Tuesday, December 4, 2012

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.