Godzilla vs King Ghidorah – is Segawa perhaps meant to be the same character? He’ll reprise the role in the next Godzilla movie. Takashima Tadao – the hero Sakurai in King Kong vs Godzilla (1962) and last seen in a Godzilla movie in 1967 – cameos as the director of the psychic research centre. His son, Takashima Masahiro, plays the lead male role of Aoki, and we’ll be seeing him in other roles soon enough. Aoki tags along with Miki when she visits the psychic research centre, and there’s a cheeky moment between father and son when the director looks Aoki over and makes a disparaging remark about him. Blink and you’ll miss a casting in-joke when Miki looks in on a class being taught by two women who speak in unison. The teachers are played by Imamura Keiko and Osawa Sayaka, who played Mothra’s fairies in the previous movie. Among the less familiar faces, pay close attention to Colonel Asō, who is played by Nakao Akira. Asō, the gruff old soldier who seems to view Godzilla as his personal Nemesis, will return in the remaining two Heisei series Godzilla movies. He’s probably the second most important character in this series of films (excluding kaiju) after Miki.

This is a pretty good-looking film. Although practical effects are, as ever, used for the action scenes, the title sequence makes some use of computer imagery to show us the assembly process for Mechagodzilla. The composite shots featuring Mechagodzilla in its hangar are sensational, the composite shots of Godzilla rampaging through Japan merely OK. Once again, the big showdown happens at night in an urban arena, but this time it's all too obviously a model set in a studio. All is forgiven with the sheer adorableness of Baby Godzilla, though. On the acting front, Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II blesses us with some of the all-time worst American performances in any Godzilla movie. (Aoki’s pretty awful too, but that’s just how the character’s written – Takashima does a fine job with the part he’s been given.) But in terms of world-building, it’s nice to see a film address how the international community might practically respond to Godzilla’s existence and to get a good look inside the workings of the UNGCC. Overall, I’d certainly rank this among the better Toho Godzilla movies.