Godzilla: Minus One (2023)

directed by Takeshi Yamazaki

Japan

125 minutes

5 stars out of 5

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👉BIG OL SPOILERS BELOW. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE FILM.👈

It is taking a gargantuan amount of self-restraint for me not to type this review in all-caps. Like I did with Shin Ultraman, I'm not even considering this a "review" in any meaningful sense of the word. I just got back from this movie and I need to yell incoherently about it for a minute. I already knew this was gonna body me as my first new Godzilla movie since I became a fan, but now I've experienced heaven and it's sitting in a theater with a sound system so powerful Akira Ifukube's theme music vibrates your sternum.

I took a lot of care to remain un-spoiled going into this. I didn't want to know anything about it. I stopped watching trailers after the first one. One of the only things I saw that gave anything away at all was an interview with the director that described his approach to the film as "scary". That was in my mind when I sat down in the theater, not knowing what to expect, and it's still in my mind now, because yeah, Minus One is fucking scary. This is the most nightmarish Godzilla you've ever seen. This movie does absolutely everything in its power to make you terrified of Godzilla, and it's successful. You get to see him remarkably early on and that first encounter on Odo Island is just a total fever dream: It's nighttime, our main character was supposed to be dead and already has that guilt on his shoulders, he's surrounded by a general sense of defeat, he just wants to go home along with everyone else around him, and then there's this thing. This boogeyman, this creature out of a bad dream that the villagers call "Gojira". It's horrific, it's monstrous. Those night shots of Godzilla just picking people up and flinging them around have such staying power. I've reiterated this in multiple previous reviews, but I feel that any time Godzilla bites something, it's a powerful moment because it's pure rage. Godzilla doesn't eat people, or anything else for that matter. But the Godzilla violence in this is really personal; even though he's not eating anybody, this is probably the first time we've ever seen him target individual people. Except for maybe that one poor girl in the hospital that time. Or Hiroshi Abe. Or Yoshio Tsuchiya. Alright, maybe that happens more often than I realized, but it's never any less of an intense thing to watch.

This is the angriest Godzilla I've ever seen, barring maybe GMK, and that's a very strong "maybe". Godzilla is not a too-large animal stuck in the midst of a civilized area, causing destruction simply due to his size rather than intentional malice. This Godzilla is some kind of vengeance demon. This is the #1 thing the movie imparted to me. Godzilla is a wretched living ghost, dragging itself around fueled by pain and rage. You can feel how much he's hurting. It's visible in everything he does. That is staying with me.

One of the stills that was released before the movie came out was Godzilla looking on at what appeared to be a mushroom cloud, and I remember the speculation online that that was the military deciding to nuke Tokyo to try to get rid of Godzilla - nope, turns out that WAS Godzilla. That first atomic breath attack was just... jaw-dropping. The sheer scale of destruction in this movie is unlike anything seen in the franchise thus far and it really, really hits. I could go on and on and on about single scenes I adored in this, but another favorite was when the Takao shows up and Godzilla just obliterates it instantly, taking gunfire straight to the face and not even blinking. Also, seeing and being able to recognize all the ships was great because it made me feel better about having spent this past summer watching a bunch of WWII movies.

The human story was something I was looking forward to, because the days when viewers could be (mostly) satisfied by a movie where the human characters dial it in, knowing the monsters are what everybody wants to see, are over. When it was first announced that this movie would take place after WWII, I saw a lot of people have this kind of knee-jerk negative reaction, assuming that it was going to be some kind of apologia just based on the fact that it was set during that time. But in reality this movie is staunchly anti-war, and that stance is at the center of the storyline. The government won't help you, in fact the government is actively trying to harm you; it's using the "little people" to shift the blame off of itself: We lost the war? Obviously, it's because YOU didn't kill yourself bombing the enemy. The only hope that exists in this movie comes from people turning away from the thought that a centralized government is going to protect them and realizing that if there's anything worth fighting for, it's sure as hell not the idea of a nation, it's you and the people who you love, and who love you. I think that statement is perfectly captured by the fact that the only time warships and bomber planes are shown being used, it's outside of wartime, commandeered by civilians working basically under their own aegis. Shades of the Gotengo, there, at least to me.

