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Film Review – Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Godzilla: King of the Monsters (2019; Directed by Michael Dougherty)

The big, dumb sequel to Legendary Entertainment’s successful MonsterVerse-launching Godzilla film, Godzilla: King of the Monsters is very nearly pure spectacle. Where Gareth Edwards’ 2014 Hollywood franchise reboot of Japanese film studio Toho’s iconic gigantic lizard was a frequently stunning and often practically zen slowburn of an epic movie, King of the Monsters reduces the kaiju monster-battle genre to its most primal and elemental parts. If Edwards’ Godzilla was a surprisingly poised and nimble acrobatic act, Michael Dougherty’s follow-up is a rote performance of blunt, gawking, predictable adrenaline thrills, like a human being fired out of a cannon. To run the circus analogies well into the ground, there’s some considerable and frankly overstuffed predatory animal taming wrangling at work here too, as Gojira shares the screen with other city-smashing charismatic megafauna known as Titans who have awoken after long subterranean slumber to contend with the Big G for pack alpha dominion over our puny, groveling planet.

Like the movie it acts as a sequel to, Godzilla: King of the Monsters weaves a blandly conventional human family dramatic plot around and through the various conceits it deploys in order to put its Titans on mutual collision course. Unlike the previous Godzilla, which at least had an emotionally raw, honestly performed tragic parting of mature, believably human lovers (Bryan Cranston and Juliette Binoche) in its early scenes, King of the Monsters‘ human angle is mired in cliches and writing choices so insensible as to confound even the capable actors entrusted to bring it to life.

Doctors Emma and Mark Russell (Vera Farmiga and Kyle Chandler, respectively) were both scientists in the employ of Monarch, the global research and paramilitary conglomerate that concerns itself with finding, studying, and in some cases confining the Titans. They co-invented a device called the ORCA which reads and replicates the sonar-like bioacoustics of the Titans, enabling Monarch to communicate with the massive beasts but also potentially control and/or direct them. Mark (the animal behaviourist), however, has quit the organization and separated from Emma (the paleobiologist) and their teenaged daughter Madison (Millie Bobby Brown). The Russells lost their son Andrew in Godzilla’s rampage through San Francisco at the climax of the last movie, which led Mark to retreat from civilization and from Monarch’s work and led Emma to redouble her efforts on the ORCA while secretly forming a more dangerous and apocalyptic plan.

Emma and Madison are kidnapped (or are they?) along with the ORCA by ecoterrorist Alan Jonah (Charles Dance). Jonah’s aims and motivations are highly ill-defined for a main villain, but you know he’s bad because Charles Dance plays him. Similar casting-over-character-development strokes characterize the Monarch team pursuing Jonah and Emma and the awakening Titans. Chandler summons his standard-issue sweaty, desperately concerned dad figure. Ken Watanabe is back as Dr. Serizawa, Godzilla’s firmest believer and defender, whose laissez-faire respect for the Titans’ role in the natural balance is summed up in the “Let Them Fight” meme drawn from the previous film. Sally Hawkins is back as his colleague, and she delivers some lines, one supposes. Zhang Ziyi plays mythological specialist Dr. Chen, and despite my really, genuinely having seen the film, I had absolutely no idea that Dr. Chen was actually a pair of twin sisters until reading the Wiki. Aisha Hinds stalks around the bridge of Monarch’s massive stealth bomber-shaped air flagship, wearing fatigues and barking orders. Bradley Whitford stares at screens and provides status updates on Godzilla’s vitals, the proximity of weapons of mass destruction, and whatever other expositional factoids the movie happens to require; he also tells numerous bad jokes, including one about radiation-related birth defects (seeing this movie immediately after HBO’s Chernobyl miniseries leaves this viewer very troubled by these characters’ prosaic attitudes around radiation; “You’ll all be dead of cancer within five years!”, I wanted to shout at the screen time and again).

Much of what the humans in this movie do makes no sense logically or especially emotionally. Emma’s grand plan to counteract the planet-poisoning plague of human civilization by unleashing city-leveling monsters is an absurd cartoon exagerration of radical environmentalism that the screenplay (by Dougherty and Zack Shields) couches in her grief over the loss of her son. But the ludicrousness of this latter emotional conceit is laid bare when Madison confronts her about it, asking if she thinks total Titan-ic armageddon would have been what Andrew would have wanted; of course it wouldn’t be, he was a kid, he would have probably wanted an ice cream sundae! Heroism, rescue missions, noble sacrifices, and so forth; all of this happens in King of the Monsters, none of it feels much like anything.

But the human stories of the 2014 Godzilla were also pretty weak, at least once Binoche and Cranston shuffled off the stage. This shit right here is about giant monsters beating the everloving crud out of each other while skyscrapers topple in their wake, and King of the Monsters throws around a whole lot of that. Godzilla’s key rival for alpha status (and yes, alpha wolf theory is outdated and badly misleading in the case of wild populations, but let’s not fight that battle right now) over the planet and the other Titans is the three-headed hydra/dragon Ghidorah, freed from Antarctic ice to do repeated battle with Godzilla across the globe, always at night or in storms or under dense sunlight-erasing cloud cover (it really would not kill this movie to show us its CG monsters in the light of day). There’s also the huge pterosaur Rodan, who emerges from an erupting Mexican volcano, and Mothra, a gorgeous, glowing Lepidoptera who is kinda, sorta Godzilla’s wife (?) (also:) (!) and also has magical healing powers.

But more is not always better. There are some devastatingly epic monster fights and some big, bold, brassy shots in Godzilla: King of the Monsters, prime among the latter being the spectacularly blunt visual metaphor to the right of Ghidorah perching on a fiery volcano with a stoically contrasting cross in the foreground. Mothra’s hatching in a waterfall is tremendously lovely, her bioluminescent wings spreading out wide under the glowing waters, but all the beauty and wonder around this moth Titan is lessened by having her fill a Virgin Sacrifice role to spur Big Chonk Lizard on to final victory. But generally speaking, both the moments of poetic awe and the showstopping epic moments of Gareth Edwards’ Godzilla are aped in King of the Monsters as pale imitations. Here, what held mystery and strange romance is reduced to noisy, CG-heavy blockbuster fodder.

The fundamentally basic quality of Godzilla: King of the Monsters is a favouring of the spectacle, the action setpiece writ large. It has plenty of time for its rote plot of the fractured family in the midst of the spectacle, but little enough for the pregnant political and social allegories lurking in the shadows of the original 1954 Toho film, let alone the more amorphous echoes of contemporary politics and conservation issues in the 2014 film, or its connected release in Legendary’s MonsterVerse, Kong: Skull Island, with its critical view of American imperial power (it’s also difficult to imagine the great ape standing any chance at all against this mountain-scaled, nuclear-weaponized Godzilla in their coming dust-up in 2020’s Godzilla vs. Kong).

Emma’s monologue about wasteful human populations denuding the fragile earth tries to shoehorn environmentalism and climate change into the thematic picture, but Dougherty’s movie neither prefaces that moment nor continues building on it with any conviction. Godzilla: King of the Monsters can only pretend to care about the world’s problems. It seeks only to reduce them, and the world with them, into smouldering rubble for our fleeting amusement and, perhaps, fantasy wish-fulfillment (the climax of urban destruction takes place in Boston, and anyone familiar with that city’s sports fan culture over the past couple of decades can’t help but take some pleasure in its annihilation). The 2014 Godzilla was a big, silly entertainment, but there was a patience and vision to its destructive artistry that could almost be called existential in scope. Godzilla: King of the Monsters just destroys to entertain, and as a result is less successful at doing so.

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