A rumble, often followed by a vibrating glass of water, can mean a lot of things. When you’re watching an American Godzilla movie, it’s probably a sign that the ass-kicking hero is on his way to live up to the adjective. After the failure of 1998’s Godzilla, Hollywood’s first stab at the villainous monster, we’ve pivoted to a portrayal of the character that more closely aligns with the creature’s real-world icon status. People love Godzilla; he’s the subject of songs, merchandise, and even cartoons. So it’s not surprising that Warner Bros’ current slate of monster flicks is attempting to turn Zilla and King Kong into the pissed-off Avengers.
However, Godzilla movies produced by Japan have been quite a bit different. While American productions can take earth-shattering destruction for granted, Toho has continued to expand the character’s original purpose as a metaphor for nuclear destruction. Does that make him Oppenheimer’s Monster? Nonetheless, our Japanese friends have always taken the character much more seriously. Well, not always, but the most celebrated films in the franchise, from Godzilla (1954) to Shin Godzilla (2016), have been less concerned with the spectacle, doubling down on character work and subtext. Godzilla Minus One, a brilliant film by director Takashi Yamazaki, continues that tradition. The film actively illustrates a return to the story’s roots, constructing a World War II era period piece that dives deep into the psyche of a Japan that has been left devastated by war – both physically and psychologically.
The setting is the 1940s, taking on an alternate history approach to its depiction of World War II, as seen through the eyes of Kōichi Shikishima (Ryunosuke Kamiki). He’s a Japanese fighter pilot who ends up reneging on his obligations in battle, thus inspiring his detractors to question his honor. Kōichi undergoes a tragic comedy of errors, one in which he can’t seem to end up on the winning side of any challenging obstacle, yet he also narrowly avoids death in the most fortuitous of ways. This notably leads to a great deal of survivor’s guilt. As Kōichi’s self-esteem free falls, he gradually accepts that he continues to live while braver and more honest people continue to die.
For a movie about a rampaging kaiju, Yamazaki’s screenplay appropriately makes the mental toll on the characters feel gargantuan. The film doesn’t spend much time focusing on the (many) physical injuries on display; it’s the emotional scars that are under the microscope. Adding to the personal stakes is Noriko (Minami Hamabe), a young woman who has lost everything and taken to caring for an orphaned infant. Noriko and Kōichi bond over… not having anything of note to celebrate, I guess, forming a makeshift family out of platonic connection. They’re there for each other because no one else is.
Yamazaki’s film has a lot on its mind, but chief among those thoughts is a mediation on national pride and military life. When Godzilla – just an urban legend to many of the characters – first appears, he not only threatens the lives of the characters but challenges Japan’s ability to protect its citizens. To be fair, what can they do? He is fucking them up, leveling a Japanese base like it was a deck of cards. One character, in the middle of Godzilla’s onslaught, remarks, “Shoot to kill!!” Oh really, you don’t say?
The monster’s presence leaves Japan soul searching, the nadir moment coming when multitudes of soldiers flagrantly walk out on their military after another fatal attack. While community holds us all together, at what point is the odds too much for human beings to overcome, and can you be expected to still defend your country even when your own death would be a foregone conclusion? In that vein, Godzilla Minus One is one of the darkest of the franchise, forcing viewers to confront how loyal they’d be against such deadly circumstances. Once Japan realizes that aid isn’t coming from anywhere else, they basically have to turn into Wakanda overnight in order to produce the technology necessary to make this an even fight. It’s easy to see the parallels with JAWS (1975), as our human characters try, fail, and try again to reign in a force of nature. The movie’s best action scene is propulsive from start to finish, starting from a cat-and-mouse chase and escalating to a heavyweight fight filled with haymakers.
My biggest gripe with the film is some of the more hammy acting moments. Kamiki, in particular, seems like he has his sights set on the “THEY KNEW!” award for overacting, belting out some whines that make it seem like his testicles are becoming acquainted with a can opener. This might just be a difference in acting styles, but it’s still distracting when a scene has already made its solemn point, but the actors are still hyperventilating like a live-action anime. It’s just too much-exaggerated crying that you become numb to it instead of truly feeling the emotion. To be fair, if Godzilla was running a train in my town, I might start throwing hysterical tantrums also. Thankfully, these moments are sequestered enough that they don’t take away from mostly strong work by a game cast. Sakura Ando and Munetaka Aoki’s efforts might go unnoticed by most, but they portray great foils for Kamiki to bounce off of. Kamiki and Hamabe not only play their individual characters well, but their kinship is believable and authentic – they seem like strangers who slowly morph into lifelong friends.
Yamazaki’s film, lauded for its technical wizardry, will stand as one of the franchise’s best due to an arresting story. A ponderous tale that considers how honor ties a community together while illustrating how war affects a nation’s pride. If we take Godzilla as a metaphor, the monster’s attacks illuminate feelings of personal disgust – losing a war is not just devastating physically, but it’s also humiliating. Godzilla Minus One tries to teach us about persistence, about fighting the allure of cowardice, and about the finality of death and violence. You can’t get back what was destroyed, but you can pick up what’s left and keep moving forward.
