Destroy All Monsters

Destroy All Monsters (1968)
Toho Studios
Director: Honda Ishirō, Arikawa Sadamasa (special effects)


So here’s a great big celebration of Toho’s kaiju eiga to date, an indulgent jam that throws together a whole bunch of their giant monsters in a lightly plotted, high-stakes runaround with rockets and aliens. Plenty of costumed fighting, plenty of showy miniature work for the special effects team, surprisingly little reused footage (although it’s there and it’s not hard to spot).

This might seem odd because 1968 wasn’t a significant anniversary for Godzilla, or for Toho Studios; this is only the ninth Godzilla film, and I don’t think it was a milestone number for the studio overall (assuming they kept count after The Three Treasures (1959), allegedly their thousandth production). The fact is, Destroy All Monsters was meant to be the last Godzilla film (yes, again, for real this time). This was supposed to be a big send-off for the franchise at a time when television was draining away Japanese cinema audiences.

Moreover, Godzilla was now getting the same treatment as Gamera in America – Ebirah, Horror of the Deep (1966) had gone straight to television in the US, and Son of Godzilla (1967) was about to go the same way. The American dub of Invasion of Astro-Monster (1965) wouldn’t even find a distributor until 1970, although it would at least debut in cinemas. With its unprecedentedly high monster quotient, Destroy All Monsters might recapture the American market’s attention and give Toho back a foreign theatrical outlet for their tokusatsu films.

Destroy All Monsters did get a theatrical release in America, and it ended up reviving Godzilla’s fortunes, at least for a little while. For the domestic market, Toho found another way ahead and made another Godzilla movie in 1969 (of which, more in the next blog post), but this was certainly the last Godzilla movie of the Shōwa era that was expected to fend for itself in Japanese cinemas.

Most of the kaiju featured have previously appeared in other Godzilla movies, but some may need an introduction. And as ever, being killed in their debut movie is no bar to kaiju making a reappearance. Godzilla, Minilla and Kumonga were all seen as recently as Son of Godzilla, while Rodan, Mothra, Anguirus and (spoiler alert!) King Ghidorah should all have made enough of an impression on everyone’s memory. The others are new to the franchise. Gorosaurus, who looks a bit like a Tyrannosaurus Rex but with an even more disproportionately large head, first appeared in the previous year’s King Kong Escapes (1967). He’s a native of Mondo Island and was last seen re-enacting the famous 1933 “Kong vs random dinosaur” scene. Fun fact: he wasn’t named in that movie, so he’s been promoted from bit player to star cast. Manda, a long wyrm-style dragon with stumpy, barely visible legs, was the monstrous antagonist in Atragon (1963). Atragon is an anti-nationalist fable about a flying submarine with a corkscrew drill attachment on the front. (You heard me the first time.) Fun fact: “Atragon”, a portmanteau of “atomic dragon”, was originally meant to describe Manda, but because that isn’t Manda’s name it’s sometimes mistaken for the name of the flying drilling submarine (which is actually called the Gōtengō). Baragon, the quadruped with a horn and big, floppy ears, comes from Frankenstein vs Baragon (1965, a.k.a. Frankenstein Conquers the World). It seems the costume wasn’t available for Baragon’s first scripted appearance, so Gorosaurus ends up subbing in for him, but he can be seen in the film’s climactic showdown. And Varan, the eponymous star of Varan (1958) who looks like a reptilian flying squirrel, isn’t even named in this film but can be seen floating into shot in a single scene (and it’s not reused footage, either!).

So without further ado, on with the show...

And what a send-off it would have been. There’s a literal fin-de-siècle feel to this movie, set in the barely imaginable future of the end of the 20th century with its moonbase and videophones, reflected in the sheer decadent indulgence of the proceedings. The global scope is refreshing and raises the movie above the usual run of the mill, making it feel like the stakes are as high as the alien invasion plot wants them to be. Having Toho’s kaiju constantly attack Japan before may have been no more ridiculous than the antagonists in American pulp SF movies only ever attacking America, but it’s nice to go a little further afield. So far Godzilla and his pals have only ventured outside Japan to visit fictional Pacific islands or outer space (or “New Kirk City” in Mothra (1961)) – I can hardly believe it’s taken them this long to get around to France. Alas, the international scenes are far too brief.

The model work and matte shots are great all round. It's painfully obvious that there are no people in the scenes of Moscow, Paris and New York, but that’s perhaps the only blemish on what would otherwise be an excellent showcase for Toho’s post-Tsuburaya special effects department. The big monster battles towards the end certainly deliver plenty of spectacle, and the crew have managed to sidestep any wire-related problems by not using the imago Mothra and only bringing Kumonga in through reused shots, allowing them to concentrate on manipulating Ghidorah’s three heads. As obvious as that reused material is, it’s used sensibly and woven into the story quite well.

