Godzilla 2000: Millennium

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


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

The conceit of all but one of the Millennium series films is that each one ignores all the material that’s preceded it except for the original Godzilla (1954). (In practice, how much or how little each film will ignore will vary greatly.) Presenting a string of new takes on Godzilla might have been a way for Toho to show certain overseas film producers how they thought it should have been done. It seems, though, that it was really just a pivot from a planned series after Toho saw the underwhelming ticket sales for Godzilla 2000. Presenting a selection of reboots was an expedient way for them to try other approaches until they found one that worked for Japanese audiences. TriStar themselves undertook to distribute Godzilla 2000 to American cinemas, but ended up trimming and re-dubbing it to create another in the long line of American re-edits. Subsequent entries in the series didn’t even get a US cinema release.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gamera 3: Revenge of Iris

Gamera 3: Revenge of Iris (1999)
Daiei Film Co, Ltd
Director: Kaneko Shūsuke, Higuchi Shinji (special effects)
Also known as: Gamera 3: Awakening of Iris, based on the Japanese title, but most sources go with Revenge.

The on-screen title caption offers neither of these – instead it gives us “The Absolute Guardian of The Universe / Gamera3 / incomplete struggle” in English beneath some other stuff. A pre-credits caption at the end of the film also suggests “Gamera: 1999 / The Absolute Guardian of The Universe” in English only. I don’t think anyone uses that title.

Let’s try to decipher that other stuff on the title caption. There are some fiery graphics that may or may not hint at the three-ness of the film – with three horizontal lines in parallel, they could arguably be read as the relevant Japanese numeral. There’s the name “GAMERA” spelled out in Anglo-Saxon runes, reinforcing the linguistic mistake made in Gamera’s origin story as laid out in the first film. Finally, there’s kanji for the Japanese subtitle, but only the subtitle – the main “Gamera 3” bit is tucked away in the middle of the English language section.

One final observation: the poster for Gamera 3 includes the katakana letters spelling out the name “Iris” (pronounced “Irris”, not “Eye-ris”) above the relevant kanji, while the title caption only has the kanji. Google Translate renders these as “Evil God” (ja-shin). Presumably this is the usual thing of kanji having several possible pronunciations in Japanese. It does raise the question of whether Ayana’s family knowingly named their cat “Evil God”. But I’m getting ahead of myself.


Although Gamera: The Guardian of the Universe (1995) and Gamera 2 (1996) had performed well financially and critically, there was a bit of a gap before Gamera 3 appeared. This wasn’t because the Daiei team were stepping back to give the TriStar Godzilla (1998) some space. Rather, they’d noticed a new appetite among Japanese audiences for horror, including among younger viewers. A 1995 TV adaptation of the novel Ringu (1991, “The Ring”) had gone over well, and the 1998 cinematic remake would spearhead the J-Horror boom. Early plans for the third Heisei Gamera movie were shelved and, with director Kaneko co-authoring the script, the tone of the movie shifted further away from child-friendliness and more towards horror. This worked well as far as the critics were concerned, but did nothing to help the movie’s box office performance. It was, after all, still only a kaiju movie.

After the attempt at a more “realistic” take on giant monsters in Godzilla (1998), Gamera 3 delivers all the realism you actually need in a kaiju movie. It has its overtones of mysticism and pseudoscience and a sympathetic daikaiju with a personality, but it also takes the time to acknowledge that Gamera’s outsized acts of heroism cause thousands of incidental casualties, leave cities in ruins and may not please all the survivors. This is the kaiju not as a stern protector but as a well-intentioned (we hope) natural disaster.

It's also a pretty grim subversion of Gamera specifically, who used to be a friendly face to children everywhere. There’s a moment after the clash between Gamera and two Gyaos over Shibuya when we see a weeping mother hugging her child, who’s avoided being trampled on purely by chance but insists repeatedly that Gamera saved him; we pan out from there to see the city on fire. It’s probably the single darkest joke a kaiju movie’s ever made.

