Marketing Monsters: A Historiographical Analysis of King Kong vs. Godzilla

(Note: I originally wrote this essay for my Seminar in Cinema Studies class.)

            In film history, very few characters are as paradoxically simple and complex as the giant radioactive reptile Godzilla (known in his native Japan as Gojira) and King Kong, America’s immense gorilla. They are titans of amusement, colossal draws, and gigantic personifications of entertainment. Their names and likenesses are known internationally by children and adults alike; the giants adorn everything from posters and T-shirts to cups and comic books. Yet behind that fun layer of bubblegum, Godzilla and Kong are also enormously allegorical in a variety of ways. In Gojira (Toho Studios, 1954), Godzilla is a destructive dinosaur that has been mutated by the use of nuclear weapons; when looking at the proximity of Gojira’s release to the 1945 atomic bombings of the Japanese cities Hiroshima and Nagasaki by the U.S., it is clear that Godzilla represents the terrible destructive qualities of nuclear weaponry. He would return in a similar destructive role in Gojira’s 1955 sequel Gojira no gyakushu, known in the U.S. as Godzilla Raids Again. On the other hand, King Kong (RKO Pictures, 1933) revolves around the theme of humanity tampering with – and attempting to control – nature for the sake of consumerism, and dealing with the tragic results. After all, Kong is kidnapped from his island home by a band of profit-hungry animal poachers led by Carl Denham – an entrepreneur with aspirations of glory and avarice – all in the name of spectacle and income. Interestingly, the themes of these two films are cut from the same cloth, as both of them are essentially cautionary tales that question humanity’s feelings of superiority and entitlement where the exploitation of nature is concerned. Alternatively, while the themes may be similar, they are also distinct to their respective cultures: for nuke-wary Japan, Godzilla is basically a walking atomic bomb, his own mutated state the result of prolonged exposure to radiation; in capitalist America, Kong is a wild animal seized from his home for the sake of personal profit and acclaim.

This cultural dichotomy becomes especially interesting when the film King Kong vs. Godzilla is taken into account. First released in Japan in August 1962 as Kingu Kongu tai Gojira (it was released in the U.S. almost a year later) with Gojira director Ishiro Honda at the helm, King Kong vs. Godzilla was the first and last time the two iconic monsters would meet on the big screen. The film was initially conceived by King Kong stop-motion animator Willis O’Brien in the form of a second Kong sequel – the first sequel, Son of Kong, was released nine months after the original (Morton 120). The film’s concept was altered several times before becoming King Kong vs. Godzilla, with the initial idea involving Kong battling an overgrown Frankenstein’s Monster. Over time, the battle concept remained the same, but Kong’s opponent did not: Frankenstein’s Monster gave way to a beast composed of animal parts, which then was changed into a being called Prometheus. Finally, the idea fell into the hands of Toho Studios in the early 1960s, and King Kong vs. Godzilla was born.

The Communal Nature of Loneliness: An Analysis of the Dual Openings of Ghost World

(Note: I originally wrote this essay for my Film Adaptation course in college.)

 Many people have experienced life-altering changes, and one change that we must all undertake is adolescence. An unavoidable, multi-pronged fork in the road, adolescence is never an easy transition for anyone; the onset of adulthood is relentless in its mission to transfer us from dependence to the personal responsibility of independence. The uncanny tug-of-war between the familiar and the unknown creates an unlikely mixture of confusion, excitement, fear, and anticipation – or lack thereof – for what the future holds. Some of us are able to overcome this obstacle and grow into some degree of personal equilibrium; others, however, become stuck in limbo, a psychological purgatory between the child and adult forms, or some other state of arrested development. Being caught in this limbo is paradoxically isolating for people. There are so many who experience this adolescent loneliness, yet despite the community of misery, there is no comfort.

