Godzilla vs. King Ghidorah, Part One: Introduction

Beginning my weeklong series examining this 1991 Godzilla monster/time travel/cyborg/political philosophy epic.

One of my projects for this blog is to watch through and comment on the series of Godzilla films that were released between 1984 and 1995, known as the Heisei Series. You can see my post on the first of these films, Return of Godzilla (Koji Hashimoto, 1984). Unfortunately the second film, Godzilla vs Biollante (Kazuki Ōmori, 1989) isn’t readily available, and it’s been years since I’ve seen it. So I have to skip to Godzilla vs King Ghidorah (Kazuki Omori, 1991), the third film.

Movie  Poster

A difficulty in thinking about Godzilla vs King Ghidorah is understanding just what this movie is trying to be. It is not the carefully crafted work of a filmmaker with a personal vision, the way that Ishirō Honda’s 1954 Godzilla was — or Hideaki Anno’s 2016 Shin Godzilla. It is not the light children’s entertainment of the 1970’s movies. It is not the over the top craziness of Ryuhei Kitamura’s 2004 Godzilla: Final Wars.

By 1991 movies in the United States were in the era of the Hollywood science fiction blockbuster. Terminator, Predator, Alien, etc. had not only been big hits but spawned successful franchises. Everybody watched them, not just science fiction and monster fans. The Godzilla films of the 1980’s and 90’s tried to join in. With relatively bigger budgets, more serious tone, and less stylized visuals, they sought after the growing audience of viewers wanting spectacular fantasy and high intensity action. Godzilla vs King Ghidorah was made in 1991, seven years after a new series started up with 1984’s Return of Godzilla. That desire to emulate Hollywood filmmaking is evident. In Return, for instance, when there was a change of location, there would usually be an establishing shot, a subtitle of the location’s name, and possibly even a complete sequence of a character driving up, getting out of their car, and walking up to the entrance. Ghidorah just cuts rapidly between locations and times, assuming a modern viewer can keep up. The subject matter and visuals of popular American sci-fi films exert their influence here as well, particularly the Terminator franchise.

Godzilla vs King Ghidorah is trying to take two classic Toho monsters and work them into a 90’s sci-fi action film. We should look at the results with that goal in mind. But director and screenwriter Kazuki Omori does not abandon the history and fundamentals of what makes a Godzilla film. When Hollywood itself tried to take on the task, it stumbled badly with the 1998 Roland Emmerich Godzilla, seeming to think that Godzilla as a trademark, as a licensing property alone, was the source of his power. Godzilla needs to be more than that. For all the awkward Hollywood homages and attempts at imitating hit American films, Godzilla vs King Ghidorah remembers that Godzilla is always about something.

He appeared in 1954 as a metaphor for the dangers of the atomic bomb. By his second film he was more a natural disaster who could be mapped and forecasted, like a hurricane. In the 60’s and 70’s he became a superhero — and embodied a child’s fantasy for power and agency in a world where he literally didn’t fit. Later series found even more ideas and symbols to embody in his ever larger form. Godzilla is a radioactive Moby Dick, onto which people can endlessly project their own fears, obsessions, hopes, and nightmares. In Godzilla vs King Ghidorah several different characters have their own interpretations of what Godzilla is. They have conflicting philosophies about the world, particularly Japan’s place in the world, and look to Godzilla as to embody their beliefs.

In working on this essay I kept wondering why I had so much to say. While I find it entertaining, Godzilla vs King Ghidorah is not actually a very good movie. It’s not especially well written, has some cringingly bad scenes, and several major plot holes. But it always has something going on. Every scene has some idea or thought or resonance with Godzilla as a film franchise. It keeps trying to do things, visually and thematically. It fails as often it succeeds, but the attempts are worth watching and thinking about. Let’s look at how this movie unfolds and see what it has to say.