Having Gamera’s enemy this time be essentially payback for the accidental deaths he caused in an earlier movie is a great choice. It’s astonishing, unprecedented in a kaiju movie. Godzilla vs SpaceGodzilla (1994) toyed with this idea but threw it away on two secondary characters who changed their minds at the end of the movie with hardly any development. Gamera 3 puts its vengeful character front and centre. And Iris is an effective analogy for Ayana’s anger, causing plenty of destruction and collateral harm itself and threatening to consume Ayana entirely. The other thing Gamera 3 does that Toho never quite could is present a distorted mirror of a popular lead character (well, other than Godzilla himself). Godzilla vs Destoroyah (1995) teased but didn’t follow through on the idea of the telepath Meru as a less moral counterpart to Saegusa Miki. But there’s no mistaking the parallels between Asagi and Ayana, and no denying the dramatic efficacy. Once again, Daiei has belatedly schooled Toho.

Ayana is certainly a better human villain than Asakura and Kurata, who are too cartoonish. The motives for their villainy are never really explained clearly enough. We only know that they both want to see Iris win and Gamera fail, and even then probably not for the same reasons – he’s a nihilist and she’s some kind of cultist. At least Tezuka Tōru, playing Kurata, is having fun chewing the scenery. He can be seen behaving himself in a much smaller role as a government minister in Shin Godzilla (2016). Maeda Ai (Ayana) went on to greater things, mostly on TV, and cameos extremely briefly in a Godzilla movie four years down the line.

Once again, the special effects are exemplary for the genre, with a nice fusion of street-level action and monster business. Iris is more obviously computer generated than other contemporary daikaiju – well, how else to realise those tentacles? – which, by contrast, might make the CGI Gyaos a little subtler. One SFX moment I’d pick out as a favourite is the one in which, during the Shibuya battle, a Gyaos cuts through a skyscraper with its sonic beam but we only see it collapse as a reflection in a neighbouring skyscraper. As far as the turn to horror is concerned, there’s plenty of special prop business with the dessicated victims of Iris’ early attacks and an excellent jump scare when Ayana’s aunt flops out of the ceiling right in front of Dr Nagamine.

The end of the film was meant to be hopeful but is often read by critics and fans as downbeat, and no wonder, with the world apparently doomed to burn as the battleground for daikaiju who only notice we exist when it’s dramatically important. I’ve previously mentioned the unsubtle ecological subtext to those Heisei era Toho movies that feature Mothra, and the Heisei Gamera trilogy has gone harder on that subtext. It’s not as if awareness of ecological issues originated in the 1990s – people were talking about polar ice melting at least as far back as King Kong vs Godzilla (1962) – but it’s become one of society’s foremost concerns since then. Here again, Gamera 3 outdoes its American contemporaries for grim realism: Gamera may be humanity’s best hope for survival, but people are still going to die and cities are still going to burn. We can only console ourselves that it’s better (for us, at least) than the alternative.

GODZILLA

Godzilla (1998)
Centropolis Entertainment / Fried Films / Independent Pictures / TriStar Pictures
Director: Roland Emmerich
Also known as: Some people like to style it in all caps, as GODZILLA, presumably just because that’s what it looks like on the poster. It’s not well liked by the core Godzilla fan community, and some refer to it as GINO – Godzilla In Name Only. Which is harsh, but within a couple of years Toho would be saying the same thing in their actual films.


Four years came and went with no TriStar Godzilla movie. When they’d formally confirmed that pre-production was underway in 1994, the director attached to the project was Jan de Bont, a Dutch hotshot who’d made his directorial debut earlier that year with the summer phenomenon Speed (1994). He’d also been a cinematographer on such action milestones as Die Hard (1988) and The Hunt for Red October (1990), so he looked like a good choice for a muscular American take on Godzilla. He'd taken on board the substantial briefing document provided by Toho and had come up with a storyline that met with general approval. Unfortunately, the budget he presented was too rich for TriStar’s parent company, Sony, and he walked away from the project at the end of the year. Godzilla spent all of 1995 in Development Limbo.

In mid-1996, TriStar brought in the director/producer team of Roland Emmerich and Dean Devlin. Emmerich and Devlin had scored a hit with Stargate (1994) and were about to enjoy even greater success with Independence Day (1996), both of which they’d also co-scripted. Their participation was conditional on them being allowed to ignore Toho’s document as well as the earlier scripts and handle the story and the kaiju in their own way. They would retain the idea of Godzilla being mutated by the fallout from nuclear weapons tests, but would steer clear of the more fantastic elements of de Bont’s storyline and instead present Godzilla in a way more grounded in reality, as a flesh-and-blood animal with its roots in the real world. The concept designs for this new Godzilla met with a frosty reception at a meeting with representatives of Toho, but they signed off on it nonetheless. TriStar greenlit Emmerich and Devlin’s script at the turn of 1997 and filming completed that year, in plenty of time for a summer blockbuster release in 1998. Marketing for the movie was extremely coy about what its titular star would look like...

