Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster is the kind of movie that doesn't know what kind of movie it wants to be. It must be a kid's movie, because the protagonist is an annoying kid who idolizes Godzilla. Yet some scenes would be more at home in a horror film; as when crowds of people are asphyxiated and skeletonized by the smog monster's noxious emissions. At other times there are signs that this movie wants to be a drug fueled exploitation flick. There are weird cartoon sequences that seem inspired by Yellow Submarine, and at one point a character in a dance club starts hallucinating, for no apparent reason, that his fellow party-goers have paper Mache fish for heads.
There's also a perfunctory astronomy lesson with no real connection to the rest of the film, plus a shot where Hedorah, the titular Smog Monster, flies through a construction site, and the structure collapses, but with no sound. Was the recording track for scene damaged at some point? If that were the case, you would think the filmmakers could re-record the sound effects, or substitute a clip from the studio's library.
But I'm forgetting what this movie is all about, which is Godzilla- and the need to protect the environment. In 1971, when the film was released, this message had not yet become a cliché in children's movies. It was also a very relevant at a time when there was little to no regulation of factory emissions and hazardous waste disposal, and when rivers in downtown Cleveland could suddenly burst into flames.
But Godzilla makes a very odd environmental spokesman, to say the very least. When he first appeared in 1954's Gojira, he was the embodiment of the death and destruction that nuclear weapons could, and had, unleashed on Japan and on the world. Now however, he is Tokyo's savior, a completely benign figure who doesn't knock over a single building, even by accident. Godzilla doesn't always have to play the villain, but he should at least be an anti-hero, dangerous to man even when he's protecting us from other monsters.
Godzilla also makes one of his least dramatic entrances in this film. Instead of slowly rising from the sea, or bursting out of an iceberg, he ambles out of the sunrise as annoying trumpet music blares. Regrettably, this score will be repeated in most scenes where the big guy appears.
As for Godzilla's opponent, Toho has come up with one of its cooler ideas here. Hedorah is not a single organism, but rather colony of billions of rapidly splitting microorganisms. This means that it can change form at will, and can repair almost any damage suffered by producing new cells. Unfortunately, the idea just didn't work. What we end up with, at least in the monster's final form, is a giant, misshapen blob of rubber under which the actor can barely move.
This brings us to the battles between the monsters, usually the high point of any Godzilla film. Some of the earlier fights aren't too badly staged, but once Hedorah learns to fly, Godzilla's main tactic seems to be standing around and failing his arms angrily. And as for the final battle near Mount Fuji, having the military build a pair of giant electrodes to dehydrate the Smog Monster is a fairly good idea, since by this point it's clear that Godzilla can't do it on his own.
But why oh why did this have to mean a protracted sequence in which our hero rips apart his now helpless opponent piece by piece (twice!), to make sure that every drop of moisture is evaporated? Wouldn't it have been more effective for Hedorah to instantly dry out and crumble to dust, like a vampire exposed to sunlight? This isn't Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster, it's Godzilla vs. the giant mud pie.
There's also the question of how Godzilla knew the purpose and operation of the electrodes, and why his atomic breath provided power to them, rather than blasting them to bits like everything else it touches. But this isn't where our suspension of disbelief is really tested.
I mentioned earlier that Godzilla had to go through the process of drying out Hedorah twice. This is because the first time, there proves to some life still left in the blob of filth, and its prior flying form escapes into the sky. So how does Godzilla catch up to his rival and bring him back? Simple, he flies after him. That's right; Godzilla actually flies by using his atomic breath as a form of jet propulsion. This may be the single most ridiculous sequence in the history of Japanese cinema.
I'm not recommending that no one ever see this movie. It achieves a sort of campy grandeur, almost to the point of being so bad that it's good. I would suggest viewing this film just once, so you can gawk in amazement at its sheer awfulness. Or, if that's too much for you, just type in "Godzilla flies" on YouTube. You won't be disappointed by the result.
There's also a perfunctory astronomy lesson with no real connection to the rest of the film, plus a shot where Hedorah, the titular Smog Monster, flies through a construction site, and the structure collapses, but with no sound. Was the recording track for scene damaged at some point? If that were the case, you would think the filmmakers could re-record the sound effects, or substitute a clip from the studio's library.
But I'm forgetting what this movie is all about, which is Godzilla- and the need to protect the environment. In 1971, when the film was released, this message had not yet become a cliché in children's movies. It was also a very relevant at a time when there was little to no regulation of factory emissions and hazardous waste disposal, and when rivers in downtown Cleveland could suddenly burst into flames.
But Godzilla makes a very odd environmental spokesman, to say the very least. When he first appeared in 1954's Gojira, he was the embodiment of the death and destruction that nuclear weapons could, and had, unleashed on Japan and on the world. Now however, he is Tokyo's savior, a completely benign figure who doesn't knock over a single building, even by accident. Godzilla doesn't always have to play the villain, but he should at least be an anti-hero, dangerous to man even when he's protecting us from other monsters.
Godzilla also makes one of his least dramatic entrances in this film. Instead of slowly rising from the sea, or bursting out of an iceberg, he ambles out of the sunrise as annoying trumpet music blares. Regrettably, this score will be repeated in most scenes where the big guy appears.
As for Godzilla's opponent, Toho has come up with one of its cooler ideas here. Hedorah is not a single organism, but rather colony of billions of rapidly splitting microorganisms. This means that it can change form at will, and can repair almost any damage suffered by producing new cells. Unfortunately, the idea just didn't work. What we end up with, at least in the monster's final form, is a giant, misshapen blob of rubber under which the actor can barely move.
This brings us to the battles between the monsters, usually the high point of any Godzilla film. Some of the earlier fights aren't too badly staged, but once Hedorah learns to fly, Godzilla's main tactic seems to be standing around and failing his arms angrily. And as for the final battle near Mount Fuji, having the military build a pair of giant electrodes to dehydrate the Smog Monster is a fairly good idea, since by this point it's clear that Godzilla can't do it on his own.
But why oh why did this have to mean a protracted sequence in which our hero rips apart his now helpless opponent piece by piece (twice!), to make sure that every drop of moisture is evaporated? Wouldn't it have been more effective for Hedorah to instantly dry out and crumble to dust, like a vampire exposed to sunlight? This isn't Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster, it's Godzilla vs. the giant mud pie.
There's also the question of how Godzilla knew the purpose and operation of the electrodes, and why his atomic breath provided power to them, rather than blasting them to bits like everything else it touches. But this isn't where our suspension of disbelief is really tested.
I mentioned earlier that Godzilla had to go through the process of drying out Hedorah twice. This is because the first time, there proves to some life still left in the blob of filth, and its prior flying form escapes into the sky. So how does Godzilla catch up to his rival and bring him back? Simple, he flies after him. That's right; Godzilla actually flies by using his atomic breath as a form of jet propulsion. This may be the single most ridiculous sequence in the history of Japanese cinema.
I'm not recommending that no one ever see this movie. It achieves a sort of campy grandeur, almost to the point of being so bad that it's good. I would suggest viewing this film just once, so you can gawk in amazement at its sheer awfulness. Or, if that's too much for you, just type in "Godzilla flies" on YouTube. You won't be disappointed by the result.