Takashi Yamazaki
Godzilla Minus One

A so-called "monster movie" should never generate too many expectations, other than perhaps the basic minimum required dose of fun. Or of disgust, because as everyone more or less knows, even crappy movies have their own inexplicable reason.

With Japanese Godzilla films, you need to be a bit more careful; it's not just a simple character or brand, but it's clear by now, a sort of cultural signifier, a brutal, extreme, and total entity. Like war or the unimaginable energy of the atomic bomb.

Let's take 78 steps back, to the hot summer at the end of the nightmare: the arrogant madness of imperial militarism (or military imperialism, take your pick…) has led the ancient archipelago to ruin. Those sent to die, die; those who should survive, die; someone who shouldn't be alive instead escapes death: this is the protagonist's story. Amidst the debris of this apocalypse where everything is reduced to ashes, to zero, Godzilla arises and rampages. The anger of ancestors? Of dead soldiers? The guilt for the horror? The atonement for so much pain? The unsettling and invisible force of the atom released by fission? The trauma to overcome to achieve some sort of internal catharsis? Whatever its purpose or origin, this Godzilla makes no concessions and shows no mercy: it destroys & kills with a fury that leaves a mark. In an atmosphere where everything is devastated, the Japan that tries to rise again finds itself back at the starting point; in fact, at -1.

Takashi Yamazaki, a director I don't know but realized I had seen, unwillingly, Space Battleship Yamato, seems to be quite esteemed in Japan, as both an author of dramatic melodramas, animated films, and special effects supervisor. Here he plays a bit of a jack-of-all-trades and creates a film that is almost surprising and is having an almost unexpected success.

Explaining why it's not so straightforward; in fact, when taken individually, the various elements and points of interest don't say much or aren't even that special: it's not the story (very slow at the start), nor the character stereotypes, nor certain bizarre choices of light/shadow in close-ups, nor the Japanese acting, which I'm not used to (whispering and then after two seconds yelling and grabbing each other by the neck, making a scene that was perhaps intended to be dramatic quite ridiculous, well… you know). But it's undeniable that everything works surprisingly well in this amber-hued movie, which does a good job of entertainment and somehow leaves its mark. The twilight lights, the leaden shimmering of the waters, the Jaws quotes, the green fields dotted with bomb craters, the well-crafted and wooden sets (made of wood…). The sense of terror that this latest Godzilla rebirth evokes.

No frills, no hopes, no empathy, in Godzilla: Toho indeed draws inspiration from the dynamism of Hollywood films, surpassing the semi-divine lyric towering of Shin Godzilla, but it does so by returning to the deep, bleeding, and furious roots of the original Godzilla; the film is indeed both a reboot of the myth and a sort of remake of the original (1954). The digital effects aren't cutting-edge, but the patina of obsolescence only adds to the film's charm, because the shots, the atmospheres, and the powerful sound of the main scenes are meticulously planned with care, competence, and admirable aesthetic sense. To feed the teenager and the destruction lover in us, an absurd and unsettling interpretation of Godzilla's atomic ray with its inevitable drama. I find it admirable the care and dedication with which Japanese producers "treat" their favorite devastating monster; in this sense, Godzilla Minus One pairs with the previous Shin Godzilla, another film that left viewers perplexed and fascinated for very different reasons, but that, in this case as well, are difficult to rationalize and explain.

It is a far from perfect film, distant from our aesthetic, but ultimately effective, intense, tied to Japan and its ocean, to a deep sensitivity that incredibly gives depth and meaning to a gigantic puppet that destroys everything.

Whoever wants can have fun looking for quotes, references, parodies, critiques, messages: the handling of the Covid19 epidemic, the indifference of the Government, the civic sense of the common citizen, redemption... Also, the blunt messages towards the United States will send a warm shiver down the spine of the most passionate anti-US grumblers. Personally, in a story more historical melodrama than SF film, I found the painful reflection made on World War II commendable: I didn't expect the disasters of those years to be still so deeply felt and vibrant in Japan's imagination; or at least, that's the impression I got.

The whole thing, by the way, apparently cost $15 million; and it seems to be doing quite well at the box office, for a Japanese film. Proving that the love producers feel for their creature, if sincere and heartfelt, will always yield good results. And that in a film of this kind you have to have respect and fear for the "beast" if you want to make the audience happy. Godzilla is the most famous monster in the world and the longest-running franchise in history probably because, as some industry insider must have stopped to note, it's actually an emotion that exists within us. From a puppet rubber suit to a national emotion, the step is indeed remarkable.