The main theme of kaiju fan complaints about this film is that Roland Emmerich and Dean Devlin didn’t “get” Godzilla. Steve Ryfle in particular, in his book Japan’s Favourite Mon-Star, offers a curated selection of quotes from interviews with Devlin that make him sound dismissive or even contemptuous of the Japanese Godzilla movies, with the clear implication that he was entirely the wrong person to take on this project. Conversely, in the behind-the-scenes bonus material on the DVD release, Devlin talks about the happy childhood hours he spent watching those old movies. (Emmerich, on the other hand, is clearly just not a fan.) It’s not that he wasn’t familiar with them or didn’t like them, he says, it’s just that he didn’t want to copy them, he wanted to do something different. One might fairly ask why he insisted on using the title Godzilla and didn’t just produce his own film, and doubtless the monetary advantages of brand recognition are a part of the answer. But still, I don’t think it’s wrong of him or Emmerich to remark on the flaws of the Japanese movies or to have wanted to do their own thing.

On its own terms, as a formulaic, family-friendly action blockbuster about a giant mutated iguana, I think the 1998 Godzilla gets a lot right. It even has some features in common with better kaiju movies. The opening credits sequence neatly anticipates Legendary Pictures’ Godzilla (2014) and its sequels. The street-level effects shots and chases through the streets of Manhattan give scale and drama in exactly the same way as equivalent shots in Gamera: The Guardian of the Universe (1995) and Gamera 2 (1996). The realisation of Godzilla and its velociraptor-like offspring through CGI is both a triumph and a failing: the film simultaneously benefits from all the development work put in by the makers of Jurassic Park (1993) and its sequel The Lost World (1997) and sets itself up for inevitable negative comparisons and comments about diminishing returns. And didn’t Godzilla vs Destoroyah (1995) and Gamera 2 both just do that same sequence of people being picked off by small kaiju in an underground complex... but with more interesting monsters?

One possible reason why the film doesn’t quite land is the comedy. This isn’t to say comedic business isn’t welcome in giant monster movies. Gamera 2 parodied news coverage of its narrative too, although it didn’t site several major characters in the newsroom. Mayor Ebert and his assistant Gene – famously named after film critics Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel in retaliation for their panning of Emmerich and Devlin’s previous films – are the kind of lightweight comic relief characters who often pop up in Japanese kaiju eiga. The endless business with characters mangling Nick’s surname wouldn’t be out of place either – he shares a name with Patrick Tatopoulos, who provided the film’s creature designs, so I suspect the name and the manglings are an in-joke. The repeated digs by the French characters at the expense of American coffee are fine too. But stick them all together and the overall tone of the movie starts to feel more heavily weighted towards comedy.

I think the casting gives a further indication that the filmmakers had their tongues in their cheeks: three of the four actors that I would guess viewers are most likely to recognise are known for their comedy roles. Hank Azaria (Victor) and Harry Shearer (Caiman) are both prominent members of the Simpsons (1989-present) voice cast, and Shearer’s also well-known as one of the stars of the music mockumentary This Is Spinal Tap (1984). Matthew Broderick (Nick) was probably still best known in 1998 (and may still be today!) for his star turn in the teen comedy Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986). Notable entries in his filmography to either side of this movie include the Jim Carrey vehicle The Cable Guy (1996) and the ill-advised live-action Inspector Gadget (1999). The fourth, Jean Reno (Philippe), may have been more of an action movie star, coming to America’s attention as the eponymous assassin in the Luc Besson film Léon (1994) and swiftly landing a role in Mission: Impossible (1996), but in France he’d also made a splash in the time-travel comedy Les Visiteurs (1993), a sequel to which was released in 1998.

And then there’s the poster and trailer tagline, “Size Does Matter”. With everyone so reluctant to show off the redesigned Godzilla ahead of time, the one thing that’s going to define this movie in the minds of prospective cinemagoers is a sexual innuendo.