The real problem is the plot, which is perhaps the most superficial one yet in this series of movies. Some aliens want to take over humanity because they just do, they use remote controlled kaiju to devastate a few major cities in arbitrary displays of intimidation, and they all spontaneously curl up into inert metallic balls the minute their bases are overrun. The characterisation is close to non-existent – just look at the complete lack of development around the relationship between Katsuo and Kyōko. Are they lovers or siblings? The lack of obvious concern on his part while she’s under alien control and the cold violence with which he frees her from that control don’t offer much hint either way. That said, Kubo Akira (making a quick return after starring as the journalist Goro in Son of Godzilla) gives the liveliest performance of the movie as Katsuo. Tsuchiya Yoshio (also recently seen in Son of Godzilla) is wasted as Dr Otani and Tazaki Jun (most recently seen as the lead villain in Ebirah, Horror of the Deep) doesn’t fare much better as Dr Yoshida.

Perhaps the greatest wasted opportunity is the concept of “Kaiju Land”. The idea that humanity has somehow tamed all of these near-supernatural creatures – reduced them again to pest animals and handled them as such – and contained them on an island is one that needs more consideration than it gets here. There’s a brief voiceover explaining the premise right at the start, and after that we’re expected to take it as much on trust as the rest of the plot. We see Rodan fishing a dolphin out of the island’s waters, but what do the rest of the kaiju eat? There’s not that much wildlife to be had, apart from other kaiju or scientists; there’s not even a nuclear reactor to keep Godzilla perked up. Don’t they get under each other’s feet the whole time? Do they get territorial in this foreign, enforced territory? What actually are the consequences of taking them all out of their natural habitats? Who’s defending Infant Island, or indeed the entire planet, if Mothra’s been locked up here?

With hindsight, the real legacy of “Kaiju Land” is that it establishes the idea of a single “home” for Earth’s giant monsters, a toybox they can be pulled out of and go back into as the situation demands. This idea will take on greater significance in films to come, starting with the very next one.

Son of Godzilla

Son of Godzilla (1967)
Toho Studios
Director: Fukuda Jun, Arikawa Sadamasa (special effects)
Also discussed: The X from Outer Space (1967), Gappa (1967), King Kong Escapes (1967).


1966 is often cited as an annus mirabilis for tokusatsu: the three Daimajin movies, Gamera vs Barugon, The War of the Gargantuas... well, and Ebirah, Horror of the Deep, I suppose... not to mention the debut of Tsuburaya Productions’ acclaimed “Ultra” series on TV.

But 1967 is remarkable for being the year in which all the major Japanese film production companies decided to have a go. Perhaps it wasn’t the most advisable time for it, given the decline in cinema attendance, but this is the year Shochiku and Nikkatsu released their sole Shōwa-era contributions to the canon of kaiju eiga. (Toei, meanwhile, were providing animation for Rankin-Bass’ The King Kong Show (1966-67) and producing the TV series Captain Ultra (1967), by a comfortable margin the fastest knock-off of Ultraman (original series 1966-67). The TV network had actually commissioned Captain Ultra to fill Ultraman’s timeslot while Tsuburaya Productions were preparing the follow-up series, so any resemblance is surely intended.)

At the end of March, a week and a half after the release of Daiei’s Gamera vs Gyaos, Shochiku’s film The X from Outer Space debuted (Japanese title: Giant Space Monster Guilala). In this, an extraterrestrial microbe is brought to Earth where it grows into a gigantic bipedal creature that wanders around destroying cities and absorbing energy from power stations. A joint Japanese and American team of astronauts and scientists names it Guilala and races to synthesise the substance the microbe was originally encased in, in the hope that it can be used to contain Guilala and transport it back into space. Guilala has a reptilian body with frilled limbs but birdlike feet. Its head, certainly its most distinctive feature, looks like a spiky, metallic UFO with a beak and an enormous pair of deely-bopper antennae. Its rampages all seem to take place at night, presumably in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the fact that the scenes are studio-bound. The movie is most memorable for its absurd 1960s pop-rock soundtrack and for spawning a parody sequel 41 years later.