The characters in Terry Zwigoff’s film Ghost World (2001) and its source material, a graphic novel by Daniel Clowes are caught in this quagmire. Clowes also wrote the screenplay for the film, so it is interesting to see how the cinematic and literary versions enter into a dialogue. There are similarities and differences, but what is truly important is the overall message that the two works are trying to convey. The film contains many of the scenes that exist in the graphic novel, but as A.O. Scott mentions in his review, “Mr. Zwigoff and Mr. Clowes … have added new, sharper story lines and fashioned a tighter narrative framework. Mr. Zwigoff’s unhurried editing and his subtle sense of composition approximates Mr. Clowes’s clean, quiet, black-and-white drawings without seeming arch or arty” (2). The film’s story may be “sharper” and “tighter” but it is on an overall equal standing with the book, and it is these subtle differences that give the works their identities; these variances allow us to participate in the intertextual conversation.

The Female's Role in "From Russia with Love"

The other day, I finally had the chance to watch From Russia with Love, which has been exalted by many James Bond fans as one of the best entries in the franchise’s filmography, if not the best. Released in 1963, From Russia with Love stars the highly esteemed Sean Connery as Agent 007 and features a wild assortment of outlandishly entertaining sequences, such as a frantic shootout inside of a gypsy camp, an explosion-laden boat chase, and a brutal fistfight aboard a passenger train. To quote the series’ beloved character Q, From Russia with Love comes equipped with “all the usual refinements”: cloak-and-dagger espionage, colorful allies, dangerous villains, evil organizations, and – of course – gorgeous women.

Tatiana Romanova (Daniela Bianchi)

Even though I consider myself a fan of the Bond films, I won’t even attempt to pass off the franchise’s penchant for sexism as mere innocent fun. I freely admit that James Bond is a pig, and for better or worse, that is part of the reason why he has become such an icon. Do I condone sexism? Absolutely not, but I can’t condemn a film based solely on one factor, however glaring it may be. Like any good film critic, I like to dissect characters in order to better understand them; in the case of James Bond, I believe that the character’s dual nature as both a paragon of heroism and a flag-waver of sexism makes him a very important part of film history. I can’t fully condemn Bond for his objectification of women because, quite frankly, I inexplicably still root for him regardless. Just because Bond is a womanizer, I just can’t bring myself to dislike him, and this begs the question: why not? I consider myself a feminist, yet here I am, defending a sexist character. I think that the answer lies within the character as a whole: everyone has a dark side that some may view as unpleasant, while others may extol it as an admirable trait. A more recent character like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo’s Lisbeth Salander, for example, is praised by many critics and moviegoers as a feminist hero, an independent woman who refuses to yield to the expectations of men, yet she does deplorable things like hacking private information and setting people on fire. The morals of Salander’s actions are questionable, yet people continue to root for her, just as they do for James Bond.

That said, I became intrigued with the way that women are portrayed in From Russia with Love. Are they all objectified and/or stereotyped for the viewing pleasure of men? Did their characters serve to “program” women at the time of the film’s release as a way for men to dissuade the idea of an independent woman? The answer is not so cut-and-dry. Take, for example, the character Tatiana Romanova: she’s a very beautiful lady, and her job as a Russian spy places her in an occupation roughly equal to James Bond’s. Throughout the film, however, Romanova is used by both MI6 and SPECTRE alike as a passive commodity: she is, after all, the key to obtaining the Lektor, a Russian code machine sought by both sides. Further, Romanova basically serves the traditional role of Bond Girl, arm candy for Bond to focus his sexual energy, yet she is unlike more assertive Bond Girls like Pussy Galore (Goldfinger) and Jinx (Die Another Day). Romanova’s powerful role as a spy is reduced to that of a submissive decoration, one that serves more as the film’s MacGuffin rather than a fully realized, multi-layered character. An example of this occurs during the scenes on the passenger train: posing as husband and wife, Bond and Romanova settle down in a train compartment with the Lektor safely in their possession. Her role as the key to obtaining the Lektor complete, Romanova is now nothing more than a sparkly bauble for Bond to keep hidden away in the compartment, which is now more of a glorified safe than a place of comfort.

