Slash And Burn

Monster In Translation: Godzilla and Gamera Come To America

Title: Godzilla, King of the Monsters
Japanese Title: Gojira
AKA: Godzilla
Directors: Ishiro Honda, Terry O. Morse
Actors: Raymond Burr, Takashi Shimura, Akira Takarada
Year Released: 1956
Genre: Kaiju
See Also: Gojira
Otaku Alert: US helmsman Terry O. Morse was a more prolific editor than director and his resume includes the great Robinson Crusoe on Mars.
Availability Note: Available as part of a double-disc set with the original Gojira.

Title: Gammera The Invincible
Japanese Title: Daikaiju Gamera
AKA: Gamera
Directors: Noriaki Yuasa, Sandy Howard
Actors: Albert Dekker, Brian Donlevy, Eiji Funakoshi
Year Released: 1966
Genre: Kaiju
See Also: Gamera
Otaku Alert: US director Sandy Howard went on to produce tons of genre pictures in the '70s and '80s, including the first two Angel movies and The Devil's Rain. Classy stuff.

It's the mid-1950s. You've just a great but depressing little subtitled Japanese movie called Gojira down at the Toho Theater in Los Angeles' Little Tokyo. As a producer, you know you can do something with it, but what? The monster stuff is great but the connection to the atom bomb is way too obvious. Also, there's nary a white face to be seen.

Solution: Godzilla, King of the Monsters.

A drastic re-cut of the original film, King of the Monsters is nothing short of bizarre. Rather than just dub the whole thing, cutting scenes as necessary, the US distributor decided to shoot an entirely new subplot featuring actor Raymond Burr, of Perry Mason and boxy suits fame. A journalist, Steve Martin (snicker), lands in Tokyo just in time for a newly awakened Godzilla to start his antics. Martin survives Godzilla's attack, sees the monster destroyed, and makes some pithy comments about the world being safe again. But it's the way in which the film was re-purposed that's just so weird, it bears exploring.

Rather than just insert scenes of Burr in different locations, parallel to the action of the original film, every effort is made to include him in the action. We go with Burr as he tags along with whatever the actors of the original film are doing. They act, the films cuts to Burr, who reacts, then we cut back to the original. However, the original is in Japanese. So we get people speaking Japanese (with no subtitles), a Japanese person explaining to Burr what they said, and then Burr commenting. This round robin style is thankfully not consistent and sometimes the Japanese actors are dubbed in English. Why this isn't maintained all the way through is a mystery. But when they are speaking in Japanese, we have to wait for Burr to get the translation. Thus, we wait with him. We are made to identify with him, which makes things all the more creepy.

Burr comes across as some kind of weird voyeur, smugly watching the goings-on, smoking his pipe and waiting for translation. He treats his translators in an odd way too. Remember, this is just a few years after the US occupation of Japan ended. His attitude is subtly patronizing and "father knows best." Often, the Japanese actors are made to appear as if they're asking Burr for advice, rather than any of the more qualified scientists or government officials in the film. Perhaps that's the way the American audiences wanted it to be.

Oddly enough, Toho released the American version in Japan. How odd would that be, watching Japanese conversations being translated into English, and then subtitled back into Japanese.

It's the mid-1960s. You've just seen a Japanese film about a giant, fire-breathing turtle called Gamera that's extremely reminiscent of Godzilla. Although lots of Japanese giant monster movies have been released in the US with few changes save dubbing, you decide that what your films really needs to captivate American teenage audiences is a bunch of old, white guys sitting around and arguing.

Witness Gammera The Invincible.

A trio of Soviet jets stray into US airspace over the arctic and are shot down. The nuclear bomb one of the jets is carrying explodes, releasing the giant turtle Gammera, who makes a bee-line for Japan, eats fire, almost kills and then inexplicably saves an annoying kid in short-shorts with a turtle fixation, and is then shot into space, from which he returns for another 10 or so sequels.

Pretty standard kids' kaiju fare by the mid-'60s. Daei did the best with what they had, which wasn't much compared to Toho and its genius special effects wizard, Eiji Tsubaraya. But really, was it worth the American distributor the trouble and money to shoot a bunch of new scenes and stick them into an already full-length Japanese movie? Apparently so.