April brought Nikkatsu’s film Gappa (also known as Gappa the Triphibian Monster and, in America, Monster from a Prehistoric Planet). This film sees Japan’s fictional answer to Hugh Hefner developing a holiday resort on a Japanese island. The main attraction of the island is to be a zoo populated with exotic creatures plundered from the Pacific Islands. The businessman’s minions find one such creature, called Gappa by the human inhabitants of its island, and bring it to Japan, with the predictable consequence that its parents come to reclaim it. The Gappas, like Guilala, are visually a blend of reptile and bird, although overall they look a lot more like monstrous eagles. (Despite the similar name, apart from the beak they don’t resemble the kappa, a well-known variety of Japanese folkloric monster.) As the word “triphibian” suggests, they swim, fly and trample. The story is highly derivative, with the familiar old tropes of an innocent kaiju being exploited by an unscrupulous businessman and a community of Pacific Islanders played by blacked-up Japanese actors, but the execution is as good as anything else produced in 1967. The movie’s probably best known to British science fiction fans as the source of the “unconvincing prehistoric monster droid” clips used in “Meltdown” (1991), the fourth season finale of the comedy series Red Dwarf.

In July, Toho released King Kong Escapes, their first kaiju movie of the year and their second attempt to tie in with the Rankin-Bass/Toei animated series. It lifted several concepts directly from the series. Firstly, Kong’s home island, which still hadn’t been named on-screen as Skull Island and had been named Faro Island in King Kong vs Godzilla (1962), is referred to as Mondo Island, the name used in the cartoon. Secondly, the chief antagonist is called Dr Who, which fans of British science fiction are likely to find confusing or hilarious. In the cartoon, Dr Who is a small, bald-headed man dressed in the white tunic, gloves and goggles of a caricatured mad scientist. In King Kong Escapes, actor Amamoto Hideyo looks uncannily like he’s cosplaying William Hartnell in the first episode of Doctor Who (1963-present), suggesting someone somewhere might have got their visual reference materials mixed up. Thirdly, Dr Who controls a metallic replica of Kong, called Mechani-Kong. In the cartoon, Mechani-Kong looks a lot more like Kong and has to be piloted from a cockpit inside its head; in its first appearance, Dr Who tries to use it to discredit the real Kong, an idea we’ll see used again when Godzilla meets his own robot double a few films from now. In King Kong Escapes, Mechani-Kong is unmistakeably a robot, all silvery and either autonomous or controllable from Dr Who’s headquarters.

Dr Who plans to use Mechani-Kong to excavate a highly radioactive mineral in the Arctic on behalf of his associate Madame Piranha, who wants to turn her nation (which explicitly isn’t the US, the USSR or China) into a nuclear superpower. Even Mechani-Kong, with its thick metal hide, can’t withstand the radiation, so Dr Who resorts to his backup plan: abduct Kong and force him to do the dangerous work. This doesn’t work, nor does kidnapping and coercing Kong’s American friends. Kong escapes and swims to Japan for... reasons?... and Dr Who sends in Mechani-Kong to retrieve him, leading to a kaiju bust-up in Tokyo before the triumphant ape finally heads for home. It’s only appropriate that this movie should be simplistic and cartoonish, but it doesn’t have a lot to offer beyond that. Mechani-Kong is a lot of fun, and it’s sad that this was the robot’s only cinematic outing. Kong, meanwhile, looks as bad as he did in King Kong vs Godzilla. Even the fact that it’s directed by kaiju eiga colossus Hondo Ishirō isn’t enough to recommend this movie to anyone but completists.

And then, in December...

Invasion of Astro-Monster (1965) could easily have wrapped up the Godzilla movies, the conclusion of a loose trilogy begun in Mothra vs Godzilla (1964) and, barring the following year’s The War of the Gargantuas, a last hurrah for the directorial dream team of Honda and Tsuburaya. Then Godzilla was dropped into the script for Ebirah, Horror of the Deep and Toho decided they weren’t done with him yet. Now here we have another tale of secretive scientific research and mutated beasts on a remote Pacific island, but apparently targeted at a child audience with the inclusion of Godzilla’s own infant son.

In the context of kaiju eiga, it feels like the title and concept of Son of Godzilla are overtly referencing Son of Kong (1933). There are two problems with this. Firstly, although the words “son of Godzilla” do actually appear in the original Japanese title as well as the international Anglo title, Son of Kong was renamed Revenge of Kong for the Japanese market, so the reference would be lost on the domestic audience. And secondly, Minilla has absolutely none of the appeal of Little Kong. Years before Trolls and Cabbage Patch Kids, here’s a childlike thing that looks ugly but is also supposed to be cute. (Apparently the specific Japanese term for this is “busakawa”.) His appearance is sometimes compared to that of the Pillsbury Doughboy, an advertising mascot for a baking supplies company. He certainly doesn’t look much like Godzilla. He’ll turn up again in Destroy All Monsters (1968) and be a viewpoint character in All Monsters Attack (1969), but he won’t stick in the long term. The Heisei-era Godzilla movies will present a different and (in my opinion) much better take on the concept. Although Minilla himself crops up once more after that, in Godzilla Final Wars (2004), it’s in the context of a film that throws almost every single element of Toho’s Shōwa-era output into one big nostalgic bucket.

