Trope Talk: Kaiju

When does a giant monster stop being a giant monster? Yes, it is a giant metaphor! Let's do it. So, '

kaiju

' is a Japanese word that literally means 'strange beast', but is usually used to refer to a specific type of monster in monster movies where the monster is huge. What exactly defines a

kaiju

is a topic of intense academic debate, but most people agree on the classic biologists' response: "You know it when you see it." In general, kaiju are large and destructive and enjoy knocking down buildings and screaming a lot. Let's not be too specific. This is how philosophers are attracted.

Now, kaiju movies are usually about two things: the kaiju themselves and how people react to them. A lot of this is because kaiju are great as an analogy for whatever large-scale threat or fear the audience faces. Kaiju are usually huge, powerful, and impossible to control, convince, or stop with conventional weapons. And they're not really comparable to anything else. Like a horror monster, but bigger and less personal. Like a natural disaster, but with much more influence. “How would people deal with this?” It's an interesting question, because kaiju don't have easy parallels to the real world. Kaijus ask the question: What would you do in the face of something so big and powerful that you can't master it?

And if a society has a big, nebulous fear that it really can't deal with (like most societies), you can remove the nebulous part and turn that fear into a monster and then ask the question again. Turn speculative fiction into social commentary. What exactly that big, nebulous fear is can vary widely. Godzilla, the archetypal kaiju, emerged as the bomb scare, the post-World War II fear of the consequences of nuclear weapons. More recent kaiju films like Pacific Rim and even some of the Godzilla remakes further equate kaiju with climate change, today's big nebulous threat. And with King Kong, who was a kaiju before kaiju were cool, he's a giant, monstrous ape from a faraway land who kidnaps a terrified white lady and a very popular interpretation is that he's analogous to the racism and xenophobia that were so popular in 1930s America.

Kaiju allow us to transform nebulous, invisible fears into giant monsters the size of skyscrapers, which is useful because it's easier to think of a giant monster than a disembodied fear. In fact, it's a great science fiction tradition to make your monster an allegory for a current threat, as in Heinlein's The Puppet Masters, where he repeatedly reminds the audience that these mind-controlling alien parasites are like those damn communists. Regardless, kaiju were often used to embody the prevailing social fears of the time, whether xenophobia, McCarthyism, or various apocalyptic threats. This also means that kaiju stories are highly dependent on the social context in which they arise and that they often change as society changes.

So let's start with a dive into the archetypal kaiju: Godzilla. Godzilla first appeared in the 1954 Japanese film Gojira. Before I get into the story of the film, I need to provide a little context around the production of this film. First, the obvious: World War II. Godzilla was released nine years after the end of the war; Nine years after the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The first and currently last use of nuclear weapons in war. The film's director, Ishirō Honda, was a World War II veteran who passed through Hiroshima on his way home and was horrified by the devastation.

The United States occupied Japan until 1952, during which time it censored the Japanese media. In particular, no one was allowed to

talk

about the atomic bomb, which meant that for seven years all that national nuclear fear could not be directly addressed. After the American occupation ended, they decided to continue tickling the tail of the proverbial dragon by restarting nuclear testing at Bikini Atoll, beginning with the Castle Bravo test in which the United States detonated a high-yield thermonuclear bomb that was approximately 1,000 times more powerful than both atomic bombs. Bombs fell on Japan nine years earlier. Although Bikini Atoll is a few thousand kilometers from Japan, it is a kind of backyard and the currents in that area lead back to Japan.

Now, the problem was that the Castle Bravo test detonated an extremely dirty bomb. It produced a ton of rainfall, much more than the report officially indicated and probably more than anyone expected. Sometimes nuclear physics is more of an art than a science. Some of this rain infected a nearby Japanese fishing boat, causing all 23 crew members to develop acute radiation sickness, killing one of them and causing an international incident. The United States denied that radioactive fallout could have hit the ship, Japan said the fallout had to come from somewhere, tensions rose, and a Polish scientist ran calculations and confirmed that the detonation had produced much more radioactivity than the United States admitted.

