Half-academic, half-playful in tone, Tsuitsui's Godzilla On My Mind stands out as a unique paean to the king of monsters, tracing his – (for Tsuitsui is indelibly convinced Godzilla's tempestuous, teeth-gnashing, fire-breathing persona is masculine) – journey as a pop-cultural phenomenon whose post-WWII roots are a mish-mash of both Western and Eastern folklore, both historical baggage and social quandaries, and both unexpected creativity and unabashed cheesiness.
The brain-child of Tanaka Tomoyuki of Toho Studios, Godzilla – originally Gojira – was created to evoke Japan's nuclear anxieties and the scars of its wartime defeat as much as it was meant to surf a wave of public interest in monster-flicks, following the re-release of the 1993 classic King Kong. A success in the Japanese box office, the film would spawn both flattering knock-offs and outright ridiculous sequels across a multitude of genres: from horror to comedy, from depth-devoid Hollywood renditions to a mindless Showa-era procession of Kaiju-eiga.
The monster, to Tsuitsui's consternation, would also grow increasingly childish as studios pandered to a younger audience, culminating in such saccharine works as Son of Godzilla and All Monsters Attack, that reflected not only declining studio budgets, but also how far these sequels (or perhaps sequelae, giving the "shoddiness" of the output?) had strayed from Tanaka Tomoyuki's original kitschy yet poignant premise. It was not until the 1984 reboot, which kicked off the Heisei series, that the monster would be restored to his former city-destroying glory – but even then, the films would lack the zest and bite of their predecessor, and be criticized for their formulaic nature.
Tsuitsui's approach is engaging, even tongue-in-cheek. Departing from the self-consciously somber style found in similar works examining pop culture, he tackles the subject not from the lens of an impartial observer, but a self-professed Godzilla fan. While the result can be slightly effusive at times, chock-full of grand metaphors and self-indulgent attention to detail, it comes across as entertaining and informative, especially when coupled with Tsuitsui's personal anecdotes, all of which serve to firmly cement his place within the sociocultural phenomenon of Godzilla, rather than standing apart from it.
While some interpretations of what Godzilla symbolizes for Japan, as well as for the rest of the world, can seem far-fetched at times, Godzilla as a cinematic symbol deserves no less, given the bombastic and exaggerated nature of the monstrous oeuvre. Tsuitsui never loses sight of that, and as a consequence, his viewpoint (and by proxy the reader's) is enriched with an exploration not only of pop culture, but history, cultural psyche, and human creativity in all its silly and self-reflective facets.
Continuing to trace the rise and fall of Godzilla's cinematic oeuvre, from the tepid productions of the Heisei era to the disjointed Millennium series which might classify as over-the-top monstrosities in and of themselves, Tsuitsui nonetheless illustrates how each reboot, sequel, tribute and outright rip-off has served to cement Godzilla's place within the fabric of pop culture as a quintessentially Japanese icon – and paved the way for other forms of soft power such as animanga, Iron Chef and Hello Kitty.
Inspiring its own genre of creature-feature films – from Gamera to Gorgo – Godzilla nonetheless outrivals them all in terms of both longevity and uniqueness. This owes largely to the fact that Godzilla, according to Tsutsui, has "heart" – an allegorical gravitas coupled with an imaginative charm that allows him to transcend cultural boundaries, becoming both a symbol of globalized modernity and its biggest literal adversary.
By toppling down buildings and stomping across cities, Godzilla is an unbridled representation of the inner-child, exhorting audiences to let go of post-modern worries and explore their silliest and most self-indulgent fantasies. "Don't worry, be stompy," as Tsutsui puts it.
Reading the final few chapters, one can't help but smile at Tsutsui's unabashed, nearly childlike enthusiasm for Godzilla – both as a cinematic emblem and an international phenomenon. While the adulation can seem a tad far-fetched at times, Tsutsui does not neglect to delve into the more troubling subject matter that underlies Godzilla's popularity. Whether Godzilla represents a defiant perversion of the Japanese psyche during the post-war occupation, or, on its flipside, a dark manifestation of the US in all its war-mongering destruction, are all the questions the book asks – but does not necessarily answer.
Perhaps because, as Tsuitsui points out, he is approaching the material from the perspective of a fan more than an academic – and as such his enjoyment of the work supersedes any attempts at analysis. Yet the undercurrents of analysis lurk throughout the work, coming through most strongly in Tsutsui's ultimate criticism of the Hollywood adaptation, which is derided as a showy shell utterly devoid of the original's substance.
His biggest quibble is the fact that the film takes itself too seriously as purely Hollywood creation – whereas the true charm of Godzilla lies in the fact that, for all its camp and cheese, it is indisputably Japanese, with all the nation's somber cultural and historical subtext padding the more ludicrous narrative armature.
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