Minilla and Godzilla aside, the new kaiju are realised entirely through puppetry. The results are more than acceptable – the fact that the Kamacuras and Kumonga are puppets allows for a more convincingly insectile shape, and the wirework is good. And the matte effects in this film are better than in many of its predecessors. The shots of human characters trying to avoid flaming, disembodied Kamacuras limbs flying through the air are particularly well done.

Actor-watch: the scientific team on Sollgel Island is a veritable Who’s Who of contemporary kaiju eiga. Habitual viewers should have no trouble spotting Takashima Tadao (the hero in King Kong vs Godzilla) as Dr Kusumi, Hirata Akihiko (Dr Serizawa in the OG) as radio operator Fujisaki, Tsuchiya Yoshio (the lead alien in Invasion of Astro-Monster) as the cranky equipment inspector Furukawa and Sahara Kenji (the villain in Mothra vs Godzilla) as the younger equipment inspector Morio. Parachuting in as the reckless journalist Goro is Kubo Akira, who played the inventor Tetsuo in Invasion of Astro-Monster.

The name “Sollgel Island” is distinctive enough that it looks like it ought to mean something, although feeding the Japanese characters into Google Translate doesn’t offer me any potential leads. The nearest thing I can find is the sol-gel process, an industrial process whereby colloidal mineral solutions are used to fabricate novel solid materials. This was at least a scientific concept at the time Son of Godzilla was produced, although the real developments postdate it. It isn’t the same thing as cloud seeding, whereby metallic iodides are dropped into clouds in the hope of causing rain to condense out of them. Still, it’s possible the island’s name was meant to tie in somehow to the theme of weather control, even if only by invoking what was then a cutting-edge field of science.

Weather control’s an interesting subject, and a popular one in science fiction. The practice of cloud seeding postdates the Second World War but was a common enough idea by the time of Son of Godzilla’s production. Starting in 1962, the American government had sponsored Project Stormfury, a lengthy study into using silver iodide to affect the behaviour of tropical cyclones. There was some press coverage in 1965 when the project was wrongly blamed for a hurricane that caused significant damage in Florida. It was eventually abandoned in the mid-80s with inconclusive results.

The US Air Force did explore the possibility of using cloud seeding as a military tactic in the Vietnam War, but this experiment (later known as Operation Popeye) didn’t start until 1967 and wasn’t revealed publicly until 1972. There’s no chance that Dr Kusumi’s concern about weaponised weather control technology was a comment on this or a way of tying Godzilla back symbolically to American militarism.

The other thematic subject to consider is parenting in Japan in the 1960s. The post-war era saw Japanese society shift, much as in other industrialised nations, towards a norm of smaller, urbanised families in which both parents were likely to be working. The mid-60s also saw the rise of gakushū juku, after-hours “cram schools” offering supplementary tuition and extra-curricular activities to shepherd children through an increasingly competitive education system and into employment. A “pushy parent” stereotype gained currency in the 1960s, but specifically around mothers, “kyōiku mama”, not fathers. Goro uses the specific phrase “kyōiku mama” to describe Godzilla in the scene in which he and Saeko watch the kaiju educating Minilla. This would imply a broader view of Godzilla’s performance of gender in the film’s original context than comes across in the available Anglo versions. (The English language subtitles to the Japanese version replace the phrase with the bland "education fanatic", while the American dub substitutes the male-gendered "his father's a real study nut!") But Godzilla does also have time to give Minilla rides on his tail, so his parenting style is perhaps a more balanced one. Once the reference is explained to her, Saeku pities the hothoused children of 1960s Japan, but Goro seems more ambivalent, possibly reflecting ambivalence on the part of scriptwriter Sekizawa Shinichi. Sekizawa will have more to say about parenting and kaiju in All Monsters Attack, and it’ll be interesting to revisit this topic then.

Gamera vs Gyaos

Gamera vs Gyaos (1967)
Daiei Motion Picture Company
Director: Yuasa Noriaki (also handling SFX, and ditto for all the rest)
Also known as: Return of the Giant Monsters (the extremely bland title of the version first shown on American TV).
Also discussed: Gamera vs Viras (1968), Gamera vs Guiron (1969), Gamera vs Jiger (1970), Gamera vs Zigra (1971).


It’s hard to find insightful things to say about the Shōwa era Gamera movies when, increasingly, their sole purpose is “cash in on the kaiju eiga that have gone before”. (Then again, the same could be said of some of the Godzilla movies covered so far and others still to come.)