But I wonder if its biggest flaw, its true failing, is simply that it tries to apply American cinematic standards of "realism” to Godzilla? I don’t just mean the decision to present Godzilla as some bland animal when, in the Toho movies up to this point, he’d often been more of a supernatural force and a potent symbolic entity. (I don’t know, maybe I am saying Dean Devlin didn’t “get” Godzilla...) I’m also thinking of the more theatrical standards of Japanese cinema, at least in this genre and at this time. Tragic melodrama is a key part of Godzilla’s DNA that’s entirely absent from this movie. Perhaps it would have helped to give Iguana Godzilla some personality if they’d realised it through motion capture? Apparently mo-cap was considered, but rejected precisely because it made Godzilla look like he was being portrayed by a human actor. The trouble with this film is that it was in a position to lean on Jurassic Park, which proved that creatures could be convincingly realised on-screen through CGI, but preceded that other milestone in special effects cinema, The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002), which similarly proved the capabilities and worth of motion capture. (And of Andy Serkis. Let’s be honest, if the TriStar Godzilla had been made in 2004, no one but Andy Serkis would have been playing the title role.) The Legendary Pictures movies would use elements of mo-cap to great effect.

Let’s talk about French nuclear weapons testing. Presumably attributing Godzilla’s mutation to American tests was never an option in an American movie, and blaming the Russians would have meant including a charismatic Russian character in the main cast, also presumably a no-no. Blaming the French meant the filmmakers could cast the highly bankable Jean Reno, a win-win situation. It’s just possible some cinemagoers might have remembered all the fuss about the 1985 sinking of the Greenpeace vessel Rainbow Warrior at harbour in New Zealand, an act of terrorism sponsored by the French government to counter the vessel’s proposed protest of nuclear tests in French Polynesia. Bear in mind, though, that this film was released about five years before America got all weird about the French because of their opposition to the invasion and occupation of Iraq. (Who could forget the hilarity of “freedom fries”? On a related note, when Caiman is reporting on Godzilla’s first incursion into New York and describes it as the city’s biggest calamity since the World Trade Center bombing, it took me a minute to remember that he’s talking about a terrorist incident that took place in February 1993.)

France didn’t sign up to the Partial Nuclear Test Ban Treaty the Soviet Union and the USA had ratified in 1963 – the one that banned all nuclear tests except those carried out underground – and continued its nuclear weapons tests for some time after that. At the time, France was in the middle of a series of tests in Algeria, 13 of them underground and five atmospheric, that it continued under the terms of the treaty it had signed in 1962 granting Algeria its independence. When the tests had started, France had been at war with its former colonial property. Later on, it turned its attention to the islands of the Pacific Ocean, conducting 193 tests after the middle of 1966 in French Polynesia – these are the ones referenced in this film. The majority from 1975 onward were underground detonations but most prior to that were devices deployed by balloon. The last one was carried out in January 1996 – at the time Emmerich and Devlin were writing their first draft script, for all anyone knew, France might have been planning to continue its nuclear tests.

France did sign the Comprehensive Nuclear Test Ban Treaty when it was introduced at the United Nations in 1996 and ratified it in April 1998, one month before this film was released. That treaty, however, has not yet come into force because eight nations including the USA never ratified it and Vladimir Putin withdrew Russia’s ratification in 2023.

The 1998 Godzilla underperformed at the box office and was mauled by the critics, leading to the abandonment of a planned trilogy. It did, however, lead to the second American animated Godzilla series (1998-2000). In this, Godzilla’s last surviving child imprints on Nick Tatopoulos, allowing him to direct it to defend America from the predations of other monsters, not unlike the premise of the Hanna-Barbera animated Godzilla (1978-79). They even got the same actors to do the voices for Mayor Ebert, Colonel (now Major!) Hicks and Dr Craven. All of whom are second fiddle to Animated Iguana Godzilla, whose roars are provided by the guy who voiced Megatron in The Transformers (1984-87).

Gamera 2: Advent of Legion

Gamera 2: Advent of Legion (1996)
Daiei Film Co, Ltd
Director: Kaneko Shūsuke, Higuchi Shinji (special effects)
Also known as: Gamera 2: Attack of Legion, the US title. Once again, I’m going with the version helpfully included in the title caption. (Although it’s rendered with no punctuation as “GAMERA2 advent of legion”, which would look messy at the top of this page.)
Also discussed: the Rebirth of Mothra trilogy (1996, 1997, 1998)


So, my first thought on rewatching this film is: Wow, the Kirin Brewery Company really emptied their marketing budget on this!

