Godzilla: Review By B. Alan Orange

Hell Mission Statement #1954: Godzilla - King of the Monsters 50th Anniversary Reissue

It’s both weird and fitting that Raymond Burr’s character in the original Americanized version of Gojira is named Steve Martin. After seeing this newly rebuffed, restored, uncut version of the Japanese classic, I couldn’t help but think of Dead Don’t Wear Plaid when recalling what Director Terry Morse did to Ishiro Honda’s innovative Kaiju classic back in ‘56.

Sad that it’s taken fifty years for Ishiro’s untouched work to reach the West Coast in all its black & white glory. Finally, we’re able to see the stunning visionary work of the auteur that is Honda, and revel in Godzilla’s placenta fluid. Too bad it’s only flinging itself across a handful of theaters.

Any true Godzilla fan should be ashamed of themselves for missing this awesome spectacle; a film that I feel is structurally better than our Nation’s first giant animal foray, the committable King Kong. But then, a true G fan wouldn’t dare show up late to that first screening. Well, I guess, then, that I’m just a casual, yet albeit, hardcore admire of the big lizard. I missed the first ten minutes of his coming out show. Personally, I don’t think it really matters. Godzilla doesn’t show up for at least thirty minutes. And, truth be told, seeing Godzilla stomp across the muck of Tokyo harbor is the only real reason I buried myself deep in that seat last Friday afternoon.

There’s something intensely gratifying about watching Godzilla step on sh*t. He’s an angry smasher, and I love his sheer screen presence. The Stomp-King knows how to throw a nacho bone niggah-fit. He’s like a big, green, vicarious drug that I just want to keep injecting into that space between my toes.

I wouldn’t have missed this for an East Kentucky handjob.

I try to treat all my friends right on their birthday. Well, seeing as how I have no “real friends‿, only imaginary ones that live at the Maitreyaplex and inside my TV screen, I decided to do G’s centennial up real good. First, I partook in his big debut. Then I went to Sojutown and slammed down a dozen shots of their tasty distilled Sweet Potato wine. While there, they brought me and Tommy-Ebirah a plate of these tiny fish with their heads and tails still on them (Sojutown always brings free snacks when you partake in their liquor party). We chowed down on those suckers hardcore. It was just like that scene in Roland Emmrich’s '98 Godzilla, where they dump a pile of fish in the middle of New York. We became oversized monsters, later stomping our way through Silverlake and getting kicked out of far too many bars too count along with the nearby Ralph’s. We ended the night with a mega-Kaiju porch battle. Playing the part of Godzilla, I was defeated by Tommy-Ebirah and his powerful garden hose.

Oh, but those Soju buzzes last for a good two days. Godzilla-Me rumbled awake early Saturday morning, crushing the goodwill of that skittery Minilla-Tooth. This led to an all out “Destroy All Monsters‿ swimming pool brawl against Gabara (played by my British friend Lee). It left us battered and bruised. The black & white roto-scoping that Honda’s earliest G flick twisted into the side of my head, along with all that cruel Korean liquor, left me believing I really was a giant reptile. I felt like I was actually involved in one of those citywide monster scuffles. As Minilla-Tooth tells it, though, Godzilla-Me and Gabara-Lee just looked like a couple of wet queens wrestling around in a swimming pool. All I heard the next day was, “You’re such a gay f*ggot!‿ One-hundred times over. This may have been true...If I’d crawled out of the water with a raging erection. Which I didn’t‼

Watching Godzilla’s origins just happened to bring me back to a happy place. It made me feel like a kid again. And I had a blast pretending to be my favorite on-screen presence for a whole weekend. If that makes me a homosexual, then fine. You’re right Minilla-Tooth. Satisfied with your indigent self? Maybe next time I’ll just clip two dozen clothespins to my head and call it a day.