Joined. The media found out, the United States quickly paid reparations to Japan, and nuclear paranoia increased. Things were not looking very good for the United States. People began to realize that nuclear weapons were bad news for literally everyone, and the United States threw them haphazardly into the ocean without ensuring that anyone would get hurt. By the way, if you ever really want to get mad, look at what happened to the people who lived on Bikini Atoll. So this was the immediate social context surrounding the creation of Godzilla. Two atomic bombs, nine years earlier, they were not allowed to

talk

about for seven years, and just eight months earlier, 23 of their citizens were poisoned by a nuclear superweapon.

Accidentally. And the United States is still testing those bombs in that area. Everyone is tense, everyone is too familiar with the effects of nuclear weapons, everyone really hopes it doesn't happen again, but they also know that it is completely out of their control. And then they come with Godzilla. Let's assume for a moment that we've never heard of Godzilla. "Godzilla? Pffft. What's that? Some kind of soda?" Well, the movie starts off strong with a Japanese fishing boat full of kids having a great time until the boat is destroyed and the crew is killed by an invisible force and a blinding flash of light.

Uh oh. It sounds like what happened earlier that year, but worse. Hey. They then send a ship to investigate and the ship is destroyed. They send a third ship and the ship is destroyed. An island is destroyed during the night and 17 houses are crushed. It could have been an earthquake, it could have been a typhoon. But neither would explain the radiation, especially the footprints. So yes, Godzilla 1954 is a horror film, unlike any of its sequels. Godzilla remains hidden for much of the film, and it makes sense that he would be portrayed in terror, since he is the personification of the Bomb Terror.

I want to jump forward in time and talk about Chernobyl, both the nuclear disaster and the miniseries that tells it. Some people describe the first episode as a kind of Lovecraftian horror and they are absolutely right! The exposed reactor and the radiation released are like an alien dark god. It goes through walls, it goes through your skin, when you look at it you die, when you are in the same building you wish you were dead, it gets into the water, into the air, you could even say that it has a mysterious meaning. color, unlike Earth. It's horrible to see when you know what's going on, it's horrible to see when you don't.

You have no such powers on terrestrial planets or outside the stars. In a very real sense, the forces unleashed by a nuclear weapon or a nuclear accident are supernatural, otherworldly, incomprehensible, and absolutely deadly. And that's how they play Godzilla. No one finds out what Godzilla is for a while because he keeps killing everything that comes close. He can't be stopped by buildings or walls, weapons have no effect on him, and anything he can't crush he melts with the pure radiation he inhales. When Tokyo is bombed, the damage is almost identical to that of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

But it's slower. So you can see everything in vivid detail. Buildings crushed and burned, bystanders killed, and nothing thrown at him even slows him down. If there's one advantage Godzilla has over allegorical narratives, it's that the characters in his film are willing to acknowledge and talk about what he is an allegory for. It seems like every five minutes one of the characters says, "Hey, remember the bomb? It sucks, right?" The characters openly draw the analogy between Godzilla and the bomb, and in the film's official story, Godzilla is only a problem because of the bombs. - especially nearby nuclear tests, such as the Castle Bravo incident.

The film's scientists explained that Godzilla's natural habitat under the ocean must have been destroyed by the H-bomb tests because the radioactive footprint he leaves behind is unique to H-bombs. Godzilla is only radioactive because of the bombs. So, he finds himself in an interesting place where he is a victim in the universe of reckless nuclear testing and attacks, but from a metanarrative perspective he is an embodiment of those attacks, both an allegory and a victim. And if you look at the way the story is set, Godzilla is not representative of the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki as is often said.

He is representative of the nearby nuclear tests and their implications. He is the threat of Hiroshima and Nagasaki happening again. This was a very political film. So Godzilla is basically nuclear irresponsibility on two legs, a way of embodying an invisible momentary terror that was unfortunately all too real. And there's actually another facet to the movie, as the only way they can find to kill Godzilla is to unleash an even worse weapon they call an oxygen destroyer. The scientist who creates him is so determined to ensure that he is never used in a global arms race that he burns all of his notes and kills himself if he is used on Godzilla.

The message is incredibly clear. These weapons are terrible, they cause damage in ways we cannot predict, it may already be too late, but we have to stop while we can. This is... bad mood. It's dark, it's tragic, it's not very hopeful. It even ends with one of the characters saying that if nuclear testing continues, there could easily be another Godzilla, so no one is having a good time. It's no surprise then that the sequels don't follow this model, because it's heavy stuff and sometimes you want a deeply tragic and terrifying movie to help you process shared trauma and warn the rest of the world against arrogant self-destruction.