The Return of Godzilla

I first saw the movie that was then known as Godzilla 1985 during its original American theatrical run. The producers of this English language version did something that was both clever and ridiculous: just as Raymond Burr has been edited into the American release of the original 1954 Godzilla, he was now brought in to reprise his role as newspaper reporter Steve Martin and edited into this new film. In neither case does the character have much of anything to do with the actual story.

Move Poster

Released in Japan in 1984 as The Return of Godzilla (sometimes also with the title Godzilla 1984), Return was the first new Godzilla movie since 1975. It is significant for just being a new Godzilla movie, what we’d call today a “reboot” of the franchise, and the beginning of a new series of films that ran until 1995. It is presented as a sequel to the 1954 Godzilla, ignoring all the other movies since then. Which was a wise choice, since Godzilla movies had degenerated into low-budget children’s films of decreasing popularity.

And Return is not a film for children. The opening sequence is more like a British Hammer horror film with a gore spattered ghost ship, desiccated corpses, and blood sucking giant insects. The design of Godzilla is also fiercer and more threatening. His long sharp teeth are prominent and animatronics were used to give him a mouth that could sneer and snarl. While we don’t see him actually eat anybody, this is a Godzilla that looks you in the eye before smashing the building you are in or hurling your train car to the ground. The film is a rare one in the giant monster genre where Tokyo is not fully evacuated before Godzilla begins smashing it up. People get hurt and bleed in this movie. Not only is there mass destruction, we see corpses and witness individual deaths.

The human perspective on Godzilla is emphasized. His shadow looms over crowds and there are many shots looking up as he towers above puny humans. People are often shown with just Godzilla’s feet and huge claws (life-sized mechanical foot was built for some of these shots – it works about as well as you’d expect).

At the end of the first Godzilla film, the monster is definitively killed, reduced to dissolving bones. When Godzilla Raid Again was made in 1955, a character proclaims that this must be “another Godzilla” and the matter was never mentioned again. Here a scientist muses that Godzilla must be “immortal” and once more no one mentions it further. Godzilla’s 1954 rampage is part of history and is vaguely referred to. Many of the elder authorities and politicians featured must have actually lived through that attack, though their reaction aren’t as intense as one might expect.

I was surprised by the resemblance between this movie and the 2016 Shin Godzilla and would say this film was Hideaki Anno’s model for his own reboot. There is the prominence of onscreen announcements of locations and characters’ official titles. There are plenty of political meetings and planning sessions. Sequences of military operations and equipment are on display in detail. These frequently are elements in Godzilla movies but they get a lot of screen time here. What Shin Godzilla added was making meetings and internal politics the center of the film and ramping it all up to satirical proportions. Issues of Japan standing up against the rest of the world, particularly regarding the use of nuclear weapons come up in both films. The economic disruptions that a giant radiaoactive dinosaur could cause are at least mentioned.

Godzilla himself here also resembles the star of Shin Godzilla. He is not played by the long time actor Haruo Nakajima and has none of the usual sumo or professional wrestling stances from earlier films. He moves stiffly with arms uprasied, serpentine tail lashing behind him, again much like in Shin. This Godzilla is also taller than before, which is important for the environment he moves through. In 1954 Godzilla was gigantic against the Tokyo skyline. Now, even at 80 meters, many buildings in the heart of the city are taller than him, and Godzilla moves as if through cliffs and canyons. That he is able to blast through or knock over these structures only emphasizes his strength. By Shin Godzilla buildings were even taller, and so was Godzilla, over 118 meters, more than twice his height in 1954.

