Still King of All Monsters: Revisiting the Original ‘Gojira’ at 70

It all began with the sound of thundering footsteps and a now-iconic roar before giving way to Akira Ifukube’s equally iconic music. Japanese cinema and monster movies worldwide would never be the same again. In the beginning, Godzilla represented the ultimate in fear and destruction. A creature so colossal, he could lay waste to entire cities just by lumbering through them and swinging his mighty tail before setting them ablaze with a burst of his atomic breath. Over the years he evolved from national terror to national treasure, becoming a protector and kind of mascot to the nation of Japan. He was transplanted and championed all over the world. Eventually he became a joke and a marketing tool used to sell everything from Fiats, to Snickers bars, to Nike shoes in a one-on-one pickup game with Charles Barkley. Within the past year, Godzilla has come full circle with the surprise worldwide success of Godzilla Minus One, hailed by critics and audiences alike as one of the best monster movies ever made.

Perhaps the biggest reason for the success of GM1 is its intentional return to what made the original so great 70 years ago. Ishiro Honda’s Gojira is a film that is truly about something. Though more or less intended as a loose remake of The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953) infused with liberal inspiration from King Kong (1933), it became so much more than that in its execution. It is very much about war, ongoing nuclear testing and destruction, the disastrous effects of mankind’s meddling with nature, and the evolution of national identity, but all this is made most poignant through its human drama. This is ultimately what makes Gojira such an enduring film. And it all started with a very real human tragedy.

In early March of 1954, the Lucky Dragon No. 5 unknowingly sailed into the blast radius of the United States Hydrogen Bomb test at Bikini Atoll. The crew was showered with radioactive isotopes from the fallout, and many suffered radiation poisoning, with one crewman dying, as a result. This true-life event, along with recently declassified revelations to the Japanese people about the extent of the destruction and human toll wrought by the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, was the impetus for the story that would become Gojira. These same H-bomb tests in the Pacific also contaminated entire catches of fish, specifically tuna, bringing great turmoil to the livelihoods of hundreds, if not thousands, of Japanese fishermen. In the film, a woman on a train refers to “Atomic Tuna” as one in a line of disasters befalling Japan and these tragedies are an ever-present undercurrent of the film.

Gojira is simultaneously epic and intimate. It deals in the larger political, diplomatic, and economic ramifications of the events which mirror real-life relations, particularly with the United States. Though the U.S. is not called out by name in the film, the implication is implicit. Their role in the Lucky Dragon incident is referenced time and again, along with discussions of nuclear testing, irradiation of land, livestock, and human beings, especially children. As the only nation to ever have an atomic weapon used against it in war, Japan is peculiarly entitled to express its protestations in these matters. They know better than any other nation on earth the damage it can cause not only in human life and property, but also the effect such weapons have upon the national psyche. These larger considerations are personalized primarily through four main characters: Professor Kyohei Yamane (Takashi Shimura), his daughter Emiko (Momoko Kôchi), the man she loves, Hideto Ogata (Akira Takarada), and perhaps most compelling of all, Dr. Daisuke Serizawa (Akihiko Hirata).

Yamane is a paleontologist, a man of empathy, and scientific curiosity. He even calls for a modicum of sympathy for the creature that has destroyed a major city and is poised to destroy another. He pleads for others to see that Godzilla is an animal behaving as animals do and even more, is an opportunity for scientific enlightenment. He despairs to his daughter and Ogata:

“All they can think of is killing Godzilla. Why don’t they try to study his resistance to radiation? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity…No scientist in the world has ever seen anything like Godzilla. It’s a priceless specimen, found only in Japan.”

He brings to light the idea implicit in the film that Godzilla is not only “the bomb” but a force of nature. On Odo Island early in the film, he is depicted as a storm that destroys the village. Yamane later illustrates that the creature is the result of man’s tampering with nature, that his habitat was destroyed by nuclear testing and the prehistoric creature was mutated and driven toward Japan in the process. Yamane also, applying the name used by the villagers of Odo Island, christens the creature Gojira, an amalgamation of the word gorira (gorilla) and kujira (whale).

Yamane’s daughter, Emiko, is the heart of the movie, an avatar for the audience. She is in love with Ogata, the captain of a salvage ship, but she has been betrothed to Dr. Serizawa since childhood, though she tells Ogata that she thinks of Serizawa as a brother. Serizawa, however, still appears to have feelings for her. Ogata is a practical man, seeing the immediate need and attempting to persuade both Professor Yamane and Serizawa to his point of view—that Godzilla must be killed to prevent further destruction. He seems to have no concern for the scientific possibilities that Yamane sees or the moral dilemma that Serizawa faces with his research.

