Hideaki Anno
Shin Godzilla

Godzilla returns home.

Given the success Legendary achieved with the big lizard in 2014, Toho must have thought (more or less): “Hey, that monster is ours, let's bring him back!” Said and done. And in grand style, since the direction is entrusted to Mr. Hideaki Anno with the collaboration of one Shinji Higuchi; he, probably unknown to most (myself included, at least until before watching...), is a specialist in sci-fi and kaiju, as well as the founder, along with Anno, of what would become Gainax. The two, with their production team (all incredibly talented people, judging by the result), rewrite the story of Godzilla, of his first encounter with humanity.

The film is an homage to the old kaiju movies on many levels: the aesthetics, the sound (the effects accompanying the monster and the music are almost all mono and taken from old films), the urban setting, and the general comic-book-like absurdity (the bizarre and grotesque plan to defeat the monster is a clear example of this). But there's also much innovation, at times surprisingly so.

Naturally, there's Fukushima, with the tsunami, the horror of contamination; there's the "panic" Japanese style, told very effectively through news broadcasts, drones, on-the-field reports with handheld and large cameras, satellite panoramas. However, all this is experienced not directly on the streets where the creature stirs, but from the viewpoint of the halls of power. The Japanese government is the bizarre adversary of the monster, and the contrast between Godzilla's slow, puppet-like advance and the frenetic, convoluted activity of the cabinet fuels the first part of the film. Bureaucratic procedures, total subjection to rules and the prestige of ministers, unresolved shadows of imperial past provide an interesting backdrop to the struggle that modern Japan undertakes against the unknown. The reconstruction of the command chain is remarkable: one can get lost among the sea of characters, but it gains realism and spectacle when the orgy of orders and counter-orders results in a meticulously planned yet ineffective offensive.

Unlike in Hollywood blockbusters, there is no true hero, savior, messiah, or new American man saving the world. There are prominent characters, there's the young undersecretary who realizes the problem before others and devises the plan to defeat the beast, but even he ultimately fits into a more complex idea of organization, of teamwork, of finding the best people and demanding the best from them. This approach, perhaps atypical for us in a monster movie, gives the film a curious human dimension and provides an interesting window into what Japan was, is, and hopes to be. The beauty of Shin Godzilla is that it completely disregards cheap sentimentality and puts Japan directly in front of the threat, which literally decapitates it; this makes it a sci-fi film much closer to drama and thriller than one might think.

Special mention for the effects. Accustomed to the more or less effective CGI we have in the West, the average viewer might at first be perplexed and horrified by the yet impressive mix of big puppets, animatronics, and digital effects that bring this "definitive" Godzilla to life. But then one learns to appreciate the apparent rubberiness of the big lizard, its stiff and menacing advance; one notices the attention to detail and lighting, the prodigious vastness and beauty of the miniatures.

Until Godzilla unleashes: the climactic scene arrives as an unexpected climax to this slow pace and shows us how miniatures, puppets, and CGI can be masterfully integrated into a whole that leaves one disoriented by its beauty and terror, with Anno drawing heavily from the apocalyptic imagery with which he has changed Japanese animation (and beyond) and the soundtrack reaching significant peaks of drama. The very appearance of Godzilla, wild and completely inhuman, breathes new life into what is a true cultural myth in Japan; by comparison, the beast from Legendary is a pathetic cartoon that merely squashes Yankees and makes grotesque faces. Let's remember that shin means "new," "true," or "god," and each of these definitions seems too small for Toho's new atomic lizard.

We're talking about a monster film, with big puppets and flames, with often cloying pseudoscientific twists, packed with predictable shots and characters typical of manga. Yet the aftertaste is far more satisfying and rich than one might imagine. A sort of fun and passionate look at Japan, an homage to a monster the poor yellow faces can only contain, but which is now part of their past, present, and future. A bit like the bomb, nuclear energy, earthquakes, or Ammmerica (yes, she’s here too…).

And remember about director Anno, who must have some brain issues. Otherwise, he wouldn't conceive what he conceives: like the final shot of Shin Godzilla, truly eyebrow-raising with a "Ah!"