Space Amoeba (1970)

directed by Ishirō Honda

Japan

84 minutes

3.5 stars out of 5

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It seems like this is regarded as a lesser kaiju film, but I found it to be exceptionally fun. I think a lot of my enjoyment of it had to do with the fact that for once I was watching what looked like a perfectly restored, clear, clean print of it as opposed to a grubby VHS rip, which is the way many of us watch kaiju films due to the prohibitively expensive DVD prices. It really did make a difference to see this with beautiful, vibrant colors the way it was meant to be seen; the tone of it is heavily early-70s, but the quality of the cinematography makes it feel timeless.

The plot, inasmuch as there is one, is recycled pretty much entirely from several other kaiju films. Developers send a team of researchers to a remote island with plans for building a resort there, but the island is already inhabited not only by suspicious natives but also one or several monsters. It's clear that they tried to steer away from the horribly offensive depiction of indigenous people that Toho seemed to be a huge fan of in earlier films, and while the people of the island in this movie are still basically caricatures, they at least are respected and feel like actual people with lives that matter. Their opinions and beliefs are sought after and play into the decisions of the Japanese characters, instead of being brushed aside immediately as superstitious nonsense. Interestingly, they reuse a musical motif from earlier films in which the islanders are cast as superstitious crazies, even though Space Amoeba attempts to distance itself from such things.

As usual, the human plot is vastly less interesting than the monster origin story and everything involved therein. The monsters in this case are three gigantic, mutated versions of normal Earth animals: a squid, a crab/lobster, and a snapping turtle, possessed by a formless alien organism bent on taking over the planet. We learn this when the organism eventually possesses a human, too, which despite the campiness manages to still be somewhat horrifying. By now I'm sure I've said many times that the kaiju in most of these movies are nearly or entirely blameless, and this is no exception, because they're literally puppets trapped by the influence of a more powerful force. You never really root for the humans in kaiju films, even though you do feel for them - after all, they're just trying not to get their houses stomped on - and in most cases humans don't seem happy about having to kill whatever monster invades this week, but still, there's something that's deeply upsetting about humans and animals being forced to fight each other when they otherwise would live in harmony. And that makes the unseen, incorporeal aliens even more frightening: The only ones to blame in this situation are them, because they force the humans and animals into a situation where only one of them can survive, and to live they have to fight each other to the literal death. Again, despite the campiness and the rough edges and everything that goes with films of this kind, there's something potently creepy about the concept of alien slavers forcing innocent creatures to fight and kill each other not even as their end game but simply as a stepping stone on their quest to gather information before they invade the planet.

The quality of the suits also felt well above average here, and because the picture was so clear, I could see and appreciate every detail. Gezora was the last kaiju Haruo Nakajima played, and though he never reprised the role (...nor did anyone else), it's one of his best. He specifically moved in a way to disguise his legs and feet among all the other squid tentacles and it pays off; you can't figure out what's him and what's the suit. I'm assuming he was also inside that lobster costume somewhere, but it's hard to see where. The point isn't really to create something that a person disappears into, though; it's not that you're fooled into thinking you're watching a real giant squid rampage around an island. I would liken this instead to stage plays that utilize a crew of people dressed head-to-toe in black to manipulate objects around the stage: you can still see them, but their appearance signals that you are not supposed to see them. The person in the monster suit is more like shorthand for the monster. I watch kaiju movies with an eye for the sheer craft of making suits and sets, not for the realism.

So I really don't know why this one isn't regarded more highly - yeah, it's not original, but it gives us not one, not even two, but three new kaiju, four if you count the vaporous malevolent aliens. This is a little more light-hearted than Ishirō Honda's typical fare, but it still has a message about self-sacrifice for the good of the world at the end, and more than enough disturbing implications to go around.