filmstruck:GODZILLA vs. GOJIRA: It’s the Same Movie, or Is It? by Susan DollIn 1985, a&nbs
filmstruck: GODZILLA vs. GOJIRA: It’s the Same Movie, or Is It? by Susan Doll In 1985, a New York Times/CBS News poll asked 1,500 Americans to name a famous Japanese person: The top three names were Emperor Hirohito, Bruce Lee and Godzilla. How Hong-Kong-native Bruce Lee made the list is a bit disconcerting, but, as the King of the Monsters, Godzilla’s inclusion makes perfect sense. Not counting the Hollywood remakes, the Godzilla series began in the mid-1950s and includes over 30 films, making it the longest running film franchise in the world. Eat your heart out Marvel. The Japanese title for the original film was GOJIRA (’54). The American version, released as GODZILLA: KING OF THE MONTSTERS (’56), re-edited the original and included additional scenes starring Raymond Burr. Both versions are available on FilmStruck. The series is so famous it could stand as its own subgenre, but it was considered just another creature feature when it was released in America in 1956. Creature features are a sort of hybrid of horror and sci-fi in which an oversized, animal-like creature runs amuck, destroying the monuments of the modern world (big cities) and threatening civilization as we know it. The roots of the creature feature go back to lost-island films of the 1920s, in which a group of modern day explorers discover an island where prehistoric beasts still roam. But the specific prototype was BEAST FROM 20,000 FATHOMS (’53). The Beast of the title was an amphibious dinosaur that had been awakened by the atomic bomb. You can see where GOJIRA producer Tomoyuki Tanaka found his inspiration. As a matter of fact, Tanaka’s original title was “The Giant Monster from 20,000 Miles Beneath the Sea.” But, inspiration did not mean imitation and Godzilla became a better incarnation of the dino from the deep, because it was Godzilla that would become the iconic creature feature, inspiring generations of directors from Steven Spielberg (JURASSIC PARK, [’93]) to Gareth Edwards (GODZILLA, [’14]). In addition to resurrected dinosaurs, the creature feature cycle of the 1950s included titles like THEM (’54), TARANTULA (’55), KILLER SHREWS (’59), THE GIANT GILA MONSTER (’59), ATTACK OF THE CRAB MONSTERS (’57) and ATTACK OF THE GIANT LEECHES (’59). In these films, monstrosity is most likely a result of nuclear accidents. The films are often as ridiculous as the titles, and they are fun to watch as we laugh at the far-fetched science, the low-budget special effects and stiff portrayals of familiar archetypes. They represent America’s collective fear of the atomic bomb back in the day, either because we were messing with materials we didn’t understand, or we were terrified of a nuclear attack from an arch enemy. If you haven’t seen GODZILLA: KING OF THE MONSTERS, you will likely chuckle at that film as well. You might assume that the old-school special and mechanical effects would be the source of humor. After all, the monster was played by an actor in a latex and foam-padded suit. (Legend has it that the suit was so hot and heavy that production assistants collected a cup of actor Haruo Nakajima’s sweat from inside the costume between takes.) But, the real source of humor comes from the amateurish changes and additions in the American version, turning the film into camp. Executive producer Joseph E. Levine hired character actor Raymond Burr to play an American reporter stationed in Tokyo when Godzilla begins to wreak havoc. Most of his scenes, which were hastily shot over one, long 24-hour session, show Burr with a microphone standing at the window of a crudely built set describing what he sees into a tape recorder. These shots are intercut with those of Godzilla destroying Tokyo. Burr’s lines include such gems as “I can hardly believe what just happened,” which dulls the impact of Godzilla’s presence. About 16 minutes of the original GOJIRA were cut out to accommodate the new scenes; those edits included much of the commentary on atomic power and its negative impact. However, I urge you to watch the original GOJIRA, because it’s different from GODZILLA and from most of the Hollywood creature features of the era. It’s deadly serious, and most don’t feel like laughing as the film progresses. GOJIRA is different because Japan was the only country ever to be attacked with an atomic bomb. To say they had a far different perspective on the fear of atomic power is an understatement, because they knew exactly what to fear and why. History books like to say that in the 1950s, Japan was scarred by the 1945 attacks on Nagasaki and Hiroshima, and this is reflected in their art and popular culture of the time. It wasn’t a scar: If you watch GOJIRA, you can see that Japan was still bleeding from an open wound. In GOJIRA, subtle references to the war stick out. To the Japanese in 1954, feelings about war and their collective loss were unresolved. War hung over the people, even as they were encouraged by their government—and by U.S. interests in Japan—not to think about it. In GOJIRA, scenes of chaos and destruction in which families pull cartloads of possessions, children are relocated via army trucks and cities burn in flames were familiar to audiences who had lived through the war. In a conversation in a train, commuters talk about finding shelters: “Shelters, again,” someone says. During an attack, a woman cowers by a building with her kids, telling them, “We’ll be joining your father soon.” Director Ishirô Honda had been in the war, and he returned home through Hiroshima. He said the city had a heavy atmosphere or mood that never lifted—a fear that the earth was coming to an end. This experience was at the back of his mind as he directed GOJIRA. To Honda, the creature Gojira was the embodiment of the radiation that everyone feared—that everyone knew was still in the air, in the ground, in the water. The effects of radiation were not something speculative or theoretical, like in Hollywood’s tales of giant ants and leeches. Even Gojira’s skin was a reflection of the Japanese experience: It was thick and furrowed like the keloid scars on the survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. More than symbolizing some vague fear of commies attacking out of nowhere, Gojira gave a tangible form to the country’s past experience with the bomb. Accounts from the time noted that Japanese moviegoers approached the film with great seriousness, often leaving the theaters in tears. Though he was a reminder of the not-so-distant past and a portent of the future, the Japanese embraced Gojira as a validation of their suffering and as an acknowledgement they had survived a horrible moment in history. The film seemed to release a wave of pent-up suffering. If the Japanese were bleeding from an open wound caused by the war and the bomb, then GOJIRA was like a band-aid: It didn’t heal the wound, but it staunched the bleeding for a little while. I had seen GODZILLA many times before I saw the original GOJIRA, and the experience completely changed my view of both versions. I realized that Hollywood can make all the JURASSIC PARK movies and GODZILLA remakes it wants, spending millions of dollars on the latest in CGI. But, they will never mean to us what GOJIRA meant to the Japanese. -- source link