Embracing the Bizarre in Godzilla Films

Godzilla as a pop culture figure has gone through an odd cultural metamorphosis. In his 1954 debut Gojira, the monster served as a very frank metaphor for the nuclear bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. These attacks were still open wounds Japan was recovering from, which resulted in Ishirō Honda channeling all this chaos into the birth of the kaiju (or giant monster) subgenre. The original film is still quite a stark and breathtaking example of science fiction filmmaking, treated with a bleakness that feels perfectly appropriate for the film’s tone.

In the decades to follow, the production company Toho gradually softened the tone of the monster to fit the times. The original Showa era of Godzilla films that ran from 1954 to 1975 features several very silly entries that gave the giant monster a softer edge. The various Japanese eras of Godzilla films that continued from there (Heisei Era from 1984-1995, Millennium Era from 1999-2004, and current Shin era since 2016) tended to waffle between more grounded monstrous and more child-friendly superhero sides of the character. Reboots from these eras like The Return of Godzilla or Shin Godzilla sought to match the sensibility and tone of the original film, going so far as to consider themselves direct sequels to the 1954 classic so as to be directly associated with that film’s reputation. Even the recent American franchise from Warner Bros sought to replicate this bleakness while adding extensive human subplots.

Now, I’m not necessarily an expert or a stickler for tone with giant monsters attacking each other. Godzilla in particular is so malleable an icon that almost any take has true merit. It’s just that these more serious-minded reboots of Godzilla rarely enthuse me. Godzilla as an unstoppable force on his own destroying a city works for the original film because it was created whole cloth from a very sincere place. Having Godzilla on his own stumbling around destroying the city after this point retreads old ground and robs the monster of personality. The more engaging films in the franchise balance Godzilla’s metaphoric potential with creative energy that results in far more effecting and delightful genre fare.

In the later Showa era, the 1971 film Godzilla vs. Hedorah (or Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster) took bold risks. Created during a low period for the kaiju franchise where stock footage and cheaper effects were used, director Yoshimitsu Banno sought to make a unique vision for Godzilla—one in which the King of the Monsters fights the embodiment of human destruction on planet Earth. His main enemy is Hedorah, a microscopic alien microbe that grows to a massive size by feeding on human trash. He is a waste that Godzilla can’t defeat through traditional means, serving as a metaphor for the staggering rise of pollution from photochemical smog in Japan at the time. Every punch leaves Hedorah unscathed, as he simply feeds off pollution in the water or smoke in the air to regenerate and evolve. In many ways, Hedorah is a more intimidating beast than familiar monsters like King Ghidorah or Anguirus. He’s still a very bizarre creation with a gray blobby body and massive red dopey eyes, but he’s a threat Godzilla can’t even wrap his head around defeating.

Yet, none of this destroys the menace or unique weirdness of Godzilla vs Hedorah. Banno’s directorial style allows for incredibly broad shifts of tone that keep any Godzilla fan on their toes. While the series had become very child-friendly at this point, Banno’s film wasn’t afraid to both satisfy the target audience and then swiftly terrify or confuse them. Brief animated segments showing Hedorah’s destruction recall the charming inserts of classic Sesame Street. Then, moments later, horrifying imagery like a young child discovering the skeletal remains of a horrific attack from Hedorah follows. These shifts bring the confusion and the distorted reality sells the chaotic threat of our goofy-looking villain. We also empathize more with Godzilla as he tries in vain to stomp out this monster built from cess by his usual means with confused rage, all because of the detritus of humanity throwing the world into chaos.

A far less chaotic yet still strange entry is 1989’s Godzilla vs. Biollante. The second film of the Heisei era acts as a sequel to the previous film that imprisoned the King of the Monsters in a giant volcanic mountain. However, some of his cells are harvested and merged with genetically modified plants in hopes of artificially creating land. While lead scientist Dr. Shiragami (Kōji Takahashi) is experimenting with the samples, a terrorist bombing occurs that kills his fellow researcher and daughter Ericka (Yasuko Sawaguchi). Stricken with guilt, Dr. Shiragami merges her DNA with a rose and some remaining Godzilla cells in hopes of preserving her, resulting in a giant plant monster named Biollante that Godzilla is ultimately released to fight.