While overall this movie tries to make Godzilla the scary threat he was back in 1954, there are some shifts in tone and story that conflict with that goal. In his first few appearances in the film, Godzilla is portrayed as an animal seeking food — radiation in his case. He attacks an atomic submarine and comes to shore to absorb the energy of a nuclear power plant. He is most destructive though when he attacks Tokyo, no atomic power source in sight. He is actively seeking to destroy the works of mankind and, as I mentioned, stares down at us judgmentally as he does so. And then he is lured away from this seeming revenge by the artificial migration signal the humans have created, becoming an animal acting on instinct again. Other shifts include a comic relief bum stealing food, put into the middle of otherwise nightmare of devastation and death. Most of the film, again like Shin Godzilla, is realistic except for the existence of the monster — until a futuristic flying battle ship is introduced. The X-One deserves some recognition by actually defeating Godzilla. Its skilled crew and atomic dampening cadmium missiles would have won the day, if radiation hadn’t revived Godzilla after he’d be knocked out. In Shin Godzilla was also defeated using a similar approach. The strangest shift in tone occurs at the very end, after Godzilla has been sent plunging into a volcano. After a film full of Godzilla being a horrific walking disaster of death and chaos, characters look at his (presumed) death throes with sadness, and over the closing credits a mournful voice sings “Take care Godzilla, my old friend.”

A few thematic elements appear in the film, reminiscent of the ideas in the 1954 movie. Questions about the choice between personal desires and the greater good, about mankind throwing the natural order out of balance and birthing monsters that punish us. These don’t really go anywhere, unlike the first film where they were at its center. The main purpose of this film is to update the classic monster and have him join the wave of relatively high budget science fiction and adventure films that were filling theatres. In that it was a modest success, not a blockbuster, but beginning a new series of Godzilla films that would continue with Godzilla Vs Biollante in 1989. I saw that one in the movie theatre as well, and had it on laserdisc for awhile. Unfortunately it is out of print on DVD currently, so I will have to skip it in my plans to rewatch this era of Godzilla’s adventures.

Quick Thought: Watched This Weekend

Things I watched this weekend:

For Me and My Gal (Busby Berkeley, 1942)

I wasn’t too familiar with Judy Garland and Gene Kelly’s work together, but after seeing a clip of one of their numbers from this film I was quite interested in watching it. This was Kelly’s first film and Garland’s first role as an adult character. Berkeley’s direction is described as having “unusually elegant restraint.” That’s very true: no elaborate glittering sets constructed out of showgirls’ bodies.

I was surprised by the amount of emotional angst and drama in the story. I knew it involved World War I, yet was disconcerted by how much it became a pro-war film by the end. The movie was made during WW II, but even then was this a good way to rally patriotic support, with the message of ‘”We had such a grand time that last war, let’s do it again!”?

The Girl Who Leapt Through Time (Mamoru Hosoda, 2006)

In recent years there has been a trend in Japanese animated films of what I would call magical realism (though a literary scholar might object to my use of the term). Stories of ordinary people, often of middle or high school students, who have some extraordinary or magical event suddenly disrupt their lives. The Girl Who Leapt Through Time was one of this first that I heard about, with the style perhaps reaching its apex with Makoto Shinkai’s 2016 your name. I want to learn more about the history and context of films such as these, and see more of the work by Hosoda, Shinkai, and others.

Young Justice (DC Entertainment, Warner Bros. Animation)

A series long on my “to watch” list, I’m finally into the first season of this animated superhero saga. The tale of former kid sidekicks growing into adult heroes is historically the “Teen Titans,” both in comics and animation. This series sets itself apart from the history of that name. It is a separate continuity from the main DC Universe, and not based on any existing comic story, even while using classic characters from the original Teen Titans, such as Robin and Kid Flash. Newer characters such as Miss Martian and Conner Kent, along with an entirely new version of Aqualad are included as well. It is a serious adventure, with ongoing storylines and character development, influenced by the dramatic structures of Japanese animated series.

The show takes its audience seriously as well, believing viewers can follow events and situations that unfold over multiple episodes. And even while presenting new interpretations of established characters, it assumes anybody watching knows, say, who Lex Luthor is and why you shouldn’t trust him. It even takes a characters that are usually dismissed as jokes, such as Sportsmaster, and makes them a functional part of the world it is building.