Ryunosuke Kamiki does a remarkably job conveying emotion in his character. He's really good at that kind of messy uncontrollable crying that you rarely see pulled off well in cinema. I was honestly kind of surprised at how believable his performance was because I guess I'm just not used to seeing that in kaiju film. Everybody else is great as well - these are people you genuinely care for, and the movie makes it very clear that none of their lives is guaranteed. There's a dozen moments where you think everybody onscreen is going to die. I loved when it seems like the big plan failed and Godzilla is charging his atomic breath and the camera cuts from person to person and lands on this kid who looks like he's about 15 - I was just thinking, oh my god, I'm really gonna see all of these guys die. I thought that was actually going to happen. It's rare for a movie to make me feel so uncertain of the ultimate outcome.

The pacing of this thing is also really interesting because it has these scenes that are unbelievably brutal, like, "they gave this a PG-13?" brutal, but they're spaced out seemingly at random. What I would argue is the most horrific and visceral shot in the entire film and possibly in the entire Godzilla franchise (that shot of Godzilla's face blistering as he gets nuked for the first time) is immediately followed by, and I'm not exaggerating this at all, a peppy, light-hearted montage of Koichi having fun with his buddies on a boat. The transitions aren't all as jarring, but the whole film is like that, to an extent: not necessarily high highs, but some very, VERY low lows between the mellower bits.

The soundtrack is immaculate as well. Like I said, the Ifukube theme is the absolute clincher and hearing it made me tear up, but the original music composed for the film is also extremely effective. During the most tense scenes there's often nothing but high, airy, unearthly strings, or even just a single ascending tone that makes you break out in an instant sweat. The music is otherworldly at times, deeply haunting like the Shin Godzilla OST and used perfectly to make an already unbelievably good movie even more gripping. Also I actually just rewatched King Kong vs. Godzilla last night and I almost screamed when they started playing the theme from it in Minus One.

I don't know how to end this. I don't really want to end this. I didn't want the movie itself to end. In classic Godzilla fashion, things are left somewhat open-ended, and good god I hope we don't have to wait another seven years for a follow-up. There was practically nobody in the theater with me, which was disappointing, but I think this'll make good returns because I've heard elsewhere that theaters were practically sold out. I love, love, love to be alive in this era where we're still getting new Godzilla movies. I was blown away by this. I've never seen anything like it.

Throne of Blood (1957)

directed by Akira Kurosawa

Japan

108 minutes

4.5 stars out of 5

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I feel like I'm not qualified to give my opinion on this film, being relatively un-versed in Akira Kurosawa. I've seen probably his most famous works and I would count him as one of my favorite directors, but I cannot speak about his technique at length in the same way that someone who has studied him (and cinema in general) could. But I am still going to review it because I do not know when to be quiet.

Another aspect of this film that renders me unable to talk about it intelligently is its basis in a minor work by the obscure Muromachi-era poet and playwright, William Shakespeare. I'm not very familiar with his works either, and in fact I only read Macbeth last month in preparation for watching Throne of Blood. However, I don't feel like reading it was necessary, because I found that, while watching the film, trying to compare it to the source material really just kind of gave me a headache. I could see where the overarching plot was taken from the play, but all in all I think it's best to examine this movie on the basis of the themes it presents - though they are shared with Macbeth - rather than look at it as a 1:1 adaptation of its source material.

The film begins during a war, but we never really see the war itself. Frantic, breathless reporters ride back to Kumonosu-Jô, Spider's Web Castle, telling of the downfall of one garrison after another, until the situation is abated somewhat by the warriors - and companions - Washizu and Miki. These are our main characters, with Washizu standing in for Macbeth and Miki as Banquo. Roughly - again, I don't think it's too good of an idea to think too hard about Macbeth while we're watching this. But what we learn is that both, though possibly Washizu more so, are brilliant military commanders and upon their return to the castle both are to be granted an increase in rank. But before this happens, they make their way through the mist-shrouded, ominous Spider's Web Forest, becoming lost on the way and stumbling upon a spirit spinning silk in a lean-to in the middle of the woods. I watch a lot - a lot - of horror movies, and I have largely lost the ability to be scared by film. But I felt dread in my gut during the scene where Washizu and Miki, unsure if they can believe their eyes, watch this specter slowly spinning while reciting a song about the impermanence of man and his folly. The quality of the photography renders the spirit as something that feels wholly unearthly, and the trick of dubbing the actor's voice so that it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once added both presence and terror. This is our stand-in for the three witches. The spirit tells the two warriors what is to be their future: First, they will both receive promotions, then Washizu will go on to become lord of Spider's Web Castle, and Miki's son his heir. The spirit vanishes, and in an exchange, the two warriors discuss the impossibility of such a prediction... but the seed has been planted, and once the promotions do come down exactly as the spirit foretold, their fates are irrevocably decided.