Sometimes you just want to see a giant nuclear dinosaur defeat a dragon from outer space. So after this trend-setting kaiju movie appeared on the scene, it was followed by a parade of sequels that built almost unilaterally as Godzilla becomes the lesser of two evils. If we compare Godzilla to any other gigantic monster, we'll probably vote for Godzilla just because of the familiarity of him. His third film was Godzilla vs King Kong, which is pure spectacle. As for King Kong, there are think pieces about different ways the film can be interpreted, but I don't think it's really controversial to suggest that a 1930s movie about a giant wild ape captured by white people is transported across the ocean. and then kidnaps a white woman, possibly racially coded.

And for the sake of answers, don't try to defend the political sensitivity of a 1933 film. Can we just accept that the giant ape is probably racist? Okay, let's move on. King Kong didn't shake off the allegorical implications of it as easily as Godzilla did. While Godzilla received many sequels and character development, most of the King Kong films were remakes. Some were sequels or alternate versions, but nothing really stuck and as long as the films followed the original format, they were left with the allegorical baggage of "the great ape man becomes obsessed with the white woman and kidnaps her" or the alternate version where the A the white woman likes him, so it's voluntary!

I don't know anyone who was comfortable with that angle, but they've tried it a few times. Meanwhile, Godzilla underwent a gradual change. Over the course of nearly a dozen sequels, he slowly evolved from "the lesser of two evils" to "grumpy protector of the Earth." His greatest character development came in "Destroy All Monsters", where he joins all the other kaiju in the world to fight the famous three-headed space dragon, King Ghidorah. After that, each appearance is functionally completely benevolent. He's still grumpy and looks at people when they pollute and stuff, but this Godzilla is basically a giant, grumpy Captain Planet.

He is a protector of the land; he just accidentally crushes things. and thiswas a very popular direction for kaiju. The current remakes of Godzilla and King Kong feature the title character. Kaiju are functionally Gaia's revenge: protectors of nature who emerge from their torpor or hibernation only through human intervention (and the occasional malevolent space dragon). And with King Kong, the allegorical implications have moved from the racism of the old 1930s to a kind of anti-colonial message, where he is a noble and wonderful being who should not be taken away or harmed in his home environment. Take only photographs, leave only footprints, visit picturesque Skull Island today.

Now, this character change is useful, because unlike the Bomb Scare allegory or, you know, the old racism of the '30s, this characterization gives the kaiju a moral compass and leaves your protagonists on their own. side instead of desperate and helpless in the face of callous Nuclear Armageddon - or non-white people... With this kind of kaiju story, it's less existential horror and more... Well, more Captain Planet. More conflicts between good people and bad people, only good people have the power of Godzilla and the anime on their side. I wonder why anyone would want to write something like that.

Want fulfillment? I never heard it. So kaiju movies beg the question: What would humanity do in the face of something terrifyingly powerful, inconceivably massive, and functionally unstoppable? Godzilla answered that question with "die a lot and then risk a global arms race to destroy it once and for all." The post-1954 sequels answered that question with "applause from the sidelines as they hit something worse" and the post-2014 remakes doubled down on "leave the kaiju alone and they'll solve all their problems, including global warming." And listen, I loved "King of the Monsters." I like spectacle fights. But this drift of character can have very strange and not very good consequences.

I mean, the remakes take Godzilla - a character who personified "the terror of nuclear devastation" - and, without removing any of his nuclear power or radioactivity, make his strongest defender a middle-aged Japanese man who was personally impressed for the event that Godzilla represents. Serizawa's character exists in the remakes to metatextually remind the audience of Godzilla's Japanese roots and, very specifically, his connection to the attacks. This is sweet. Believe. It's... fanservice until Serizawa dies by manually detonating a nuclear bomb to revive Godzilla and this is treated as catharsis for his character because the nukes he hates and fears were used for good... but oh well , all he did was revive a giant monster that originally represented exactly what attracted him to this character in the first place.

But he doesn't represent that in this movie. But Serizawa's character is meant to remind us of the moment when he did it. So...this is cool? Is this strangely manipulative? What is this? Is the US taking a Japanese anti-nuclear narrative and twisting it into completely pro-nuclear weapons to forgive themselves for what they did...? What is hapening here? The allegory is completely self-absorbed, and although it is a beautifully executed scene, the more you think about it, the stranger it becomes. Either way, taking these terrifying giant monsters and making them benign is a very attractive way to answer the question "How would humanity deal with this?" answer, because it changes the question from the source. "We don't need to address these things.