I like to think the lunch meeting at the Brown Derby went like this:

Suit #1: I don't know, this Gamera thing looks like a piece of crap. How can we liven it up?
Suit #2: How the hell should I know? What are the kids into these days anyway, surfing and go-go dancing? Can't we just put some go-go girls over the opening credits like everyone else and be done with it?
Suit #1: Sure, we could, but what I think the kids really, REALLY want to see in a giant monster movie is third-tier actors arguing. You know, the kinds with too much Brylcreem and jowls that hang over their stiffly starched white-collar shirts.
Suit #2: That's funny, Bob. But really, what should we do?
Suit #1: I wasn't joking, Randal. It's my wife Brenda with the dough to release this POS, so I say what goes.
Suit #2: Jeez, Bob, OK. Ease off. Here, let me order you another martini. Waiter!

You notice that the producers left the rest of the films well enough alone.

Hmm, I feel like having a martini now.

Son of Godzilla

Japanese Title: Kaijuto no kessen: Gojira no musuko
Director: Jun Fukuda
Actors: Tadao Takashima, Akira Kubo, Bibari "Beverly" Maeda
Year Released: 1967
Genre: Kaiju
See Also: Destroy All Monsters, Godzilla's Revenge aka All Monsters Attack
Otaku Alert: Akira Kubo, who plays parachuting freelance journalist Goro, has a long and distinguished career that includes appearances in such films as Chushingura, Kill!, and, um, School of Sex.

I've been sick. Never fails. Semester ends, I stress out for finals and get sick. The only saving grace of being sick is renting bad movies from the local video place, and this I did with glee. Lo and behold, they had a few Godzilla movies I hadn't seen lately so I plunked down the $4.32 for Son of Godzilla, the 1967 entry in the series and the episode in which Godzilla jumps the shark.

Godzilla movies were my favorite when I was a kid. I especially liked his signature moves. In each film, Godzilla does some cute little move that humanizes him. In Hedorah he wipes his snout like a cat, and in Invasion of Astro-Monster he does that hilarious low-gravity jig. The move I've been looking for is like clapping, or flapping arms. After besting a foe, Godzilla flaps his arms like he's excited. Actually, I could be mis-remembering this move with another kaiju thing, like Ultra-Man. I've been through all of the Showa series save Megalon, and that one's hard to find. So anyway, I pop in ol' Son of Godzilla, grab the tissues and Tylenol, and am roundly and summarily disappointed.

Some scientists have set up a lab on a South Seas tropical island to conduct experiments on freezing the local atmosphere. Something about wanting to find new ways to farm frozen landscapes. In that case, doesn't it make more sense to just go farm in Siberia rather than freeze a tropical island and then farm it? The experiment goes wrong and the island is irradiated and super-heated, causing the already horse-sized praying mantis monsters on the island to become super giant size, which are named Kamakuras by a gonzo freelance journalist who parachutes into the island for a scoop. I was waiting for some kind of eco-disaster subplot to emerge but no, giant insects are just par for the course. Turns out there's already a massive spider named Kumonga hanging around. Pretty soon, Godzilla shows up, his son hatches from an egg, and…

OK, there are two things lame about Son of Godzilla. First, the giant insects—although admittedly pretty cool looking—are basically marionettes, not guys in suits. This drops their Godzilla battle potential to almost nil. If Godzilla tried to wrestle one he'd get tangled up in the (visible) wires. So he stands there while they fly by or spray him with silly string. The other lame thing is Minira. I mean, he looks like a tadpole, brays like a donkey, and single-handedly infantilizes the series. Take a look at 1969's Godzilla's Revenge aka All Monsters Attack for more of the same. Actually there are three lame things, the third being when hot, semi-naked island girl Saeko discovers pants.

