Two years after Godzilla destroyed Tokyo and a few months after he came to American shores, Ishiro Honda directed another great kaiju (Japanese giant monster) film, 1956’s Rodan. Designed to one-up Gojira, Rodan is a bigger film than its inspiration in many ways. The sets are more expansive. There are more monsters, and, of course, one of them can fly. It’s shot in glorious technicolor instead of stark black and white. But attempting to top a film like Gojira is rarely anything but a fool’s errand. It may be bigger, but it certainly isn’t better.
The things that were designed to make it a bigger, more impressive movie keep Rodan from being as good as Gojira. The gigantic miniature sets (yes, I just said “gigantic miniature”) look less charming and more like something out of a Lionel box. The other monsters distract from the destructiveness of Rodan itself, and when a second Rodan shows up in the last 15 minutes, it’s just plain confusing. The bright colors look beautiful, but highlight the obvious fakeness of any kaiju movie, from orange paint lava to the wires that let Rodan fly.
Rodan most noticeably lacks the two things that really made Gojira a great movie. For one thing, the drama in Gojira came not from the giant monster destroying Japan, but from the characters’ reactions to it. Godzilla not only tore cities apart, but families and friendships, too. We don’t see that as much in Rodan. In fact, there’s not much in terms of character development at all. There’s no clear hero, just whichever characters that happen to encounter or fight Rodan.
It’s also much less clear in its message than Gojira. Godzilla represents the consequences of our collective actions. Rodan represents, well, I’m not sure exactly. Maybe it’s nature striking back at humanity for what we’re doing to it. Maybe it’s the bomb. Maybe it’s just a big scary monster. That’s not to say that every movie needs a clear, apparent message, but where Gojira so effectively revealed the terrible power of the bomb without falling into preachiness, Rodan looks for its message like a drunk fumbling for a lightswitch in the dark. Its hands grab at global warming, nuclear power and other such evils, but never find exactly what they’re looking for.
Of course, there’s nothing wrong with that at all. Not every western can be The Searchers or The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Rodan may not be quite as smart as Gojira, but it’s a fun, intelligent sci-fi movie that stands the test of time. That’s a rare thing. It’s the Casino to Gojira’s Goodfellas, still a good movie but pale in comparison to one of the best examples of its genre.
In the introduction to this blog, I wrote about the fact that giant monsters embody the spectacle of film. Through the silver screen we see things we never even knew we could imagine. From Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat to Inception, movies have always been able to scare us, shock us, bring us joy, sadness and anger, and leave us out of breath. Rodan is just that kind of spectacle.
What Rodan lacks in clarity, development and cohesiveness, it makes up for in pure spectacle. At its best, it reminded me of an air show. We watch as a plane flies higher and higher, faster and faster, chasing down something bigger and faster. When Rodan turns and flies back at the jet, it evokes that same sense of danger we get from watching two planes hurtling toward each other at top speed, only this time there’s no pulling away, no acrobatic stunts, just a collision, a loss of communications, and a bloody helmet sitting on a desk in the next shot.
It’s hard to imagine what how watching something like this must have made someone feel in 1956. Today we’re so used to being able to see the impossible at the click of a mouse that seeing a few wires here and there can really tear apart our suspension of disbelief. Superman made wires look foolish in 1979, and today even that looks a little hokey. In 1956, though, I imagine seeing a monster fly through the air, even attached to wires, must have been amazing.
This leads me to the question that I always seem to have when I watch old sci-fi movies: what’s the difference between being a snapshot of a certain era and being dated? The two are not necessarily mutually exclusive, but while Rodan still looks great, even if obviously fake, The Giant Spider Invasion looks incredibly bad and obviously fake. How does 1933’s King Kong look so good while 1976’s King King looks so bad?
I’m not completely sure if there’s a real answer to this question, but I think the simplest answer is that directors directors like Honda and animators like Ray Harryhausen actually cared about their work, which translates into diligently designed and created monsters, well-used special effects, and cogent storylines. The people behind movies like Rodan understand what it takes to make a movie that’s not only successful but also respects its audience. Who cares if the monster looks kind of fake? I’m having a good time; nothing else matters.