Let’s instead ask the question, when’s a good time to get off the Shōwa Gamera train? At what point do these films become too much of a slog to watch? Opinions vary, but I’d say Gamera vs Gyaos is the last truly enjoyable instalment in this series. The filmmakers have clearly decided who their target audience is going to be from now on – move aside, Tsutsumi, Eiichi is indisputably the star character here, a little smartarse who outmanoeuvres a slippery journalist, puts the greedy villagers in their place and holds court in the JSDF’s planning room. But there’s still room around him for at least some of the adult characters to have a bit of dignity and drama. And although Gyaos suffers from the rigidness and cartoonish appearance that will be a hallmark of Gamera’s foes in the rest of the series, he's a lot of fun and his attack on Nagoya is a sustained highlight of the film. He was evidently a hit at the time, since Gamera vs Guiron featured the cameo appearance of a “Space Gyaos” and a reimagined Gyaos would be a core element of the Heisei era Gamera films.

After this point, the series will fall into a predictable formula: two kids, one Japanese and one American, outwit the adults around them and team up with Gamera to defeat a hostile kaiju and save the day. Gamera, rebranded as “the friend of all children”, will turn up and fight purely to defend Earth and humanity, not because he happened to be in the area absorbing energy from a volcano or a power station. The abrasive “Gamera March” will feature prominently on the soundtrack. The kids will tend to be both boys, the sole exception being Gamera vs Zigra. The guest kaiju will tend to be an alien invader, apart from Jiger who’s a “demon beast” unleashed by the removal of an ancient statue from a fictional island.

With a reduced budget for each movie – slashed in half after Gamera vs Gyaos – the series will resort to two methods to cut costs even further. The first and most obvious is the increasing reuse of footage from earlier movies. Gamera vs Gyaos reuses some old footage, as do a number of Godzilla films, but in a way that’s skilful enough that you might not notice unless you already knew to look for it. That’s not true of the later Shōwa Gameras, particularly when monochrome shots from Gamera the Giant Monster (1965) are jarringly dropped into a colour movie or when the script contrives some way to redeploy the lengthy scene of Gamera destroying a dam from Gamera vs Barugon (1966).

The other money-saving measure is for director Yuasa Noriaki to use contemporary events or attractions as a source of cheap crowd scenes or location footage. Gamera vs Viras will benefit from a collaboration with the 4th Nippon Scout Jamboree, under which Yuasa seemingly gains a ready-made background cast of scouts and campground set in return for shooting a short promotional film for the scouts. Gamera vs Jiger will take full advantage, in its setting and plot details, of the preparations being made for Ōsaka to host Expo ’70, the 1970 World’s Fair. Gamera vs Zigra looks very much like a publicity exercise for the then recently opened Kamogawa Sea World.

Why continue to produce these films, with their requirements for new kaiju costumes and effects sequences, if money was so tight? The fact that they had a willing overseas distributor might have been an incentive to keep going, even if it was only American International Television (AIT), the TV department of AIP. The inclusion of an American child co-star in each one, the junior equivalent of Toho casting Nick Adams and Russ Tamblyn in the mid-60s, looks like a ploy to keep the US distributor sweet. But it wasn’t enough to keep Daiei afloat. They’d been suffering cashflow problems despite their rapid turnover of non-kaiju films, and they’d been hit hard by the rise of television and the decline in box office sales during the 1960s. In 1970 they formed a shared domestic distribution company with Nikkatsu, another ailing film production company, in a last-ditch effort to cut costs. Nikkatsu bailed out in late 1971, and by the end of that year Daiei had declared bankruptcy. (Nikkatsu, incidentally, deferred their bankruptcy until the late 1980s by moving into exploitation movies.)

Daiei’s long-running series of films about Zatoichi, the blind itinerant masseur and master swordsman, continued for a while over at Toho Studios, but only because the lead actor had been part-funding the films through his own production company and was consequently able to take the franchise away with him. Everything else went into mothballs until Tokuma Shoten, a publishing company who’d acquired Daiei’s assets, set up a new company called Daiei Film in 1974. Daiei Film’s production output, small and infrequent, would include four Gamera films, one best forgotten and three with a much better reputation.

Ebirah, Horror of the Deep

Ebirah, Horror of the Deep (1966)
Toho Studios
Director: Fukuda Jun, Arikawa Sadamasa (special effects, although Tsuburaya Eiji gets the credit on-screen)
Also known as: Godzilla vs the Sea Monster (the US title).


Actor-watch first. Yoshimura, the criminal with a heart of gold, is played by Takarada Akira, most recently seen as the lead Japanese astronaut in Invasion of Astro-Monster (1965). Tazaki Jun, the Red Bamboo leader, was also in Astro-Monster playing Takarada’s boss and was in charge of the JSDF forces in The War of the Gargantuas (1966). The Red Bamboo guard commander is played by Hirata Akihiko, the eyepatch-wearing Dr Serizawa in Godzilla (1954) – and he’s even wearing an eyepatch in this movie! Dayo, the Infant Islander with the highest billing, is played by Mizuno Kumi, who seems to just pop up in everything around this time.