A lot of the film is devoted to the "touching" relationship between father (mother?) and son, but it's kinda weird. I guess it's supposed to be funny, but Godzilla is really just a dead-beat dad. He accidentally knocks baby over with his tail before the kid can even walk right. During the part where he teaches his kid to breathe fire, Godzilla repeatedly brandishes his fist in a cowering Minira's face, threatening him with physical violence if he doesn't perform to his father's expectations. When Minira comes up short, Godzilla stamps on his tail. Finally, Godzilla spends a lot of the movie napping, no doubt sleeping off some kind of monster drunk, leaving the kid to wander around an island known to be populated with giant insects and spiders. It's all well and good when Godzilla wakes up long enough to save his kid, but if he had just been paying attention in the first place…

Even as a kid I never liked Minira all that much. There's something weird about his face. Oh, speaking of, what's up with Godzilla's face in this movie? He looks like an idiot. No wonder Gamera got so popular. At least he never spawned.

Lastly, shouldn't the son of Godzilla be named Jesuszilla? Just a thought.

Sukebandeka The Movie 2: Counter-Attack of the Kazama Sisters

Japanese Title: Sukeban Deka: Kazama san-shimai no gyakushu
Director: Hideo Tanaka
Actors: Yui Asaka, Yuka Onishi, Yuma Nakamura
Year Released: 1988
Genre: Action
See Also: Sukebandeka The Movie, Battle Royale
Otaku Alert: Hiroyuki Nagato, who plays Dark Director Kurayami, starred as Kinta in Imamura Shohei's great Pigs and Battleships.

I've recently discovered that I love the Japanese '80s, and for completely different reasons than I love my own '80s, which is based largely on nostalgia. From where I'm standing, on the outside looking in, the '80s in Japan were the last days of innocence before the bubble burst and teenage girls began selling themselves to salarymen for cell phones. Before the loss of childhood and Love & Pop, before all of today's weird, alienated murders and shut-ins, there was the '80s, a squeaky-clean time of flared hair and good intentions, earnestness and bubbliness.

The difference in idol presentation is telling. The video diary that accompanies the DVD for Sukebandeka The Movie 2: Counter-Attack of the Kazama Sisters follows star Yui Asaka as she does her best on set, does her best in press conferences, and does her best in concert. The clothes are priceless but so is her attitude, all fresh-faced smiles and "gee whiz" pluck. I don't for a minute believe that the idol industry in the '80s was any less corrupt and soul-crushing than it is today, but what is different is that then people wanted to believe that it was somehow innocent. The projected image becomes reality, or at least the desired reality.

What better way to highlight that innocence than in contrast to fascist youth thugs? Yui (the character's name is the same as its star), the third Sukeban Deka, or girl gang cop, has been recruited into a leather-headband-wearing government group of teens who dispense justice with spiked yo-yos and Aqua-Net'd bangs, shutting down discos like pre-college exam Nazis. Yui leaves the group, but is called back into action by her two sisters, Yuka and Yuma (the actresses who play them also having identical first names) when the Sukeban Deka program director is kidnapped and a floppy disc containing the youth group's nefarious plans is obtained.

Unlike the first Sukebandeka movie, which often played like a toned-down '70s exploitation film, number 2 is light all the way. With its "kids in trouble" side story and cheap lighting, it looks more like an American TV show like The A-Team than a Toei movie. But hey, that was the '80s for you. The Japanese film industry was in dire straights—not every film can be a Tanpopo. That being said, Counter-Attack does have its moments. The series' trend of making school-girl accessories into weapons continues with knitting needles and a boomerang metal origami crane. And Yui Asaka, it has to be said, is pretty damn cute.

Kenta Fukasaku recently added to the series with his Yo-yo Girl Cop, a terrible movie whose only saving grace is an overacting Riki Takeuchi.

Gamera, Super Monster

Japanese Title: Uchu kaiju Gamera
Director: Noriaki Yuasa
Actors: Mach Fumiake, Yaeko Kojima, Koichi Maeda
Year Released: 1980
Genre: Kaiju
See Also: Gojira, Gappa the Triphibian Monsters, Dogora
Otaku Alert: The Belgian video title for Gamera, Super Monster is Phoenix Dominator. I think I just found my new DJ name.