Rosa Klebb (Lotte Lenya)

By contrast, the spidery SPECTRE agent Rosa Klebb serves as the femme fatale, yet her unattractive physical appearance denies the male gaze in favor of obtaining a more villainous quality. Further, the film seems to utilize Klebb’s implied homosexuality as a way to establish her as “Other” and therefore more threatening, as suggested by the mission briefing scene with Romanova. Dressed in a very masculine-looking military uniform, Klebb threatens Romanova with death if she refuses to accept her orders. Later, Klebb compliments Romanova on her body, lightly touching her hand on the younger woman’s shoulder and entering Romanova’s personal space. In addition to creating a threatening aura, Klebb’s implied lesbianism places her in the same position as the heterosexual male viewer, a vehicle for male desire to “interact” with the desirable Romanova. However, this also feeds into Klebb’s villainous qualities because the heterosexual male may be repulsed by having found common ground with such an uncanny, undesirable woman.

There is much more to discuss about the female’s role in From Russia with Love, as it is a fascinatingly deep movie in political and psychological ways. I fully intend to return to this idea and flesh it out further. As for now, I hope this entry got a few gears turning in your heads.

Review: The Thing (2011)

The Thing (2011)
Director: Matthijs van Heijningen Jr.
Starring: Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Joel Edgerton

After ignoring The Thing’s theatrical debut this past October and procrastinating about viewing it as a rental, I finally succumbed to my curiosity over spring break. Being a fan of the 1982 version by John Carpenter, I fully expected to be disappointed by this new incarnation. Lo and behold, my expectations held true: the remake doesn’t hold a candle – let alone a flamethrower – to Carpenter’s version.

            

Directed by Matthijs Van Heijningen Jr. (Red Rain), Thing ‘11 is actually a prequel to the Carpenter version, and therein lies the film’s greatest strength. Fans of the 1982 masterpiece will chuckle quietly to themselves as they notice the little nods to the plot’s source material; it’s obvious that the filmmakers took special care with tiny details so that the events of this version line up with the story established by Carpenter’s version. Corpses fall precisely where they are found in Thing ’82, and it is admittedly quite creepy watching the dog-thing escape near the film’s end, seamlessly transitioning to the superior story of Thing ’82.

            

Additionally, the set-design and lighting are reasonably well done. Much like its predecessor, the interior sets of Thing ’11 are dark and spooky, their darkness broken only by the cold blues and whites of fluorescent lights that mirror the bleak tundra outside. Whether inside the compound or out in the snow, the movie does a good job in maintaining the feeling of utter helplessness established in Thing ’82. As a result, you never believe that the characters are safe, and expect a nasty surprise at every corner.

Unfortunately, the film’s careful focus on mise-en-scene is derailed by the fact that Thing ’11 is a fairly mundane horror-thriller that can’t seem to establish its own identity. Many of Thing ‘82’s story elements, such as the cerebrally terrifying blood test, have been cannibalized and retreaded by Thing ’11. Instead of burning blood with a heated wire, the protagonist Kate Lloyd – played with robotic zeal by Scott Pilgrim’s Mary Elizabeth Winstead – grabs a flashlight and checks each person’s mouth for fillings to determine which person is actually the monster; the logic behind this being that the creature can’t replicate non-organic material. A decent twist, but the tension is destroyed by the absurdity of Kate dutifully checking teeth like a militant dentist searching for rogue cavities rather than hunting for a shape-shifting alien. “So, I’m gonna die because I floss?” asks Finch, a camp resident who’s sarcasm reflects the cartoonish feel of what is supposed to be a pivotal scene.