The One With The Giant Lobster

I am pretty sure now that I have seen every Godzilla film at least once (I don’t count the 1998 Roland Emmerich film with Matthew Broderick; who does?). It is a little embarrassing from a nerd perspective that it has taken me this long. I don’t know why Ebirah, Horror of The Deep (Jun Fukuda, 1966), or Godzilla vs the Sea Monster as the English dub was called, was not part of the rotation of monster films on TV in my childhood. Son of Godzilla (Jun Fukuda, 1967) was another I didn’t see until much later in my life. Sequences of both those films are familiar though, as they were reused in a later film Godzilla, Minilla, Gabara: All Monster Attack (Ishirō Honda 1969), known in the US as Godzilla’s Revenge. Godzilla’s Revenge was shown on TV frequently, despite being a uniquely odd entry in the series, something I’ll return to later.

Movie poster

Overall the story of this film is a light children’s adventure. This film was originally intended to feature not Godzilla, but King Kong. The title of that version, Operation Robinson Crusoe: King Kong vs. Ebirah evokes the idea of a shipwreck adventure with dangerous creatures, colorful native people, and menacing pirates (specifically in this case a paramilitary organization making nuclear weapons). It wouldn’t really take much rewriting to not have any hero monster at all, but I guess it needed a “star,” and someone to have fights/wrestling matches with the giant lobster, Ebirah. Those battles, featuring impressive water (and underwater) special effects and monster suit work, are entertaining, but don’t actually add anything to the plot.

Knowing that Kong was originally intended explains the more monkey-like behaviors we see from Godzilla, such as throwing rocks and even sitting down and taking a nap at one point. This may be the only Godzilla movie where we see him sit down. There also a trace of a Fay Wray plot, where Godzilla ends up helping the humans after a pretty south sea island woman warns him about a giant eagle that attacks inexplicably at one point.

One fun element of watching Godzilla movies of this era is spotting the actors who show up in other films of the genre. Akira Takarada, Akihiko Hirata, and Kumi Mizuno are among the actors here who appear in many Toho Company studio monster films, though rarely if ever playing the same characters. Even Godzilla Final Wars (Ryuhei Kitamura, 2004) had many cameos by these performers. It is also always worth mentioning that Godzilla himself was played by the same actor, Haruo Nakajima in 12 movies from 1954 to 1972.

The Japanese titles of these movies are always much more dramatic than the English names they are given. Godzilla vs the Sea Monster is meh, Ebirah, Horror of The Deep is fine, but Godzilla, Ebirah, Mothra: Great Duel in the South Seas is even better. It was the seventh Godzilla movie made. Godzilla was well on his way to becoming more of a “good guy”, rather than a relentless embodiment of destruction as in his debut, but not quite the superhero he became by the 70s. Given that All Monster Attack, aka Godzilla’s Revenge, is literally a boy fantasizing about how to deal with a bully, one could make a case that the last six movies of this era are just stories made up by an imaginative child. I mentioned Godzilla’s Revenge was often on our local TV. It aired once with the first Godzilla film, a double feature our city newspaper described as:
Godzilla (1954): Giant rubber-suited monster destroys Tokyo. With Raymond Burr.”
Godzilla’s Revenge (1969): Giant rubber-suited monster destroys Tokyo. Without Raymond Burr.”

Here’s a delightful alternative poster for the movie from Zornow Must Be DestroyedZornow Poster

Godzilla Raids Again: beginning, break, rapid

After five decades of watching kaiju eiga — Japanese giant monster movies — there were still two Godzilla movies I had not seen. I just scratched one of those off, by watching the second Godzilla film produced, 1955’s Godzilla Raids Again.