When discussing Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster (1964), I mentioned the geopolitical interpretations some commentators have made about the Godzilla movies and that I felt there was plausible deniability around Ghidorah being some kind of stand-in for China. I don’t think there’s that deniability in Ebirah, Horror of the Deep. I mean, the name “Red Bamboo” is a bit of a giveaway. It’s never stated outright whether the villains of this movie are supposed to be actually Chinese or some kind of terrorist organisation, but they do have a very convincing military uniform as well as a navy and an air force, and that air force is flying Chinese fighter jets or a very close approximation. The Red Bamboo also have an active nuclear weapons programme, which might not be beyond the kind of villainous organisation you might find in a James Bond movie around this time but was certainly true of China, who’d been testing fission bombs since October 1964. What’s more, Chairman Mao had launched the Cultural Revolution seven months before this movie was released, which might have ramped up Japanese anxiety about the militancy of the Chinese Communist Party.

Relations between Japan and China would eventually be eased somewhat by the “Treaty of Peace and Friendship between Japan and China” signed in 1978, two years after Mao’s death.

The other big thing to say about Ebirah, which is fairly well known already, is that this started out as a King Kong movie. Getting the rights to Kong now involved talking to Rankin/Bass Animated Entertainment, who were developing a King Kong cartoon series that would premiere on American TV in September 1966, and in Japan in the same month as Ebirah’s cinematic release. The tie-in potential was obvious. (Funnily enough, the animation for The King Kong Show (1966-67) was created by the animation wing of one of Toho’s rivals, Toei Company Ltd.) But The King Kong Show, which was similar to but not as polished as Hanna-Barbera’s later animated Godzilla (1978-79), included some distinctive original elements that didn’t mesh neatly enough with the proposed script for Ebirah. Rankin/Bass objected, so Kong was replaced with Godzilla. Toho would go on to make King Kong Escapes (1967), which actively used a couple of those elements from the animated series.

And it’s not hard to spot the joins. Godzilla can usually be found in the sea, not sleeping in a cave. That one of the characters suggests reviving him with electricity, and that this works, is in line with minor plot elements of King Kong v Godzilla (1962) even if it has no precedent in the American Kong canon. Once again the plot involves some sort of fruit juice that sedates kaiju, yellow instead of red this time (although, then again, magical juice also featured in Mothra (1961)). Shots of Godzilla picking up boulders and lobbing them at Ebirah or at parts of the Red Bamboo compound make more sense when you imagine Kong doing it. Godzilla calms down and stares doe-eyed at Dayo in exactly the way Kong would, and exactly the way Godzilla generally doesn’t.

That Godzilla is more heroic than usual here, that he seems to take at least some interest in the different human factions on the island, that he’s so humanly expressive and that the kaiju fights look so much like choreographed wrestling matches doesn’t necessarily add to the list of anomalies. Yes, these are all things that would have suited a Kong movie, but they’re also somewhat true of Godzilla in Invasion of Astro-Monster. Perhaps we might say that Astro-Monster, fortuitously in hindsight, laid some of the groundwork for Godzilla’s shift in personality here.

Ebirah is a movie that seems targeted at a youth audience, as distinct from the child audience subsequent movies are evidently aiming for. There’s all that surf rock in the incidental music for a start, as well as the dancing endurance contest early on. I think our heroes suggest the age bracket the filmmakers might have been aiming for. What fashion there is consists of the young men’s polo shirts and brightly coloured jackets (terrible camouflage when trying to hide from foreign soldiers, by the way) and the hairdos and dresses the Shobijin are wearing, which wouldn’t have looked at all out of place in a contemporary domestic scene in any other Toho movie.

That later Godzilla movies didn’t continue to chase this audience but went instead, and with some blatancy, for younger cinemagoers could be partly a response to the Gamera movies. Daiei had made a bid to break into the kaiju market and enjoyed some success with child viewers, and Toho would certainly have wanted to compete. But their biggest domestic rival wasn’t Daiei – it was their own expert special effects director.

Tsuburaya Eiji is still credited on Ebirah, but he didn’t oversee its tokusatsu sequences himself – he was already halfway out the door and building up his own TV production company. He’d founded Tsuburaya Productions in 1963 as an independent effects company, and in 1966 the in-house productions started in earnest. Ultra Q (1966), which might be thought of as a kind of kaiju-heavy Japanese precursor to The X-Files (1993-2002), aired across the first half of 1966, and Ultraman (original series 1966-67) debuted in the second half of the year. The anthology nature of these shows and the rapid turnaround of TV production meant that Tsuburaya could quickly test and iterate new effects techniques. And if something didn’t work, the viewers at home would soon forget about it and there’d be something different on screen a week later. Kids hungry for novelty could now get their fix of slambang monster violence at home on TV practically every week, so the film studios would have to work harder to get their attention and, through pester power, their parents’ ticket money.

