Crashing Bore
“Godzilla,” the umpteenth retread of the city-stomping radioactive sea monster, is its very own spoiler.
A prologue of sorts, presented through a collage of black-and-white still photos from the Cold War era, shows us exactly what we are to expect for the next two hours – an enormous grouchy creature with stegosaur spikes on its back. What you see is what you get.
Well, sort of.
Like many a reboot, “Godzilla” attempts a new origin story. This time Godzilla represents an entire prehistoric ecosystem that existed at the time when earth was young and radioactive. Once the planet cooled and the radiation subsided, Godzilla and his kin burrowed deeper into the earth and became dormant, emerging only periodically when nuclear free lunch became available. And I bet you didn’t know that those nuclear tests in the Pacific during the 60s and 70s were really attempts to kill the critters.
OK, if none of that makes any sense to you whatsoever, rest assured, you are not alone.
Oh, and one other thing that only our stock, dauntless Japanese scientist (Ken Watanabe) knows: Godzilla has a special role; he’s a destroyer with a heart of gold. He exists to “restore balance” to the world. Whatever.
Because of this convoluted narrative, the terrible beast himself does not come to the party until well into the second half of the movie, after much damage has already done by the “Mutos,” gargoyle-like, fellow nuke-munchers with malice afoot. Excuse me, afeet.
Humanity appears quite helpless to stop the Mutos, but when Godzilla finally shows, breathing fire and ready to sumo wrestle with the bad guys, he gets greeted with a barrage of ordinance. Why, people? Why?
Speaking of people, you might not know it, but there are actors in this movie, many of whom can’t act, some who won’t act, and a few who overact. Nobody emerges unscathed – not from the monsters, but from the script.
How scary is “Godzilla”? The only jolt I got was from a bird hitting the windshield of a bus – a Hitchcock steal and a cheap red herring/false alarm.
How weird is this movie? In one sequence involving paratroopers skydiving straight into the monsters’ fight arena, the music is suddenly Ligeti’s choral piece “Lux Aeterna,” the iconic music of Kubrick’s “2001,” plus light effects and a man hyperventilating in a mask. This can’t even be called an homage – it’s more like a wholesale jewel heist, and completely inexplicable.
How silly is it? Nearly an hour into the movie, Watanabe announces to an assembly of assorted mucky-mucks that they should be concerned about whatever it is that lurks in the depths. “We call it,” he says, with a dramatic pause, “Godzilla!”
No, really?!
As one of my teenage companions commented afterwards, “Fred” would have been a far more entertaining answer.
A prologue of sorts, presented through a collage of black-and-white still photos from the Cold War era, shows us exactly what we are to expect for the next two hours – an enormous grouchy creature with stegosaur spikes on its back. What you see is what you get.
Well, sort of.
Like many a reboot, “Godzilla” attempts a new origin story. This time Godzilla represents an entire prehistoric ecosystem that existed at the time when earth was young and radioactive. Once the planet cooled and the radiation subsided, Godzilla and his kin burrowed deeper into the earth and became dormant, emerging only periodically when nuclear free lunch became available. And I bet you didn’t know that those nuclear tests in the Pacific during the 60s and 70s were really attempts to kill the critters.
OK, if none of that makes any sense to you whatsoever, rest assured, you are not alone.
Oh, and one other thing that only our stock, dauntless Japanese scientist (Ken Watanabe) knows: Godzilla has a special role; he’s a destroyer with a heart of gold. He exists to “restore balance” to the world. Whatever.
Because of this convoluted narrative, the terrible beast himself does not come to the party until well into the second half of the movie, after much damage has already done by the “Mutos,” gargoyle-like, fellow nuke-munchers with malice afoot. Excuse me, afeet.
Humanity appears quite helpless to stop the Mutos, but when Godzilla finally shows, breathing fire and ready to sumo wrestle with the bad guys, he gets greeted with a barrage of ordinance. Why, people? Why?
Speaking of people, you might not know it, but there are actors in this movie, many of whom can’t act, some who won’t act, and a few who overact. Nobody emerges unscathed – not from the monsters, but from the script.
How scary is “Godzilla”? The only jolt I got was from a bird hitting the windshield of a bus – a Hitchcock steal and a cheap red herring/false alarm.
How weird is this movie? In one sequence involving paratroopers skydiving straight into the monsters’ fight arena, the music is suddenly Ligeti’s choral piece “Lux Aeterna,” the iconic music of Kubrick’s “2001,” plus light effects and a man hyperventilating in a mask. This can’t even be called an homage – it’s more like a wholesale jewel heist, and completely inexplicable.
How silly is it? Nearly an hour into the movie, Watanabe announces to an assembly of assorted mucky-mucks that they should be concerned about whatever it is that lurks in the depths. “We call it,” he says, with a dramatic pause, “Godzilla!”
No, really?!
As one of my teenage companions commented afterwards, “Fred” would have been a far more entertaining answer.