Movie posterThe English dub of this film doesn’t even call him Godzilla. It is known as Gigantis the Fire Monster and the owners of the domestic version didn’t keep it in distribution, which is why I never is saw it on any of the late night or afterschool creature-feature shows on my local TV stations. Where I did just see the Japanese original was on, of all the places, the Criterion Channel streaming service. I have no idea why this movie is in their collection along with the works of Welles, Bergman, Kurosawa, etc. Godzilla Raids Again is not a good movie. Yet it has some interesting aspects worth considering, for the genre it helped create, and for styles of Japanese storytelling that go back to medieval times.

The film was produced in a rush after the success of the original Godzilla the year before. It is not even directed by Ishiro Honda, who was responsible for most of the classic “Showa” era Godzilla films of the 1960’s and 70’s. At least the special effects were handled by the legendary Eiji Tsuburaya, though even that aspect of the film is problematic. Some camera mechanical issues resulted in much of the monster action appearing sped up – rather than slowed down as one would expect, to increase the sense of scale. In spite of that there are actually some impressive special effects in the film, such as the crushing of Osaka, including its famous castle, beneath two wrestling kaiju. There are also some shots looking down on Godzilla from an airplane high above, which is not how the king of monsters is usually depicted. That these shots make him seem small and non-threatening is something I’ll return to later.

The plot of this film is mostly a slice-of-life about a fishing company and its employees – that just happens to have Godzilla as one of the issues they have to deal with. The economic impact of Godzilla is something that doesn’t come up often. The first issue this sequel has to deal with is that in its predecessor, the 1954 Godzilla, the monster was pretty thoroughly killed – we not only saw the body, we saw it dissolve into bones and then into nothing. This film’s solution? There’s another Godzilla. Enough said. And there’s second monster, Anguirus, who is identified as a type of dinosaur, the ankylosaurus. The film is unequivocal that Godzilla and Angurius are dinosaurs. As a dinosaur nerd myself it was amusing to hear the film’s experts go on and on about what a vicious and aggressive predator ankylosaurus was – since most any schoolchild could tell you that it should be included in the list of placid plant eating dinos. Anguirus, along with Godzilla II, is assumed awakened by H-bomb tests.

The movie has three acts that work more like three episodes of a serial, rather than one movie. The first act spends plenty of time introducing the fishing company and its two spotter pilots, Tsukioka and Kobayashi. They are the ones who discover the second Godzilla, already locked in combat with Anguirus. This film introduced the trope of Godzilla fighting other monsters, a main element in most subsequent movies of the franchise. Often there is a convoluted plot to get the kaiju brawling, but in this movie it just happens. Our two heroes barely escape to report their discovery.

The second act starts out with a lot of meetings and planning about what to do. Eventually a scheme is concocted to use flares to scare Godzilla away, should he come to shore. This is another tradition: making up an arbitrary weakness for Godzilla that are only mentioned for a short sequence and then forgotten. Bright lights are frightening because they remind him of the H-bomb test that awoke him..? Additionally the story has already forgotten that this not the same monster that attacked Tokyo the year before. That fact is never mentioned again in the franchise, as far as I know.

After much tracking and careful observations, everyone seems ready when Godzilla shows up at Osaka. Another trope introduced is the evacuation sequence. The first Godzilla was memorable for its scenes of injured survivors in makeshift hospitals suffering the consequences of the monster’s attack. The parallels with the devastation of World War II bombings being obvious. In subsequent films there is a requisite sequence where citizens are warned that monsters are coming and they need to flee. By the time buildings are crumbling and exploding, the city can be assumed empty. When this convention is ignored, as in Shusuke Kaneko’s Gamera trilogy, the results are brutal and shocking. In Godzilla Raids Again, while Osaka is reduced to flaming rubble, there are few signs of any causalities outside the military.

The meticulous plan goes awry when, first, escaping criminals accidently set an oil refinery ablaze, and then Anguirus happens to show up again. While humans watch helplessly, the monsters have their vicious rematch, destroying the city. Godzilla wins, biting and then incinerating Angurius. That’s it for the ankylosaurus (until an identical monster reappears in 1968’s Destroy All Monsters). Yet there’s still more movie to get through. That Godzilla’s main opponent is dead half way though the film is not the only odd thing about the story structure here.