My second thought is: This looks suspiciously like a response to Godzilla vs Destoroyah (1995). There’s a swarm of puppet-like human-scale kaiju; a scene of armed troopers fighting the monsters in a confined underground space, a bit like in Aliens (1986); a sort of daikaiju queen of the swarm portrayed by a stunt actor. As with Destoroyah, there’s a rare and satisfying “scienciness” to Legion – Honami likens the organism’s combination of hive creatures and plant to the symbiosis between leafcutter ants and the fungus that they farm, in a moment that feels very much like the scriptwriter indulgently showing off his research. Both films include scenes of atomic-bomb-esque destruction, but where Godzilla vs Destoroyah throws its scenes in without warning whenever characters start talking about Godzilla going into meltdown, essentially faking out the audience, Gamera 2 really delivers the scene and means it. (It might be a stretch too far to compare Gamera’s new trapdoor torso fireball attack, never seen before or since, with the fiery glow of the dying Godzilla’s chest in the Toho film.) Basically, at various points the makers of this film seem to be turning to the makers of that film and saying, “See, we can do that too”. (Or even – heresy! – “We can do that better”.) There’s a clear seven months between the release dates of the two films, so a direct response isn’t impossible given the fast production schedule of a 90s Japanese kaiju movie, but it would have been tight if so.

The effects overall are, once again, excellent. Like Gamera: The Guardian of the Universe (1995), Gamera 2 makes good use of ground-level shots to give scale to the proceedings and to show off the miniature work. There’s a brilliant shot of a public phone box shattering as Gamera stomps towards the Legion plant in Sapporo, and a shot of the queen Legion bursting out of the ground with a phone box similarly foregrounded. On a slightly different scale, the inclusion of a large model of a cargo helicopter circling Gamera and Legion during the standoff at Sendai Airport really helps to sell that scene.

Some of the production’s other choices are peculiar. There are some weird freeze frame moments scattered across the film – of Honami and Watarase piecing together the clues at the meteorite site, the survivors being rescued from the subway train, and Obitsu and Watarase piecing together more clues later on in Honami’s home. These feel like perhaps an attempt to use the visual language of docudrama – perhaps they’re meant to make the movie feel less far removed from reality. There’s also a fair bit of religious, specifically Christian imagery. Aside from Hanatani naming the kaiju antagonist after a Biblical demon (and citing the chapter and verse to back it up!), there’s the way the “me” of Gamera’s name, メ, is presented in the opening title graphics as an upright cross on a fiery background before settling into its place in the film’s title, and the way the people gathered in Sendai raise Gamera from the dead by essentially praying him better. There was already a hint of this in Gamera: The Guardian of the Universe, in which Asagi, with her stigmata and the symbol of her saviour around her neck, declares her faith at the end of the film that he’ll return to save the world again. Lastly among the odd choices, an ecological message is clumsily tacked onto the final scene because apparently that’s just what we do in kaiju eiga now.

There are some good choices too, mostly in the use of comedy. There’s plenty of “realistic” news coverage of the events playing on TV screens in the characters’ home or in the background, some of which verges on the parodic. There’s also some comedy business of Honami’s mother stopping her father from eavesdropping when she has male visitors. Most noticeably, Hotaru Yukijirō is back as the cowardly ex-cop Osako, albeit briefly. He and Fujitani Ayako, as Asagi, are the only two returnees from the first film. The new main cast are fine, but for me they’re less memorable than the old main cast.


So what were Toho doing at this time? Obviously not making more Godzilla movies, but they weren’t going to let their visual effects team sit idle either. So, while everyone was waiting for the American Godzilla movie to arrive, Toho turned to their other superstar kaiju and produced a new trilogy of Mothra movies. These are known outside Japan as Rebirth of Mothra (1996), Rebirth of Mothra 2 (1997) and (...checks notes...) Rebirth of Mothra 3 (1998). As with the Heisei Gamera trilogy, the second and third instalments use Anglo (technically Arabic) numerals in their promotional materials and on screen, and these are pronounced in the trailers and interviews as if in English (“Tsū” and “Surī”). They were pitched at a younger audience than the Heisei Godzilla movies, with child protagonists throughout, cartoonish villains and simple, super-obvious environmental messaging.