            

Speaking of Kate Lloyd, I applaud the effort by Thing ‘11’s makers in having a female protagonist who isn’t subjected to a barrage of breast jokes and sex scenes. Kate eventually becomes hell-bent on alien-slaying, and her gusto would make Ellen Ripley beam with pride. Beyond the character’s resolve and sexual neutrality, however, there is little to nothing of value at all; Kate’s dialogue is hardly engaging and Ms. Winstead’s acting is as stiff as a frozen cadaver. In light of the film’s place as a cultural product of the twenty-first century, it seems as though Thing ‘11’s filmmakers failed to create a convincing analogue for the R.J. MacReady character in Thing ’82. Kate Lloyd is an ambitious, intelligent young woman, but Ms. Winstead isn’t convincing in the role. While the MacReady character isn’t exactly Charles Foster Kane, Kurt Russell certainly fits the role well enough to disappear into the character, something that Winstead couldn’t deliver. Granted, the writing was rather abysmal, so it may not have been completely her fault.

            

The creature itself constantly teeters on the edge of acceptability and complete ridicule. The CGI Thing looks like something out of a bad computer game and the fact that it is seen so often and clearly throughout the film is detrimental to its terrifying nature; the main reason why the Carpenter monster is so damned scary was because you hardly ever see it in its true form, and when you do, the disgustingly contorted look of its ever-changing body flash-freezes you into a glacier of terror - and this monster is actually a puppet, mind you. While on the topic of embarrassing CGI, one scene involving the Thing attacking some researchers on a helicopter is especially laughable: as the chopper spins out of control, the CGI model is so awful that it wouldn’t be out of place in a SyFy channel b-movie.

The sub-par CGI of The Thing's (2011) titular monster.

For the gore-hounds, Thing ’11 does deliver a moderate amount of blood and viscera. One scene has a hapless researcher being ripped off of his feet and whisked away under a porch, resulting in an explosive splash of hemoglobin and stomach-turning pain-shrieks. Later, Kate exposes another researcher as an imposter, prompting a revolting transformation from human form into a gaping, incisor-laden mouth with legs. The special attention to exorbitant gross-outs is where Thing ’11 could have succeeded as a semi-passable sci-fi horror flick, but there is too little of these transformations and too much terrible CGI to pull it off.

One can argue that it’s a bit unfair to compare the new Thing to the superior Carpenter version; after all, aren’t remakes meant to be aimed at a new, younger audience? I say that since it is billed and shot as a prequel and not a remake, then comparisons are not only fair, but also necessary. Thing ’11 is an admitted addition to the canon established by Carpenter’s Thing twenty years ago, and it’s a rather poor addition at that.

[Revised on 4/26/12]

Rider Film Symposium: A Reflection

Rider University’s Film Symposium has come and gone, and now I feel that it’s appropriate to reflect upon the discussions that transpired during this superb two-day event. For those readers who are unfamiliar with the Film Symposium, it is an annual film event that requires both faculty and students to come together and show and discuss a variety of films. Each year, the Symposium takes on a different film genre as its central theme. In 2010 – my first experience with the event – horror films like The Exorcist were the main showcase, while 2011 saw the Symposium turn its focus toward independent films, such as Tarnation. This year, the Symposium’s think-tank decided that it would be a nice gesture to honor the Liberal Arts and Sciences department’s 50^th birthday by celebrating the cinematic offerings of 1962.

Like many of my Seminar in Cinema Studies classmates, I personally participated in a panel involving a motley crew of ’62 staples: Cape Fear, The Sword in the Stone, Gypsy, King Kong vs. Godzilla, and of course Dr. No. Being a big Godzilla fan, I naturally presented on King Kong vs. Godzilla. In retrospect, I must say that being a part of a panel is quite exhilarating; I felt that each of my co-panelists had something unique and fascinating to say about their respective movies. As I listened to their presentations, I noticed that we all seemed to automatically acknowledge the 1960s as a milestone of change for not only the world, but in film as well. I find it intriguing that many people, especially of this generation, see the 1960s as synonymous with the idea of great change. With that in mind, each film that was showcased in the panel exhibited some radical shift within the plot or during the creation process. For example, Danielle’s presentation on The Sword and the Stone centered on the film’s animation style and how it reflected the changing ideologies of Walt Disney Productions at the time. Disney’s neglect of The Sword and the Stone’s drafting and coloring not only marked a change for the studio, but also for the rest of the industry, as many competitors imitated the animation style.