In the third act, the fishing company has shifted its main operations to its northern offices, on the snowy island of Hokkaido. Pilot Kobayashi has settled in to his new assignment and is hoping to get married. Things seem to be going well — until Godzilla shows up again and sinks a fishing trawler. The pilots track him down to remote island and Kobayashi attempts to distract and delay the monster to give the military time to act. Sadly he is killed, but his plane crash revealing a possible means of finishing off Godzilla: trigger an avalanche and bury him in ice. The second pilot, Tsukioka, joins the military to avenge his friend.

Recently I have been thinking a lot about how Asian traditions of storytelling show up in works of popular culture. There is the four-act Kishoutenketsu dramatic structure, which I’ve mentioned some in these posts, but also there is the pattern of Jo-ha-kyū, which has origins in medieval Japan and 14th century Noh plays. When I watch something from Japan that has a puzzling structure, I try to think if I am looking at it from too Western a perspective. Godzilla Raids Again was a strange candidate for this approach, but it seems to have some application.

Roughly, Jo-ha-kyū is “beginning, break, rapid.” An example that comes to mind is the classic confrontation between samurai warriors which you see all the time in movies, manga, and anime. Rather than a prolonged duel of clashing blades, these fights tend to consist of two samurai appearing on the battlefield. They stare at each other, then slowly draw their katanas, taking a few steps, then building to a run. They pass each other, making a single slash with their swords. There’s a pause, and one falls dead. An introduction, a buildup to a crisis, and then a very swift resolution. Beginning, break, rapid. This is also the pattern of two cowboys gunslingers meeting for a showdown: one of the many reason why the cowboy and samurai genres intermix so well.

All three sections of this movie have slow introductions and build ups. We see a lot of how this industrial fishing operation works, from its airplanes looking for schools of fish, to the crews of the fleet, to the administrative structure of the company. Those are the “Jo” sections. These people are really just trying to do their jobs, but Godzilla keeps showing up and interfering with their production schedule. That’s the “Ha”: when the menace has made itself known and everybody has to plan how to deal with it. When Godzillas attacks come it is a sudden escalation of danger and destruction — “Kyū”

Some of the odd scenes in the movie have a clearer purpose when put into this structure. For instance in the third act, to celebrate the recovery of their business, the company has a sake drinking party at a local inn. While there, Tsukioka meets up with some old war buddies (now part of the Japanese Self-defense Force). The only narrative function of this long, complicated sequence is to reconnect him with his military friends so that, at the end, he can request to join them in their final assault on Godzilla. Nothing else actually happens in this sequence. It just shows the lives of these characters, going about their business — until the news of Godzilla upsets things. From a Western storytelling perspective it seems filler, something to give the movie feature film length, but as a “Jo” section it moderates the pacing, giving more emphasizing on ordinary life, contrasting the unnatural events to come.

This may sound like I am presenting this movie as having unappreciated value — but not really. Many plot events just happen at random. Basic facts shift as needed — is Godzilla frighted of lights, or attracted to flames? Why would barrels of burning oil drive off a giant radioactive dragon? In the final act Godzilla comes off as a hunted beast. Godzilla trapped in a valley, with snow covered mountains towering over him is a strange image. He seems more like a lost, out of place animal. One might think he is meant to be pitied, but no other element in the movie supports that.

The rush to start a series of Godzilla films in the 50’s did not go well. Godzilla Raids Again was not a big success. There would not be another until Ishiro Honda returned to direct the color King Kong vs Godzilla in 1962. The remaining Godzilla film I have yet to see is the 1967 Ebirah, Horror of the Deep, aka The One With the Giant Lobster.

Quick Thought: Whisper of the Heart

This week I had the treat of seeing the Studio Ghibli film Whisper of the Heart on the big screen, as part of the ongoing Ghibli Fest.