It’s interesting, in the wake of two films in which Daiei modernised the children’s favourite Gamera with a grittier, more mature tone, to see Toho going in the other direction and presenting their modernised Mothra as a bit of light fantasy for kids. It’s also fascinating to watch the 90s generation of Toho kaiju filmmakers, over the course of the trilogy, essentially rediscover how to make a kids’ film. This surely wasn’t a lost art – it had only been 20 years since the studio’s live action output was headlining the children’s Toho Champion Festival. And yet, as slick as the movies are in their visual effects, thanks in no small part to an injection of CGI, they’re clunky as hell on the narrative level.

In the first film, an unlikeable, bickering brother and sister are drawn into a battle between titanic supernatural forces when their father’s logging company disturbs an ancient seal. The second film takes more of an Indiana Jones approach, with a trio of kids and a couple of fishermen racing to uncover the secrets of a vanished civilisation that’s connected to a pollution-loving aquatic daikaiju. (This second movie follows in the questionable footsteps of Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla (1974) by plundering the indigenous culture of Okinawa for the name of the civilisation whose ancient temple surfaces, Atlantis-like, off the Okinawan coast.) By the third film, the writers have just about got the hang of sympathetic child characters but make them subordinate to the fantasy characters in a story of kaiju battling across the present day and the Cretaceous Period.

As far as the kaiju antagonists go, Rebirth of Mothra 2 fares the best with an original creation that also comes with an entourage of toxic starfish to menace the human cast. The first and third films fall back on variations on the familiar old King Ghidorah.

The protagonists, meanwhile, get a significant makeover. Mothra’s fairies, formerly referred to as the Shobijin and more recently, in Godzilla vs Mothra (1992), as the Cosmos, are now called the Elias. Naturally, they’ve been recast. They used to be not so much characters in their own right, more a kind of weird interface between Mothra and the humans, but now they’re expected to carry large parts of the plot of this trilogy themselves, so they’ve been reimagined as individuals with distinct personalities and proper names. What’s more, there’s a third Elias, coded in her costume and performance as evil, who’s working against them and trying to use the antagonist kaiju to save Earth by destroying humanity. The good Elias have their own tiny version of Mothra to ride around on, which they call “Fairy” – if Toho weren’t making toys off the back of the illusory tiny Mothra that appeared in Godzilla vs SpaceGodzilla (1994), they surely would be now. The evil Elias, meanwhile, gets to fly about on a kind of miniature cybernetic dragon, which opens up a world of questions about the presumably extinct civilisation the Elias represent.

In further contrast with their rustic islander predecessors, the Elias appear in increasingly elaborate fairy princess costumes across the trilogy. And yes, they still sing the old Mothra song. The first movie screeches to a halt to showcase what looks like a pop video for the song, with the two good Elias matted incongruously onto the generic background of a roaring log fire. They also get a completely new song in the third movie, and very nice it is too.

The more disappointing change, perhaps, is that Mothra, traditionally one of the few explicitly female daikaiju, is replaced by a male version. I don’t if this was considered necessary to appeal to the target child audience or done for any other particular reason. The more familiar Mothra dies in the first movie and hands over to a male larva which quickly pupates to win the climactic fight. He’s referred to by secondary sources as Mothra Leo, but on-screen he’s just Mothra. In what looks like another strong bid for spin-off toys, during the trilogy he mutates into a succession of specialist forms that allow him to do plot-mandated things like dive underwater, grow plate armour and literally fly millions of years into the past.

I wouldn’t recommend the Rebirth of Mothra trilogy to anyone but kaiju completists. They’re not terrible enough to make the Tri-Star movie look good – I wouldn’t go that far, but more on that in the next blog post! – but they certainly make the Heisei Gamera trilogy look even better by comparison. That Daiei, after so quickly turning around Gamera 2, should have waited a few years before producing Gamera 3 (1999) makes it look cruelly as if they’re just hanging back and giving Toho more rope.

Godzilla vs Destoroyah

Godzilla vs Destoroyah (1995)
Toho Studios
Director: Ōkawara Takao, Kawakita Kōichi (special effects)


With the Hollywood blockbuster version of Godzilla now confirmed to be in production, Toho decides to wrap things up and clear the deck in the most apocalyptic (and showy) way possible. This is nothing less than the Gojidämmerung – the Twilight of the Godzilla.