It's very interesting to me to think about where the moment when Washizu's destiny became locked in might be. In my opinion, although the spirit seemingly knows the future and has seen all that Washizu will do and become, the heart of this story and the reason why it speaks so much to the darkness hidden within ambition is because Washizu very much does control his own fate. The first part of the prophecy was, indeed, prophecy; neither he nor Miki could have known they would be promoted upon returning to the castle. But as far as we know, had Washizu not killed the lord and embarked on a journey of immense and harrowing bloodshed, he may have become lord anyway through any number of events which could have unfolded. Washizu dooms himself because he dares to believe he's the sole arbiter of his fate. His role as lord is not coming to him fast enough, and he can't be certain of it, so he chooses the bloodiest, most direct path to securing it.

We cannot ever neglect Lady Macbeth. Her name is Asaji in this adaptation. To say much has been made of this character would be a vast understatement of her presence in the popular reception of Macbeth. To me, and especially in this film, certain characters can only partially be viewed as distinct entities and should instead be thought of more as extensions or alternate sides of Washizu's self. I have not given much thought to what Asaji was actually hoping to get out of goading Washizu into killing the lord and assuming his position. She of course would receive the benefit of being married to a lord, but her utter lack of emotion and almost instinctual recommendation of murder makes her feel nearly more inhuman than Washizu himself. I think she serves as a kind of external subconscious. Washizu at first may not be the kind of man who could murder his lord, but those thoughts are within him and, taking the form of his wife, outside of him as well. Their roles reverse somewhat as the story progresses, with Asaji becoming debilitated by an obsession with cleaning her hands of blood that only she can see and Washizu slowly being driven insane by paranoia and lust for power.

It goes without saying that Akira Kurosawa is one of the best directors ever. He does things with film that I've never seen anything even remotely comparable to. From his use of atmosphere to the ridiculously elaborate sets he built, his distinctive directorial techniques when creating jidaigeki make everything he did in that genre miles away from anything else being made at the same time. The thing that captivated me most about this film's production is the unbelievably intricate costuming. The man in charge of the costuming was also the film's art director, Yoshirô Miyaki, who worked on production design for literally every good Japanese movie you've ever seen over a span of about fifty years. Aside from that I cannot - though I would love to - find much more about the detail that went into outfitting everybody in this film. I also can't talk about it that much in terms of historical accuracy, that not being an area I'm too familiar with, but just watch this and look at every stitch putting together every plate of armor, every helmet, every woman outfitted in uncountable layers of fine cloth. It's really something else.

Now for once I can talk about something that I am familiar with, and that's Toshirō Mifune. Good god have I seen a lot of movies with him in them, as will anybody with even a passing interest in Showa-era Japanese film. He was in everything. But I really believe that Throne of Blood might be his best role. We all kind of know his deal; he usually plays brash, somewhat arrogant samurai types, or, later, various stiff-upper-lipped military generals - roles that involve a lot of machismo that most of the time goes unquestioned. His turn as Macbeth/Washizu is one of very few times I've seen him in a role where his usual tough-guy schtick is his undoing and is deliberately played up to create this slightly terrifying, unhinged warlord character. He's almost unrecognizable here. There are other people in this movie, even actors who are themselves quite famous (side note: I have no idea why it was so weird to see Takashi Shimura in full armor), but Mifune is really the centerpiece. My favorite fun fact about this movie is that he really was getting shot with arrows during his downfall scene at the end of the film. He was wearing padding under already heavy armor, but still.

I say this often, but this is really a movie that's tough to sum up accurately in the space of a few paragraphs. The scope of the production, the sheer scale of the physical construction and architecture, the thousands of extras used to fill out Washizu's army, the dedication to the costuming - really, I do handicraft myself sometimes, and I will not shut up about the costuming, because I know how absurdly time-consuming making all of that had to have been - all of it can't be done justice to in words. The film is bookended by a kind of Greek chorus lamenting the destruction of Spider's Web Castle, which we never see, but which feels inevitable - one can imagine a place that fraught with blood and obsession becoming so deeply haunted it can no longer be allowed to stand, nature must strike it down. That this is an amazing film is obvious, but what makes it so amazing is the elements that it borrows from non-film media such as kabuki plays. Masaru Satō, one of my favorite film composers, creates a score that's highly traditional with none of his usual jazzy exuberance. (As I understand, he was very early in his career  when he scored this.) My thoughts on one of the best movies of all time are redundant, but I want to encourage everybody to watch this. It's a delight, as is every Kurosawa film. Formal education on film as a medium may allow you to expand your vocabulary for describing why this is such an excellent movie, but it's not necessary for realizing that it's really something special.