God, lighten up, people! This, right here, is what I’ve been talking about. After leaving the theater last Friday, I felt liked I’d actually seen a “MOVIE‿. Sitting in my seat, I believed in it. In my head, the events of G’s 1st go-round where playing out in real time. It was like I was watching a doc*mentary snuff film. For me, these events were really happening.

Godzilla: King of the Monsters looks like lost war footage shot on a Super 8 camera. The film is scratched up. The audio is weak. Everything is jittery and shot with an authentic eye. Yes, the importance of Godzilla as a metaphor for Hiroshima is greatly evident in this restored classic. That idea is most apparent in one particular scene that has been eviscerated from the American version. A loving couple and their male friend are on a bus. They discuss the emanate arrival of G with calm, yet trembling fear. They remember when the bombs were dropped. And the actions they were forced to take. Here they are, preparing for another disaster. They’ve been through it before. It’s kind of funny, yet heartbreaking at the same time.

But we’re dealing with Science-Fiction as truth. You can discuss the importance of the film all day, and shout its symbolic meaning over coffee like a couple of trench coat wearing dweebs long into the night. You can take the piss out of Godzilla and hail it as a cinematic treasure that speaks volumes about Japanese culture and its overall impact on their feelings towards the war. And it’s all legitimate talkback fodder. Still, I’ll be damned if you don’t see Serizawa pull out that Oxygen Destroyer and forget all the politics behind the beast, exclaiming, “Motherf*cker, that’s cool as sh*t!‿

Like flangecake, Godzilla is something you just want to eat and eat again. His birthing party is arguably the best in the series. It has a few boring lags. And G doesn’t fight any of his old buddies. But watching him destroy that giant electric fence force field for the first time is like watching Superman put on his cape for the first time. Blending G against the night sky in a black & white landscape makes him even more horrifying and real. He fades into the atmosphere with a certain authenticity that isn’t captured by any of his other films. At least not until he screeched into the backend of the 90s on his karate-swinging tail. He’s actually somewhat scary here.

What can I say? I’m a little biased. And a G-loving bastard. I adore this film. Clint Eastwood. Denzel Washington. Corey Haim. And Kurt Russell. Godzilla, too, is in this untouchable realm of iodized celebrity. If you’re a fan, as long as he’s on screen, you don’t really care what he’s doing. He’s Godzilla, damn it! Surround him with hokey, mishandled boring stories and goofy pyrotechnics, you still can’t help but stare at this Mother F*cking Building Destroyer with complete awe and kid-like wonder.

I’m not one of these haters that can completely discount Terry Morse’s Americanized hack-job that came out two years after Godzilla’s original Japanese release date, either. I see it as a kind of companion piece. It’s somewhat horrible in its own right. That is true. If you haven’t seen this uncut version, Morse’s re-edit destroys the pacing and continuity Honda labored to achieve. Ter’s like Godzilla in his own right, wading through and obliterating Ishiro’s presious cityscape. But side-by-side, both accounts work in telling two different viewpoints of the exact same story. And I think its hilarious watching Raymond Burr wander about in the background, spying on the Japanese characters like a peeping pervert. It’s retarded genius. Plus, the American version gives us one of the most classic screams ever recorded. Listen for it when Godzilla melts that car. It’s this horrifying, high-pitched “Ahyiiihaaa!!‿ that sounds like radiated flesh. It’s used twice, the second time when G breaths atomic energy on a mass of running men. This sound effect has been used and reused throughout history, in many a film, television, and LP recording. If only we knew who that horrible scream belonged to. Sadly, it’s not part of the original‼

Still, it’s all so beautiful.

Godzilla is well worth making that arthouse hike for. I loved every minute of it. Sitting here, telling you about it makes me want to wander outside and stomp around in the flowerbed. Maybe I’ll pretend those slugs are cars with people in them. Its fun to watch the slime squirt out of their shells‼

Godzilla! Sojutown!

Now that’s what I call entertainment. Go, run to the theater before he steps on you!

No, wait. Just stay where you are‼