Godzilla: King Of The Monsters

Monsters are so in they’re out. The God-like Zillage was born in Japan, hung out in New York a few times, had a bunch of babies and scared the livings out of Mr and Mrs Normal and their American friends. The creature represented old fashioned shock and roar in those glory days before CGI cleaned up the universe and animation became sophisticated in a good way.

Godzilla had a nuclear makeover which adds to its horrorscope, like a living breathing suicide bomblette, dressed as an underwater grizzly bear.

This latest incarnation is fashionably confusing. The plot rots in its own historical juices. Zilla of the Gods rules the underworld (the underwater), or so we thought, but there are other beasties in contention like the three-headed dragons that have powers “beyond understanding”, which means they don’t make sense but get the job done.

Humans struggle against the logic of monstrosity and only pretend to understand what they’re doing. They have guns and a war mentality. Everyone and everything is attempting to wipe out the others, whoever and whatever they are. The clarity of a storyline has been discarded in favour of handheld muddle bundles of cinematic discord. In the oceans of long ago even the waves were blood red. You get prizes for comprehension. Nil points is popular.

Fans of the previous films will be disappointed by director Michael Dougherty’s dark palette and not knowing what is going on. An attempt has been made to give the film a sense of continuity but the general feeling is one of confusion. Godzilla came and stayed and discovered other predators. It’s a stand off/off/off.

You would give a week’s wages for a good book