Meander (2020)

directed by Mathieu Turi

France

91 minutes

3.5 stars out of 5

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There's something inherently sinister and disgusting about being trapped in a pipe compared to, say, a cage, or a small room even if it's purpose-built for torturing you. Pipes aren't generally meant to be seen; they ferry liquids (often waste or other noxious substances) from place to place and don't get maintained as frequently as they should. The thought of being stuck in a pipe is more upsetting to me than being stuck anywhere else. I don't know if Meander was directly inspired by Saw or the more recent Oxygène, but it one-ups both films by adding in sci-fi and horror elements that make it vastly more interesting and unique than anything else in the "trapped in a place" subgenre, as well as forcing its main character into a system of pipes that is not only gross by virtue of being pipes but because of... more organic presences in it.

I do not want to compare this to Saw overmuch, or to Oxygène, because Meander is really a thing all of its own. In mentioning how much it improves on the model set out by previous similar films, I don't want to tie it back too much to those other films. But it really does do a lot of new, unique things. We're teased at the beginning credits with a snippet of a news broadcast about corpses showing up with horrific injuries and reports of strange lights in the sky, and from then on things are introduced that make us realize bit by bit that the pipeworks the main character is trapped in are the construction of something much different than we're used to. If anything, this is way more Cube than Saw. Hell, it's more "Hellraiser pain dimension ruled over by an incomprehensible being" than Saw. The big problem I have with the "trapped" niche of the torture-porn subgenre is that it feels like a slasher with steps taken out (I.E., the killer already found their victim/s and now has them captive to do whatever with them). Meander takes that concept and turns it on its head to give us something thoroughly more bizarre and, in the process, more satisfying.

There is also something personal about this and the way it deals with bodily transformation that I wanted to mention, because the director made another film called Hostile before this one that similarly does things with notions of alienness and transformation. The main character in Meander has heavy trauma in her past relating to the death of her young daughter, and this memory metaphorically as well as literally haunts her on her way through the pipes. Vestiges of human-ness surround her, but they're an idea of humanity as seen through the lens of something inhuman. From the recreation of her memories, served to her in curated snippets, to the actual appearance of her daughter - but of course not her real, living daughter, just a facsimile - to her pursuit through the pipes by something that, while broiled to a crisp and driven insane by hatred, is recognizably human if you look at it for long enough. All of these things speak of an edited humanity, a stretching of the boundary line between human and human-as-worn-like-a-hand-puppet. Weirdly, the film somehow manages to emphasize that there is still some form of kindness to be found here: One of the most benevolent and helpful presences is a rotting human jawbone attached to some kind of cybernetic arm. I should not have found it so cute the way it kept gently donking into the main character like a baby goat practicing headbutts. The uncanny is definitely a strong force at play in making Meander feel original and fresh.

But is it fun to watch? A lot of these trap movies can feel like they drag on at the beginning because generally there's a warm-up period where the protagonist is just pissed-off and groggy and doesn't know what's going on, and the challenges aren't too hard, but the protag's reactions are over-the-top because of course they've never been stuck in a Hate Tube™ before and don't know how bad it'll get. The situation in this case kind of takes care of that because, thanks to the hints at more extraterrestrial strangeness going on than meets the eye, it feels more like there's something to discover right from the very start. No characters here have much of a "wow" factor; the protagonist doesn't have many compelling traits, she's just a classic case of "wrong place, wrong time, now you're stuck in a weird tube that's trying to kill you". I think it's pretty boring that the only backstory she was given was that she has a dead child, because that's heavily overused by now (especially for women, who don't seem in fiction to ever get to have trauma except for that of having or not having children) but I don't feel like the main character's backstory was make-or-break in a scenario this bizarre.

The Green Knight (2021)

directed by David Lowery

Canada, Ireland, UK, USA

130 minutes

4.5 stars out of 5

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I wasn't sure if I was going to review this because there's already so much that's been said about it and I doubt I have anything intelligent to contribute, but after putting it at the top of my "best of the year" list, I wanted to at least get some thoughts down about it. So consider this less of a critical review and more of me talking about how I personally responded to the film.