Ultraman was a massive success – there’s been a new Ultraman series or special on Japanese TV in more of the 58 years since than not, and inevitably it spawned some very successful imitators. Toei Company Ltd enjoyed great success with their Kamen Rider (original series 1971-73) and Super Sentai (original series 1975-77) franchises. Toho would be hard pressed to keep up.

The War of the Gargantuas

The War of the Gargantuas (1966)
Toho Studios
Director: Honda Ishirō, Tsuburaya Eiji (special effects)
Also discussed: Frankenstein vs Baragon (1965) (a.k.a. Frankenstein Conquers the World, the fantastically inaccurate US title).


When is a sequel not a sequel?

The War of the Gargantuas both is and is not a sequel to the previous year’s Frankenstein vs Baragon. (Note: that’s the Toho kaiju Baragon, not to be confused with the Daiei kaiju Barugon, who clashed with Gamera in 1966.) This probably wasn’t anything to do with the “King Kong vs Frankenstein" script treatment that had led to the production of King Kong vs Godzilla – there seem to have been multiple Frankenstein-themed ideas knocking about at Toho in the mid-1960s. Without wanting to get into the full blow-by-blow detail of it, here’s the gist of the earlier movie:


Gargantuas makes frequent references to this earlier film, yet makes some surprising revisions. The three main scientist characters are renamed and, with the exception of the female scientist and romantic lead, recast. Dr Bowen in Frankenstein vs Baragon was played by Nick Adams, who went on to star in Invasion of Astro-Monster later that year. There’s no obvious reason why he couldn’t have appeared in Gargantuas – he was in Japan and available, and he’d work for Toho again in a 1967 spy thriller. Instead he was replaced by Russ Tamblyn, the Mercutio substitute in West Side Story (1961) and Luke in The Haunting (1963), as Dr Stewart. To date, this is the only Japanese film Tamblyn has acted in. Like Adams, he was recorded speaking in English and then dubbed over by a Japanese actor. Mizuno Kumi, the semi-villainous Namikawa in Invasion of Astro-Monster, played both Sueko in Frankenstein and Akemi in Gargantuas. Dr Kawaji, played by Takashima Tadao (Sakurai in King Kong vs Godzilla) was replaced with Dr Mamiya, played by Sahara Kenji, who’d been a hero in Rodan (1956), a villain in Mothra vs Godzilla (1964) and, funnily enough, a bit-part lab assistant in Frankenstein vs Baragon.

In order to show a flashback scene of the scientists working with the young Frankenstein, the film-makers are thus obliged to reshoot it with their new scientists, and they take the opportunity to recast the monster as well. The 1965 Frankenstein was a fairly ordinary looking boy with an extremely pronounced brow, presumably meant to evoke Boris Karloff’s squared-off monster head but looking more like a depiction of a Neanderthal. The 1966 Frankenstein, later renamed Sanda, looks much hairier and more animalistic, in line with the realisation of the adult Sanda and Gaira. The overall effect of these changes, together with the vague callbacks to key events from the earlier movie, is to make Gargantuas seem like a sequel not to the movie itself, but to some approximated half-remembered version of it, perhaps a version Toho wished they had made in hindsight. The American dub increases the distance between the two movies by replacing all mentions of Frankenstein with the word "Gargantua", including in the title (which, translated from the original Japanese, would have been “Frankenstein’s Monsters: Sanda vs Gaira”). Toho have happily adopted the American dub title as their preferred Anglo title for this movie.

I think the most notable thing about this revisionism is that it erases any suggestion that the boy Frankenstein was made possible by the wartime collaboration of Imperial Japan and Nazi Germany, which is never hinted at Gargantuas. I’m not sure which is more remarkable, that a 1965 Japanese film would make explicit reference to this bit of history or that a 1966 film would so suddenly pretend not to have been listening, and I’m not aware of any major developments in either year that would explain these choices.