It’s all gone a bit meta. In 1954, Godzilla symbolised the atomic bomb, the most terrifying real-world weapon, and was killed by the fictional Oxygen Destroyer, an equally nightmarish weapon but a sort of conceptual opposite of the bomb. Now here we have a kaiju that symbolises the fictional weapon that killed Godzilla. And Godzilla, who seems to now symbolise the fear of nuclear power stations failing more than nuclear weapons, has to kill it right back. We’ve come full circle. Which is perhaps appropriate for a film that ends with the passing of the torch to the next generation of Godzilla.

As a kaiju, Destoroyah has a novelty that the previous year’s SpaceGodzilla lacked and is certainly more interesting. It’s not the first time we’ve seen a swarm of smaller, human-scale monsters – Rodan (1956) gave us the insectoid Meganulons, probably inspired by the giant ants in Them! (1954) – but I think it’s the first film to show us a sort of queen kaiju in charge of the swarm. No doubt this, too, is something this film owes to Aliens. But in a peculiar extra twist, the queen is formed by the smaller kaiju merging together, a bit like the cumulative growth of 1971’s Hedorah. As with SpaceGodzilla, the special effects budget seemingly couldn’t stretch to a visible transformation, although this time it’s masked by clouds of dust rather than simply happening between shot cuts. Beyond this detail, the idea of a weapon like the Oxygen Destroyer creating conditions that would actually suit pre-Cambrian life forms has a pleasing “scienciness” to it that, again, contrasts with the sci-fi salad of SpaceGodzilla’s backstory.

On the subject of special effects, this film sees the Godzilla team experimenting with CGI with some obvious and mixed results. Not in the portrayal of the daikaiju themselves – suit acting and other practical effects are still preferred for that (and on that note, a quick shout out to the stunt actor playing Godzilla Junior, Hariken Ryū, who I think outshines longstanding Godzilla actor Satsuma Kenpachirō throughout). But in long shots of the human-scale Destoroyah creatures swarming above ground, there’s clearly an element of copying and pasting a digital model going on that, looking back on it today, sadly resembles the sort of thing you’d see in the knock-off “mockbusters” produced by The Asylum. CGI is also clearly used in the scene of Godzilla frosting over as the X3 empties its freezing weapons at him.

Among the cast there are the usual regulars – Odaka Megumi as Miki, Nakao Akira as Colonel Asō – and a couple of other familiar faces. Takashima Masahiro, seen very recently as the male lead in Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II (1993) and the titular hero in Yamato Takeru (1994), pops up as the pilot of the Super X3. Ozawa Meru is played by Osawa Sayaka, who made a cameo appearance in Godzilla vs Mechagodzilla II as one of a pair of telepaths at Miki’s psychic research centre – perhaps she’s meant to be playing the same character here? She and the other telepath were also Mothra’s fairy emissaries in Godzilla vs Mothra (1992) and Godzilla vs SpaceGodzilla. Perhaps the most surprising returning actor is Kōchi Momoko, reprising the role of Yamane Emiko she’d played 40 years earlier in the original Godzilla. Her part in this film is a small one, but a significant one as the Heisei Godzilla series draws to a close. Her co-stars Shimura Takashi and Hirata Akihiko appear in the form of photographs and stock footage respectively.

The character of Meru feels like a bit of a missed opportunity. It’s as if she’s being set up as a kind of cracked mirror of Miki, another young professional telepath but one who joined the militaristic G-Force rather than being co-opted as a consultant, and who wears the uniform (or at least the beret). The heart-to-heart scene between the two reveals Meru as shallow where Miki is introspective. Moreover, she’s spent her time with the UNGCC training in America, far from the kaiju action, while Miki has forged a genuine connection with Godzilla’s child. Meru’s the one who suggests using Godzilla Junior as live bait for Destoroyah, and although Miki is obliged to participate in this plan when the UNGCC greenlights it, she looks uneasy and has every reason to. This could, maybe should have led to a confrontation between the two, but nothing ever comes of it.

Overall, though, this is a strong finish for this run of Godzilla movies and a confident handover to TriStar Pictures as they prepare to bring Godzilla to a whole new, much larger English-speaking audience. Let’s hope they don’t mess it up.