The translation I read of the original Sir Gawain and the Green Knight poem was not fantastic - an extremely stodgy rendition that felt like it had been given a bag with a very limited number of words in it to choose from, and specific instructions never to become overly emotional or upsetting - but it highlighted something that, I think, made me approach this film in a different way. Prehistoric Britain is a personal fascination of mine and something that I'm so much of a stickler for in media that it ruins my enjoyment of anything set in the era, and I was almost edging on getting my enjoyment ruined several times during The Green Knight because of all of its anachronisms, but then I thought about that garbage translation I read and I realized that the Sir Gawain poem itself was not being faithful to the truth of ancient Britain, but creating a motif that would have been recognizable to the people of its day. The Green Knight does not attempt to re-create a specific time and place so much as it uses those themes as a palette with which to create something recognizably "old", but in the process it creates something out-of-time. It's not important that we believe 100% what we're seeing is pinned to a specific era. The feeling just has to be there enough for us to respond to it.

There is a scene that I particularly liked in which Sir Gawain essentially has his photograph taken by the lady of the castle he comes across in the wood. This is a great example of trading perfect historical accuracy for tone, and I felt that using anachronistic technology also said something about the mystery and inaccessibility of the past. To imagine that the technology to take a photograph might have existed in the time of Arthurian legend risks bringing us into bunko Ancient Aliens territory, but as long as it remains just an idea and we recognize that we have no actual evidence to prove that it could have happened, it's such an interesting concept that I'm kind of still struck by it. There's something about the thought of people in such a far-flung time having the ability to permanently capture images without the use of painting, and how that would have impacted the entire world, that resonated with me.

In its context, the photograph plays an important role to the story as well. Gawain is captured in it not yet having reached the end of his journey. The first time we see it, he's a troubled man reckoning with his place in the world around him having been shifted and smudged to incomprehensibility. The second and last time we see the portrait, it's hanging behind him while he is on the throne during the vision where he sees himself becoming king. While he's been thrust into a role of power and fulfilled an expectation that others had of him and that he, possibly, had for himself at the start of his journey, the difference between the morally conflicted man on the throne and the confused, searching knight in the photograph is only the addition of a crown.

One of the most interesting things that was present in the film and not in the poem is that there seemed to be this confederacy of women throughout the entire thing, who were driving the entire thing, and that was never explained or even really shown in full but only hinted at. Gawain's mother is rumored to be a witch and is shown performing some kind of ritualistic magic multiple times, magic that parallels and perhaps even invites the Green Knight's challenge to Arthur's court. The magic she performs also mirrors King Arthur's own demise, possibly as part of a plan to get her son on the throne. Even in the far reaches of his journey, when Gawain comes across the castle, there's an old woman present who is blindfolded in the same manner as his mother during her rituals, suggesting that his mother's method of divination or spell-casting is not specific to her and her peers but scattered, known by many women across the land. The little girl in the post-credits scene who finds Gawain's crown also hints at an inheritance of power by girls and women. The lady of the castle, the one who takes the photograph, is learned and certainly seems to have some knowledge that neither Gawain (nor her fairly inconsequential husband) are privy to. And despite Guinevere's otherwise small role, when the Green Knight enters the king's court, it is her who delivers his message, not the Knight himself, which seemed to me to further prove that there was some connection between the Green Knight and Gawain's mother's circle of women. I would argue that girls and women are at the heart of this whole movie, influencing everything that happens, though it may not be apparent at first glance.

The central message of the story has also been changed to reflect more of the storytelling norms of our modern era as opposed to the structure of the original poem. At the time, the tale would have been told to audiences not as a story about a single man but as more of a moral fable intended to teach them something about how to be. These kinds of tales with morals still exist today, of course, and are now often blended with stories about an individual person's journey, but The Green Knight as a film is far more focused on Gawain as a single, specific man than stories of its time typically were. I am going to link to a Reddit comment that explains very eloquently how Gawain goes through five separate encounters that force him to face the five values of chivalry, because this person's analysis of the film in contrast to the original poem is very good and opened my eyes to a couple of things I had missed out on. As chivalry is really not something people follow to the letter anymore, at least not in the sense that it was followed during the Gawain poet's time, these five trials are used as moral building-blocks for Gawain as an individual instead of a lesson to to the audience about how to act. To transpose something originally written with a completely different aim into a format that modern audiences are familiar with and still not lose any of the feeling and symbolism shows that David Lowery has significant talent.