Whisper is a 1995 film directed by Yoshigumi Kondo, with script and storyboards by Hayao Miyazaki. It’s a small, very touching film about youth, love, and creativity. And it is a pretty good example of Kishōtenketsu story structure.

The film also is a fascinating portrait of urban life in Japan, with many real locations in the Seiseki Sakuragaoka neighborhood near Tokyo. The film is over 20 years old now, leaving me to wonder how much has changed. The lack of cell phones is striking of course, particularly given how important they are in contemporary stories, such as Makoto Shinkai’s your name.

Encountering the Unknowable in “Annihilation”

Major **Spoilers** for Annihilation, including the film’s ending.

From its description, I was expecting Alex Garland’s 2018 film Annihilation to be inspired by Andrei Tarkovsky’s 1979 film Stalker – and by extension Arkady and Boris Strugatsky’s novel Roadside Picnic. The story of the investigation of a strange zone where the normal laws of physics and biology are being distorted. While there are wonders to be found, just being in the zone is fundamentally corrosive. Whatever answers are within may be beyond human comprehension. And while Annihilation is those things, the heart of the story is much closer to H.P. Lovecraft’s “The Colour Out of Space.” I don’t mean that it’s an unacknowledged adaptation of “Colour,” but that it draws from a well of inspiration that Lovecraft established. Annihilation is to “Colour” in the same way that The Thing (both Howard Hawks 1951 and John Carpenter’s 1982 versions) is to Lovecraft’s 1936 novel At the Mountains of Madness. Those are two streams that flow through much of 20th and 21st century weird and horror sci-fi. Annihilation at times draws from both, but the fears it invokes are more deeply akin to “Colour.”

A problem bedeviling film adaptations of Lovecraft, or anything that takes inspiration from his stories of cosmic horror, is how to do you show “that which cannot be described”? That is, the truly alien, the thing that our senses cannot process, our brain cannot comprehend. Not just Lovecraft, but Arthur Machen, John Martin Leahy, Guy de Maupassant, and other horror writers have included such things in their written stories. Leahy’s 1928 story “In Amundsen’s Tent” is a tale of explorers finding a menacing creature of such a horrible and unspeaking nature that looking at it can damage one’s psyche beyond repair. Naturally no description is given of this form. In his At the Mountains of Madness Lovecraft vaguely describes a shoggoth, but he also presents a broken man, muttering the names of subway stations, since standing by a train rushing through tunnels is the closet experience he can relate to being near such a horror. The ultimate revelation in the novel is beyond even such a metaphor, as its observer can only mumble incomprehensible fragments. It is the effects of these experiences on their victims that communicates the horror. What can a visual medium do to convey that?

When John Carpenter made his 1982 movie of The Thing (keeping the situation closer to John W. Campbell’s 1938 “Who Goes There,” than Hawks did) practical special effects (pre-computer graphics) were able to put everything up on the screen to be clearly seen. Nothing much hid the flesh twisting, shape-changing creature of the title. It was horrifying, but this was body horror, revealing real things (the guts and blood of life) normally concealed. It went in the opposite direction from expressing the completely alien other.

Returning to H. P. Lovecraft, his “The Colour Out of Space” is one of the best presentations of the indescribable. It’s not even a thing, but an aspect, a color outside the spectrum of this reality, that corrupts and destroys by its very presence. Whether it has any sentience or goal is debatable. Maybe it is gathering strength for its journey across the cosmos, maybe it’s reproducing — maybe. There have been multiple film versions of this story. Daniel Haller’s 1965 Die, Monster, Die didn’t make use of the unearthly color, concentrating more on the radiation emitted by the meteorite that brought the alien entity to Earth. Huan Vu’s 2010 German language adaptation, Der Farbe, made a wise and effective choice: the film is in black and white, except for those things the Colour has pervaded, which appear as an eerie purple. Another adaptation starring Nicolas Cage was filmed in 2019 but is not yet released, so we will have to wait to see its approach.