They're not functionally unstoppable forces of malevolence; they're just misunderstood. And they don't indiscriminately kill innocent bystanders. At worst, it's an accident. And if there are monsters that are actively we are evil and we kill To the people we like, there is always a good monster to fight against. Godzilla is not the embodiment of nuclear armageddon. He is our friend (and maybe nuclear weapons are good too, because if there is one thing). "Nuclear Armageddon is known for its sharp judgment." And honestly, I think that's a big part of why those recent movies kind of fell flat. They have all the style and better graphics, but none of the weight.

These kaiju don't mean anything. Instead of embodying a primal fear that resonates uncomfortably with the audience, they simply say, "Hey guys, wouldn't it be crazy if a giant monster solved global warming for us?" And yes, that would be great. But it is very unlikely. But one man, one man, dared to confront the avalanche of empty and meaningless spectacle. Raise a fist in solitary pride and say, "If humanity were faced with an attack by evil, unstoppable giant monsters, humanity would create giant robots to punch those giant monsters in the face." So let's talk about Pacific Rim. Guillermo del Toro is a man who understands monsters.

He understands the complex interaction between humanity and inhumanity and knows that sometimes a man is a monster, sometimes a monster is a man, and sometimes a monster is a monster. There's "Hellboy" and "The Shape of Water" and...apparently "Blade 2," where he explores protagonists of inhuman monstrosities who are essentially human on the inside: emotional, compassionate, and lonely. I really don't know... (I haven't seen Blade 2). The thing is that sometimes his monsters are people and other times they are monsters, and when they are monsters, they are usually allegorical. Del Toro has claimed that the Pale Man - a child-eating antagonist in Pan's Labyrinth - represents the institutional evil that preys on the defenseless, saying flatly that it is no coincidence that he is a "pale man".

Bold. So when del Toro took a break from directing horror to make a “giant robots vs. giant monsters” action killer, he did what he does best: he made monsters mean something. The main character, Raleigh, describes at one point that being in a Jaeger feels like being powerful enough to fight a hurricane and win; that people face colossal, mind-numbing, destructive threats and respond by becoming big and strong enough to fight them hand-to-hand. It is a very encouraging message about human nature, the power of teamwork and how nothing is strong enough to stop us when we decide to fight back.

Pacific Rim is a movie about people being human. So monsters are monsters, more specifically hurricanes. It is no coincidence that they are given cute nicknames and classified into categories from one to five. And specifically, in-universe, they are part of a hostile terraforming effort by an extradimensional race of colonizing aliens. The kaiju in Pacific Rim are, in the most literal sense, climate change, in the sense that they physically alter the climate: they hit coastal cities like hurricanes amplified by warming waters, they poison the oceans with chemically spilled blood, they tear down walls of storm that were built in anticipation of much smaller threats.

Charlie Day's character even openly makes the comparison, suggesting that man-made climate change has already caused most of the alien terraforming and now they're just sending in the kaiju for the finishing touches. Essentially, humans are speeding up the process by which aliens change the climate, get it? Well. Pacific Rim very specifically goes back to Godzilla's origins as a personified global existential threat, raising the stakes by making the threat many kaiju instead of just one, and making the danger they pose immediate and supremely relevant. He sends the message that yes, we let this happen, and yes, things are very bad and getting worse, but he also says that yes, we can fight back.

If we put aside our differences, ignore all our useless political bickering, focus on the only thing that really matters, and then face the apocalypse head-on, we will be able to beat it into submission! (And also throw a nuke at it. Kaiju movies never agree on whether nukes are good or bad.) Anyway, the point is that kaiju movies often make statements about the world, the things that scare us, and what we can do about them. and, as a result, they tend to be extremely political. Sometimes they say we can't do anything about it. Sometimes they say that problems are our fault.

Sometimes they turn to wish fulfillment and imagine a world where the gigantic unstoppable force is a good thing that will solve our gigantic unsolvable problems. And sometimes they say it's up to us to work together and face the problem, admit that things are wrong and fight until the end to make them better again. And also...sometimes it's fun to watch two incomprehensibly huge monsters punching each other. Hell yeah! Then yes.