The idea of change can also be applied to film critic Dr. Gerald Peary’s keynote address and the subsequent roundtable discussion. An English major at Rider in 1962, Peary explained during his speech his belief that film today has taken a creative nose-dive, and as a result, the current generation does not actively seek out variety in the films that they watch; foreign films are especially neglected by youngsters due to the lack of diversity in America’s movie theaters. Instead of movie dates to current offerings like Michael Bay’s Transformers series, Peary said that it was once hip and “sexy” for young couples to go and see films by directors like François Truffaut. Additionally, Peary said that there are little to no options when it comes to deciding what to see at the local multiplex, since television and internet ads only serve to promote the same dull action films. I tend to agree with a lot of what Dr. Peary said; when it comes to movies (as well as a great many other things), this generation is practically brainwashed by marketing tactics and the movie studios’ vertical integration of theaters.

I think that Peary would agree with Charles Taylor’s assessment of the general public attitude toward film critics. In regard to the masses of amateur film critics on the internet, Taylor says that “not only was film criticism in better shape in the print era, but good work stood a greater chance of making an impact” (1). As a result, Taylor believes that “what a critic actually thinks about the movie is often drowned in the ongoing publicity deluge” (1). I, however, tend to disagree with Taylor; I think that the accessible nature of the internet allows for people to become exposed to films of better quality, especially through the methods of social networking. The problem that I think Taylor, Peary, and I would agree on is the capitalist stranglehold that Hollywood has on movie theaters. If vertical integration could be eliminated today, much like it was in the 1948 Supreme Court case United States vs. Paramount Pictures, Inc., only then could American audiences be treated once again to the wonderful assortment of films that the world has to offer.

So there you have it: the Symposium did its job. Any good discussion will lead one to ponder topics that are too often ignored in this roaring age of speed and demand. It is through events like the Rider University Film Symposium that we can embrace the magic and beauty of motion pictures while also guarding ourselves from the seductive qualities of profit and fluff.

Introduction / Quick Review: Hӓxan

A still from Hӓxan (1922)

Ah yes, blog entry number one: it’s like the first day of class, where you nervously introduce yourself to your equally tense classmates, all in the spirit of educational brotherhood. As with most of my class introductions, I’m struggling with what to say. I can debate movies with little difficulty, yet I find it difficult to quickly sum up even the minute details about my major, minor, favorite ice cream, job motivations, what have you. I’ve always been slow to warm up to new things, but once I do, I get it done, so to speak. So in the spirit of this assignment, allow me to introduce myself and with any luck, I’ll be spouting off about the very thing that brought you here to begin with: films!

I’m Billy Goodheart and I’m a senior in my final semester at Rider University in Lawrenceville, New Jersey. I’m studying English with a concentration on writing, with a minor in Film and Media Studies. I think that you’ll find this blog to be a worthwhile read because I can analyze a movie in the abstract sense as well as examine the technical aspects. I’m fascinated with compelling characters and storylines, innuendos, gender roles, and other traits of films that require a little sleuthing in order to fully appreciate. That’s not to say that I’m a snob who despises so-called “shallow” movies; for every Rashomon I also enjoy a Freddy Got Fingered.

That said, I do enjoy films that are off-kilter, that travel away from the beaten path. Case in point: I recently watched Hӓxan, a Swedish silent film from 1922. Created by Benjamin Christensen, Hӓxan – which is Swedish for “the witch” – is a faux-documentary about the history of witchcraft. Split into seven chapters, the film uses a multitude of artwork, vignettes, and special effects that effectively create one of the most atmospheric and interesting films that I’ve ever seen. Each chapter gives a stand-alone lecture or story about witches: one chapter explains the powers of witches while another reveals – with some gruesome close ups – how to tell if someone is a witch.