This research is a powerful exploration of the philosophical ramifications of scientific discovery. As J. Robert Oppenheimer and his team raced toward the greatest scientific advancement of the twentieth century, when they arrived Oppenheimer famously lamented with a quote from the Bhagavad Gita “now I am become death, destroyer of worlds.” Serizawa, in his research of oxygen has discovered an Oxygen Destroyer that will turn all atoms of that element to liquid, killing every living thing in its path. “I discovered an unexpected form of energy. After my first experiment I was filled with horror at the power I’d unleashed.” He hopes to discover a positive application for his research, but until then refuses to share his findings with anyone except Emiko, who recoils in terror when given a demonstration. After Godzilla utterly flattens Tokyo, she tells Ogata about the weapon and the two go to Serizawa and attempt to persuade him to use it. He refuses. Clearly a realist when it comes to human nature, Serizawa says:

“If the Oxygen Destroyer is used even once, the politicians of the world won’t stand idly by. They’ll inevitably turn it into a weapon. A-bombs against A-bombs, H-bombs against H-bombs—as a scientist—no, as a human being—adding another terrifying weapon to humanity’s arsenal is something I can’t allow.”

Immediately after, he is moved by images of the destruction of Tokyo to act, burning his research, and ultimately sacrificing himself so that the knowledge of his research dies with him.

Of course, the power of this human story is all for naught if the audience does not buy into the reality of Godzilla himself. The special effects by Eiji Tsuburaya, combining matte paintings, composite shots, miniatures, and Haruo Nakajima in the Godzilla costume were not only compelling in 1954, but largely hold up today. The original vision was to use stop-motion animation in the style of Willis O’Brien for King Kong and Ray Harryhausen for The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms, but budget and schedule forced the production to pivot to the “man in the suit” option over the costly, time-consuming process. Though not every shot is convincing now, there is a tactility and weight to the effects that gives them a visceral punch. In other words, perhaps not every effect looks real, but they certainly feel real, especially when combined with Honda’s principal photography and situations.

In the Destruction of Tokyo sequence for example, these effects combined with the sobbing mother holding onto her children, panicked men and women running for cover as buildings crumble around them, and the sequences surveying the destruction accompanied by a mournful hymn sung by a children’s choir are incredibly moving. These elements elevate Gojira from a terrific and entertaining monster movie to a profound cinematic experience. It is no wonder that it became such a worldwide phenomenon that is still going strong seventy years later.

I love Godzilla because he was the first monster to truly scare me. Soon after buying our first VCR, my parents rented Godzilla 1985 for my brother and me to watch. In an early scene, a mangled body is found in a chair on a ship—I had nightmares for days. Watching it now, it is in no way scary, but give me a break, I was six. Soon after this, I discovered that Godzilla fought my favorite giant monster, King Kong, in a movie and I became obsessed with seeing it. Eventually, King Kong vs. Godzilla (the 1963 U.S. cut) became one of the first VHS tapes, along with Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954), that I saved up my allowance for and bought myself. I still have them. For years, I only saw the American versions of these films as they were all that were available to me. The 1956 Godzilla, King of the Monsters! inserted Raymond Burr and an interpreter in front of a few flimsy sets commenting on the action. I later learned that Godzilla 1985 had given similar treatment to Toho’s Return of Godzilla (1984).

Because of these versions, I saw Godzilla as most Americans did—as fun and mostly diverting, but also at least a little silly. This view completely changed when the original Japanese version of Gojira became available in the U.S. more than fifty years after its original release. It was a monumental experience to see the film as it was intended—a sobering examination of the ways that humanity is bent on destroying itself. In the film, Godzilla is all our fault, the result of our negligence, our lack of vision for the ramifications of our actions, and avoidance of responsibility in the pursuit of knowledge.

Gojira ends with a dire warning. After the creature has been destroyed, Yamane says, “I can’t believe that Godzilla was the last of his species. If nuclear testing continues then someday, somewhere in the world another Godzilla may appear.” It is a plea for a healthy awe in the pursuit of discovery and, even more, for sobriety in the ways we put our scientific discoveries to use. During the Cold War Era, it was atomic energy, a force that could be used to benefit humanity or destroy it entirely. Today, the power of information, automation, and artificial intelligence are poised to aid or threaten. In many ways this all goes back to what the teenage Mary Shelley warned about in what was intended not as a treatise against discovery, but a call for responsibility in discovery. But be it 200 years from Frankenstein or 70 from Gojira, the further we find ourselves from these stories the more I ask myself this question—will we ever learn?

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