George Carlin used to a do a bit about his favorite movies: westerns
in which a bunch of cowboys face off with a bunch of Native Americans. “You
know what the big scene is going to be, right? It’s going to be the attack the
Indians finally make on the cowboys. You wait for it to happen for an hour and
a half, and then it’s over. And they show us for 90 minutes how the cowboys get
ready for this attack.”
That sums up Godzilla. Ninety minutes of prep work followed
by 30 minutes of Godzilla facing off with two MUTOs (Massive Unidentified
Terrestrial Organisms).
It feels as if the filmmakers, including story writer Dave Callaham
(The Expendables), screenwriter Max Borenstein, and director Gareth
Edwards (who has spent most of his time as different types of visual effects
artist) were going for a more nuanced Godzilla, like the film that
started this whole mess, Gojira (1954). Because Godzilla eventually
spends a lot of time battling Mothra and King Ghidorah and other ridiculous
monsters, we sometimes forget just what a sincere movie Gojira is. Sure,
it looks dated, but it’s a deeply felt rumination on the aftermath of war and
the lingering effects of radiation poisoning. Plus, Godzilla stomps on a lot of
shit.
Tone-wise, there’s a similar sincerity to Godzilla, but
Borenstein and Edwards forgot to put any effort into making their characters
human. If they’re just going to be lizard fodder, who cares whether they live
or die? In Gojira, everyone has a purpose. In Godzilla, Elizabeth
Olsen’s purpose is to look beautiful and stand in the rain, mouth agape, before
she begins running (slowly). Her character literally does nothing.
Aaron Taylor-Johnson, as her husband Ford, doesn’t have it much
better. He’s a Navy nuclear munitions expert—how convenient!—who happens to be
in Japan visiting his crackpot father (Bryan Cranston, who gets the early award
for Scenery Chewing by a Respected Actor) when the first MUTO appears.
Taylor-Johnson is one of the dullest actors of his generation (Kick-Ass
notwithstanding), and the script does him no favors.
Neither does the pacing, which is leaden on purpose. In the movie’s
first hour or so, we get glimpses of what the big scenes are going to be when
Godzilla and the MUTOs meet, but even Return of the Jedi—the least of
the first three Star Wars films—knew that when cutting away from action, one
should cut to more action. Here there’s lots of cutting from action to
pondering and prep work. Has the military ever been so sluggish on screen? And
how did no one notice—twice—a 10-story-tall monster lumbering around in a major
metropolitan area?
Worse, there’s no levity in Godzilla. At first, it’s
refreshing. But after an hour of deadly serious people doing deadly serious
things, a wisecrack or two may take the pressure off the non-story. There’s
also some borderline tasteless 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami visual references that
are hard to swallow.
But when the monsters finally fight? PAY DIRT. Lots of
tail-whapping, screaming and building destruction.
In the end, Godzilla is good for one thing: It puts to rest
the age-old question, “What raises a movie’s rating from ‘Barf’ to ‘Meh’?”
Spectacular monster fights, ladies and gentleman. Nothing more,
nothing less.
GODZILLA
Directed
by Gareth Edwards
With
Taylor-Johnson, Olsen and Cranston
Regal
Stadium 14
PG-13
120 min.
Santa Fe Reporter