Upon its release, Hӓxan was banned and censored in many countries, including the United States, which comes as no surprise considering the movie’s hefty helping of demonic imagery, nudity, possession, and torture. Of course, the horror and naughtiness depicted in Hӓxan generally seems pretty tame by today’s standards, but the visuals can still pack a punch ninety years later. I found myself particularly disturbed by the torture scenes involving an allegedly innocent old woman being interrogated by a cruel inquisitor; the close ups of the woman’s face shown in the stark contrast of black and white made her pleas and eventual confessions seem very convincing and real. Also, the set design and costumes are fantastic and recall imagery from such horror masters as H.P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allen Poe, to name but a few. The special effects are quite sophisticated for the time, as Christensen makes use of camera tricks such as playing film backwards and superimposition so that Hӓxan is especially persuasive in the pursuit of credibility.

I enjoyed the movie so much that I immediately purchased a Criterion copy from my job (I work at a record/movie store). Hӓxan is so utterly unique that I believe every student of film should see it. Further, I think a case can be made that the film should be added to the curriculum of one of Rider’s many film classes. Wink wink, Dr. Lucia.

Review: The Social Network

The Social Network (2010)
Director: David Fincher
Starring: Jesse Eisenberg, Justin Timberlake, Andrew Garfield

Facebook Face To Face

When we sit down at our computers in the morning, our hair disheveled, with a thunderous bowlful of Rice Krispies, what do we do next? That’s right, we head straight for the internet and – more than likely – any number of websites that connect us in some way with our fellow earthlings. Chances are that one of the stops on our internet itineraries will be Facebook, the social networking site that we have all helped to develop into a worldwide phenomenon. However, like the human race trapped in The Matrix, we tend not to ask questions of where the things we use in our daily lives come from. Facebook falls into that list of cherished pieces of our lives; it is hard to imagine a world without the internet, let alone Facebook. There are incredible stories behind even the most common – and essential - facets of our culture, and the same goes for our beloved Facebook. Behind the friend count competitions, the ridiculous cat memes and the half-naked pictures of our favorite drunk coed Sally is a fascinating origin tale that is worthy of a superhero - or super villain, depending on who you ask. That, my dear friend counts, is the spirit of director David Fincher’s 2010 cinematic splash The Social Network.

While the film takes many creative liberties with the story of Facebook mastermind Mark Zuckerberg (fittingly played by Jesse Eisenberg) and his rise to ten-digit immortality, The Social Network is by no means an unwatchable pile of bloated hyperbole and special effects. Instead, David Fincher presents us with a film that oozes charisma and atmosphere, created in no small part by the witty, pistol-quick dialogue and dead-eye acting. The set designs are carefully drab, underplaying the glamorous associations with such idealized places as Harvard and Beverly Hills. These elements help to draw us into Zuckerberg’s world, one that thrives on gossip, greed, betrayal, sex, and everything else in the Sean Parker (Justin Timberlake) handbook…. wait a minute, that sounds an awful lot like the real world, doesn’t it? The Social Network is completely self-aware, calling into question everything that is presented at face value, including the superficiality of social networking and even us.

Even the soundtrack, composed by Trent Reznor (Nine Inch Nails) and Atticus Ross is an exercise in artificiality; the keyboards weave an intricate (world-wide) web of ear candy, featuring a plethora of beeps and boops mixed with icy flourishes of piano and guitar. This sonic formula, although unorthodox for a “young person rises to the top despite an x number of setbacks” movie, perfectly captures the heart of The Social Network’s story as it glides throughout the scenes, always present and poignant, but never distracting.

On the whole, The Social Network does not necessarily break any boundaries in terms of plot, nor is it the first film to question a staple of American culture, but it does not have to. The film takes what many films attempt to do and does it much better, and it is sure to create a buzzing discussion over French fries and coffee at many a restaurant or living room…. and quite a few Facebook status updates as well.


(Written originally for Professor Sullivan's Workplace Writing and Review class)