Godzilla vs. Biollante’s ludicrous plot threads sound convoluted. Yet, writer/director Kazuki Ōmori’s vision is for a much more meditative and powerful film than anyone would expect. Biollante as a monster is this towering presence that radiates both beauty and eco-horror simultaneously. Her initial form of a giant rose stands majestically in the middle of the sea, striking sudden terror as her tentacles wrap around Godzilla with a tight grasp. Then, her final form of a Venus flytrap with an alligator jaw attempts to swallow Godzilla in her maw and uses her tentacles to stab through his hands, showing off her full power. Through all of these battles, the emotional heart of Dr. Shiragami’s conflict over his daughter’s soul remains. A tragic cross between the love of a father and man’s hubris to meddle with nature. All of this makes for a surprisingly powerful examination of the balance one tries to maintain between the spiritual and scientific. It evolves the metaphor of Godzilla from the Hiroshima bombings to more modern fears of gene splicing and playing God, but never in a way that decries the science or even the motivations of the doctor. There’s empathy and caution baked into the bizarre premise, allowing the kaiju fights to serve as a powerful emotional conflict rather than just two monsters beating each other up.

Speaking of the spiritual, a recent film from the Millennium era of the franchise kicks that up several notches. In 2001’s Godzilla, Mothra, King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack (or for brevity GMK), the King of the Monsters returns to his status as an ominous antagonistic force out to destroy modern Japan. However, instead of being the culmination of nuclear radiation, he is a more mystical being who embodies the souls of those who died at the hands of the Imperial Japanese Army in World War II who have been forgotten by a new generation. This is seen on the human ground level via our lead Yuri (Chiharu Niiyama), a journalist caught between her by-the-book military father (Ryūdō Uzaki) out to stop kaiju as a threat without considering the cause and the mysterious Professor Isayama (Hideyo Amamoto) who warns of those who forget the past lives lost. Godzilla moves swiftly and without mercy as he destroys Japan to remind people of this loss, built as a burly brute full of menace with inhuman white eyes lacking pupils. Godzilla revels in the destruction, making the human cost of kaiju destruction all the more devastating. As buildings are destroyed, citizens are seen being crushed and running away from devastation, a rare move for a kaiju film prior to this. At one point, Godzilla’s atomic breath is unleashed and explodes into a mushroom cloud, shown from a distance as Japanese citizens are terrified to see a horror that felt so distant directly in front of them.

Godzilla, Mothra, King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack flips the script on every Godzilla film, to the point where popular menace King Ghidorah is treated as a heroic monster for the first time, right alongside the usually maternal protector Mothra and odd-monster-left-out-of-the-title Baragon. This trinity fights Godzilla one on one, only to be destroyed at the hands of an unfeeling beast out for vengeance. While the implications sound dour in the vein of films like Shin Godzilla, director/writer Shusuke Kaneko perfectly balances the tones so that ridiculous antics can occur in the fight scenes without sacrificing the personality of these monsters or the thematic depth of the story. Godzilla flings Baragon across a mountain range purely with his tail to sell Baragon’s underdog status. Mothra glides with power through Japan to unsettle Godzilla, her wingspan and his beam attacks causing considerable collateral damage. Mothra spreads her magic remains across a fallen King Ghidorah, allowing him to radiate a golden aura with his lightning blasts that try to stop Godzilla, only for Godzilla to soak up his energy and spit it right back at the three-headed dragon. All of these fights not only up the terrifying stakes, but give each kaiju true character moments to sell their stature.

Ultimately, these entries that embrace the goofier side of the franchise shouldn’t be dismissed. While they lack the one-to-one allegorical horror of the original or the several imitators in its wake, films like Godzilla vs. Hedorah, Godzilla vs. Biollante and Godzilla, Mothra, King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack deserve respect for tackling larger issues while embracing the weirder side of an already strange subgenre. They prove that themes as severe as pollution, biogenetic science gone awry, and the forgotten horrors of the past can also have sincere entertainment value. Even as an outsider looking in like myself, it’s a fascinating step into how genre fiction weaves resonating pathos and chaos for the country it was made in. While Godzilla will always be born of a specific trauma in Japan, his character is elastic enough to represent and directly confront several different situations and tones with a unique lasting power.