Considering Gargantuas on its own terms, the pacing’s very leisurely but the presentation is a success. The early scenes featuring Gaira are kept quite dark, which allows for some effective menace to start with and a big reveal around the 15-minute mark. And there are definite advantages to using humanoid costumes instead of animalistic ones in kaiju eiga, as Daiei’s Daimajin movies also show. You’re not asking your stunt actor to move in an awkward, unnaturalistic way. Seeing a 1960s kaiju actually run, as Gaira does, is an astonishing thing. It’s easier for the audience to suspend disbelief in a monster that looks like a person in a costume when it’s actually supposed to move like a person. (Incidentally, I think this might be part of the reason for the success of Godzilla and King Kong, both bipedal kaiju, in the days before CGI.) If your monster doesn’t have a tail or wings, you don’t need extra puppeteers to move those things around convincingly. You can use the expressiveness of the actor’s own eyes, perhaps even more of their face (although Sanda and Gaira’s big, protruding teeth hinder more than help), instead of having to rely on close-up shots of puppet heads or, if you’re lucky, animatronics. You might even end up with a lighter, more streamlined costume than the typical daikaiju, something that isn’t so likely to have your stunt actor fainting under those hot studio lights. When Sanda and Gaira fight, it doesn’t look like a carefully choreographed bout between two men in heavy costumes, it looks like full-on wrestling.

The human drama is a bit lacking, but who cares about that, eh?

Sanda and Gaira will be referenced in at least one Godzilla movie (just when you least expect it!) but probably this film’s greatest legacy to Toho’s kaiju eiga is the introduction of the Maser Cannons. These will end up being the fantasy JSDF’s anti-Godzilla weapon of choice in years to come.

Gamera vs Barugon

Gamera vs Barugon (1966)
Daiei Motion Picture Company
Director: Tanaka Shigeo, Yuasa Noriaki (special effects)
Also known as: War of the Monsters (the American title).


Of all the Shōwa era Gamera movies, this one’s the looker – filmed in colour and with twice the budget Gamera the Giant Monster had. It’s still only about half of what Toho were spending on their Godzilla movies around this time, though. And it’s all downhill from here – there’s a 25% drop in the budget for the third Gamera movie, and films four through seven only get half as much as that. There are reasons for both the declining budgets and the continued spending, but we’ll come back to those.

The money’s been well spent on effects, including a very nice scene of a dam breaking and flooding out the surrounding area in miniature. (It’s such a good scene, it will be cut into film after film later in the series when the funds run out.) The kaiju costumes aren’t terrific, but they’re mitigated by some good models and other effects. Barugon’s freezing mist and rainbow beam add a bit of visual interest and the egg hatching effects make for a satisfying set piece. A lot of the credit belongs to Yuasa Noriaki, who was shunted from the role of main director to SFX director to make room for incoming star director Tanaka Shigeo. Yuasa would shoulder both roles for subsequent Gamera movies.

There’s not much opportunity to play Spot the Actor in Daiei’s smaller kaiju eiga oeuvre, but two of the stars here might be familiar. Hongō Kōjirō, playing Keisuke, was formerly the driven young hero Shaki in Whale God (1962) and will reappear in heroic roles as the male lead in Return of Daimajin (1966), the construction site foreman Tsutsumi in Gamera vs Gyaos (1967) and a scoutmaster in Gamera vs Viras (1968). Karen is played by Enami Kyōko, who acted opposite Hongō in Whale God as the village chief’s daughter Toyo; this is her only Gamera movie appearance. She went on to star in Daiei’s “Gambling Woman” series of crime movies – 17 films produced in just five years (1966-71), many of them directed by Tanaka Shigeo. Her prolific acting career continued until her death in 2018.

The plot of Gamera vs Barugon is pure pulp and contains more than its share of nonsense. Barugon can be killed by being submerged in water, but we saw him wading ashore from a wrecked ship in Kobe harbour with no problem at all. His egg is supposed to take 10 years to hatch, and it’s a plot point that Onodera’s infrared lamp supercharged it somehow, yet it sat inactive in its natural habitat for 20 years. Just as implausible is the fact that Karen flies into Japan with a diamond as big as a tortoise in her pocket, which seemingly didn’t cause any problems with the airport customs officials. At least some effort is still being made to rationalise Gamera’s behaviour as seeking out energy sources, so it’s not a total coincidence that he runs into the beam-emitting Barugon, but it is all a bit perfunctory. The whole script smacks of the back of a napkin on a Friday afternoon in the bar.

Gamera vs Barugon was picked up for release in the US by American International Pictures, who had also acquired Daimajin (1966) and, prior to that, an assortment of Toho kaiju eiga including Mothra vs Godzilla (1964). However, while AIP gave Godzilla a cinematic release, they syndicated the Daiei movies through their television arm, AIT, instead. Daiei seemed happy enough to have found an American market for their turtle tokusatsu and pressed on with the next one. But Daiei was about to run into financial problems. I don’t know if it was a desire to compete with Toho, or to hold onto an overseas source of revenue, or both that kept them producing Gamera movies. As cheap as the Gamera series might have been compared to the competition, it wasn’t as good for the cash flow as Daiei’s jidaigeki and crime thriller series – one tokusatsu film a year means a less regular source of income, and less of it, than four or five a year with no expensive special effects. Whatever the case, the success of Gamera vs Barugon wasn’t the blessing it might have seemed at the time.