The entity in Annihilation – which fell to Earth from space, as did both the Colour, and the Thing – has created an expanding zone, “The Shimmer”, within which Earth biology is being mixed and rebuilt. And it is spreading — and here differs from the Zones of Stalker, which have become part of the landscape. They can be sealed off and warded (like the area around Chernobyl) and there’s no reason for humans to even get involved with them if they didn’t choose to. The Shimmer has to be dealt with before it encompasses the planet (or so the military fears). Note here that I am just discussing the movie, and have not read Jeff VanderMeer’s “Southern Reach” trilogy of novels, the first of which was loosely adapted by the film.

While there is nothing truly unearthly within The Shimmer, biology is functioning under very different rules, and even human perception of time is not immune. Something is going on, but conventional reasoning cannot define it. Those who ultimately descend into madness seem closer to answers than the nominally sane. There is nothing even as definibly strange as the “Colour” (though color is strange with the Shimmer). The entirety of the environment is the indescribable alien throughout most of the film.

There is a center to it all, the point of contact where something crashed to earth and spawned the Shimmer, our ultimate encounter with “alien.” It is something unearthly and incomprehensible, the anagnorisis that both enlightens and destroys. We witness the breaking down and restructuring of a human form into what could be called a “womb” that manifest as a swirling, rolling, constantly changing fractal storm. While this is weird and beautiful and unsettling, the “womb” doesn’t quite succeed in being the incomprehensible. What I immediately thought of was high resolution photos of the human pupil. These are surprising complex with many layers of branching patterns and interlocking shapes. Is that a failure of visual design in the film? An attempt to show the alien that ends up reminding us of the very earthly? Something has to be depicted on screen, so we are back to the problem of creating a visual image that can match the challenge to depict the indescribable. The approach of using something that seems alien, but still has an aura of the earthly and familiar may be the only way to go.

Once you have, as much as possible, shown it, how do you depict the consequences on those that behold the truly unknowable? It is one thing to just say the victim is “driven mad.” The unfortunates who behold what is “In Amundsen’s Tent” can no more describe just how their human spirit has been broken than they can describe what broke them. It is through that broken function that our true fears seep in. Lovecraft’s terror of contamination, impurity, and decay is evident in what happens to those who encounter or are pervaded with the Colour. In “Who Goes There,” and Carpenter’s adaption of The Thing, the fear is replacement — that those we love or trust can be replaced without knowing it, and that even we can become the other, the alien. Annihilation takes that path in the end. Even before encountering the source of the Shimmer, the most shattering truth to be faced is a revelation of identity. Throughout the journey, the humanity of characters has been refracted away, and now even what appeared to be human must be doubted. In the Shimmer, life is mixed and transformed, but not consumed or decayed. There is talk, among the human explorers, of death and self-destruction, but what we witness is transmutation. Even violent death seems to lead to being broken down and remixed into something new.

What exactly happens at the end of film is open to debate, but the simplest interpretation is one that parallels The Thing. The goal of the alien force is replacement: the best way to adapt to the new environment of our planet is to become us. A difference is that “the Thing” appears to be clever, calculating, and at least as intelligent as the victims it consumes. As I mentioned above, the horror of Carpenter’s The Thing is very in your face; it is not a subtle film about implied terrors. The entity of Annihilation is closer to the Colour in that we don’t know if it has will or intent at all. That it acts to refract and mimic may be instinct, reflex, or even something more basic, such as a piece of RNA duplicating segments of DNA in a cell. The characters that exit from The Shimmer are probably no longer human, though with memories and impulses copied from the people that went in. Whatever they are, it is no longer possible for us to imagine what is going on inside their minds. When we can achieve a glimpse of the unknowable, the unspeakable, it has been through our empathy with those who have encountered it. After that there is only the lingering dread that Annihilation leaves us with, the horror of which comes when that path to empathy, or even to self understanding, has been cut off.