For what is this rough beast
Its hour come at last
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
Slouching towards Bethlehem to be born
— from "The Second Coming", William Butler Yeats
I wonder sometimes if Godzilla is getting closer. I'm not talking about the rubber monster who starred in 27 movies to date, but rather Godzilla himself; the soul behind the seeming, the revelatory trauma that inspired the first Godzilla film, produced in Japan by Toho Studios in 1954 as Gojira and released to American audiences in a heavily
edited form two years later as Godzilla: King of the Monsters. Gojira, like all good movies, uses metaphor to transmit an insight about the human
condition. This insight was obtained through profound suffering. Its cost
was high, and its value immeasurable.
Before you dismiss what I'm saying, please take a moment to consider Gojira. In Japan, Gojira started out as an art house horror movie. It made use of better cinematic techniques, a more sophisticated plotline, and better
acting than any other science fiction movie of that time. On this level alone, Gojira is worth serious attention. But the movie's true merit is the
way it uses the giant monster genre to make sense of experiences burned into
Japan's collective consciousness.
Godzilla's roar sounds like an air raid siren, and his footsteps like
falling bombs. The sea of flames that Godzilla unleashes upon Tokyo resemble
the infernos created by the American firebombing of Japanese cities. The
aftermath of Godzilla's rampage is a recreation of the aftermath of
Hiroshima and Nagasaki, right down to the hospital corridors clogged with
irradiated children, with the maimed, with the dead. The fishing trawler
immolated by Godzilla at the beginning of the movie refers to the fate of
the Lucky Dragon #5 which, one year before the movie was released, was
exposed to the periphery of an American nuclear test, and returned to port
covered in radioactive ash.
There are subtler parallels, too. Godzilla is a threat from the sea. Upon
discovering the monster, the Japanese navy is dispatched to eliminate him.
The populace and the government alike look forward to a speedy victory. To
their horror, they learn that their firepower only irritates Godzilla and
hastens his arrival. Seemingly oblivious to the carnage he's causing,
Godzilla lumbers through homes and over bodies, responding to annoyances
with blasts of atomic fire. Is there any doubt that Godzilla, on at least
one level, represents the US military?
On a deeper level, Godzilla transcends national conflicts. Godzilla's first
victims are the rural inhabitants of Odo Island. The people are fishermen untouched by
industrialization until atomic testing angers and mutates an ancient kami,
or elemental spirit, long recognized and respected by their religious
traditions. To these people, the ocean is the sacred realm of majestic and
terrible powers. They understand that atomic testing violates the ocean's
literal and metaphysical depths, ensuring ecological and spiritual
retaliation. "Atomic testing" is used here as a metaphor for
military-industrial arrogance, a phenomenon common to every nation involved
in World War II, whether Allied or Axis.
On this level, Godzilla is industrially desecrated nature; the damage caused by the US military is only the most visible manifestation of a more fundamental catastrophe.
Hollywood presented similar ecological perversities. Atomic testing played
a role in creating the monster from The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms, a 1953
film with a box office success that paved the way for Gojira. For the next
decade, American monster movies continued to exploit the growing fear of
nuclear technology. There was, however, a crucial difference between Gojira
and the American films. Hollywood's monsters were never more than nuisances
to be banished by the proper combination of scientific ingenuity and
military force.
Japanese filmmakers, informed by a more sophisticated ecological ethic and the by trauma of atomic bombardment, knew better. Once an ecosystem becomes monstrous, it can't be pounded into submission. In the face of monstrosity, the only viable option is to regain the balance that's been lost. Because the ethical and the ecological are intimately
intertwined, both need to come back in line.
The hero of Gojira, Dr. Serizawa, accidentally creates a weapon capable of
turning the ocean into acid. He tries to keep this device a secret, but
fails. In the American version of the movie, he explains that he doesn't
want the weapon falling into the "wrong" hands; in the Japanese original, he
makes it clear that he doesn't want it falling into any hands — he doubts
anyone could be trusted with such power. The people closest to him convince
him that only his weapon can stop the monster. Torn by this dilemma,
Serizawa decides to burn his research; he then kills himself alongside
Godzilla when he detonates the weapon's only prototype. By accepting
responsibility for the secrets he's discovered, and by paying the required
price, he restores the world's balance.
The American version of the film ends as Raymond Burr declares that, through
Serizawa's actions, the world can live again. In the Japanese original, a
more somber observation is made: since Godzilla can't be the only one of his
kind, should atomic tests continue, more monsters like him will inevitably
arise. In this version, Serizawa's actions simply buy the world a little
more time, time that could easily be squandered if the world doesn't learn
from his example.
Here, then, is the hard won insight conveyed by Gojira: By desecrating the
natural world, military industrial arrogance creates monsters that cause
incalculable suffering. These monsters are beyond the reach of military
might and scientific cunning, and will only rest when ecological and ethical
balance is regained. This requires nearly universal wisdom, sacrifice, and
humility. This insight seems so simple, so cliché, that we wonder if it's
worth anything at all.
Meanwhile, George W. Bush is sending his troops around the world to steal
the resources needed to feed the industrial machine. The US is using its
military and economic muscle to force all other nations to privatize and
deregulate their industries, encouraging the plunder and pollution of global
ecosystems. The Bush Administration is tearing up domestic environmental
legislation, while refusing to make any concessions to the international
community on such matters as the production of greenhouse gasses. To fend off
the American, Godzilla-like threat, nations and private groups around the world scramble to
acquire nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons of mass destruction.
As politicians, businessmen, and generals play their games of submission
and dominance, global temperatures continue to rise. Glaciers are melting,
and a recent heat wave killed tens of thousands of Europeans. Last summer,
firemen in the Pacific Northwest warned that with some fires, all you can do
is run away. So, is Godzilla approaching, or is he already here?
Editor's Note: This essay, slightly modified, originally appeared in issue 72 of The Republic, a bi-weekly Vancouver newspaper