Gamera, Super Monster is the "clip show" of Gamera movies, comprised of stock footage sequences from all six previous Gamera films. Battle sequences from the earlier films have been shoe-horned into a seriously odd sci-fi adventure film about three super women from space and their mission to befriend a boy with short-shorts, making this 1980 entry into the kid's kaiju series a sort of "greatest hits" of Gamera and pretty much the only Gamera movie you need to see.

OK, that's not entirely true. I really do enjoy Gamera. Not as much as Godzilla, of course, the big lizard being my childhood hero and introduction to Japanese culture. But there's just something so endearing about Gamera. I mean, he's a turtle. Who stands. He's like those mariachi frogs you buy in Tijuana, glued into position so they look like they're standing and playing instruments. A turtle shouldn't be standing on two legs, but there he is. Oh, and now he's sticking telephone poles into his ears—how cute!

Sadly, that telephone pole sequence isn't included in the clips (so you really do have to watch more than one Gamera film) but the general weirdness of the past Gamera films is maintained in Gamera, Super Monster. This, I believe, is due to the fact that director Noriaki Yuasa was sitting in the folding chair with "kantoku" printed on the back. The man helmed all of the Gamera films to this point save one and was obviously the driving force behind the general weirdness of the series.

A ship that looks suspiciously like the Imperial Star Destroyer from The Empire Strikes Back wants to take over the Earth, so it begins sending monsters to attack the cities of Japan. Gamera, of course, rises to the occasion, as do three women in Jazzercise tights and capes, inspired, no doubt, by the Superman movies. There's lots of Yamaha organ product placement and plenty of cool Xanadu-like visual effects as well. Ultimately Gamera triumphs over little-boy-hating aliens, and flies off into space with (inexplicably!) clips from Starblazers and Galaxy Express 999 running under him.

Gamera, Super Monster was released as part of the Elvira's Movie Macabre series, packaged in a double-disc set with They Came From Beyond Space. The film is in widescreen, the only domestically available Showa-era Gamera film in such a format, although it's still dubbed into English. It's also obviously a VHS port. You can watch it with or without the original Elvira TV show segments. I opted for with, as I never saw her show back in the day. Sushi and geisha jokes abound.

The Mysterians

Japanese Title: Chikyu Boeigun
AKA: Earth Defense Force
Director: Ishiro Honda
Actors: Kenji Sahara, Yumi Shirakawa, Momoko Kochi
Year Released: 1957
Genre: Sci-fi
See Also: Dogora, Gojira
Otaku Alert: Apparently the '60s band ? and the Mysterians named themselves after the movie.

Ishiro Honda was in top form in 1957. He had already helmed Gojira, Rodan, and Beast Man Snow Man, a sort of King Kong in the snow. For The Mysterians (or Chikyu Boeigun as it's known in Japan), the story of invading aliens and the resistance movement to stop them, it was decided that Toho would use its widescreen technology, TohoScope. This, combined with its fantastic color palette, makes for one beautiful (and fascinatingly deep) science fiction movie.

Strange natural phenomena plague the island of Honshu, culminating in the appearance of a giant robot, the Moguera. This bird-faced thing (which appears to be wearing samurai armor) trashes a village in the mountains, heralding the appearance of the Mysterians, a race of humanoids from the "Mysteroid," a belt of asteroids between Mars and Jupiter. Once a planet, it was destroyed by the aliens when they discovered atomic warfare. Now they want a small piece of Earth land on which to build a base, and some Japanese women to help repopulate their decimated race. Shocked faces and steely resistance ensues.

The Mysterians owes much to American science fiction movies of the time. Like The Day the Earth Stood Still and Invasion of the Body Snatchers, what masquerades as good ol' entertainment is actually an allegory for current events. This is strictly my interpretation of things, mind you, but from where I'm sitting, The Mysterians is an anti-American Occupation diatribe.

Breaking it down:
1) Men with advanced (read: atomic) technology land on the home islands and destroy civilian targets.
2) They want a small bit of land on which to build a base.
3) They want to breed with Japanese women, much as the American GI's did.
4) They want to take over Japan for themselves. America never wanted Japan's land, but our cultural influence was unmistakable.

Of course, the American Occupation was already over, but the aforementioned cultural takeover was ongoing. Also, the secret security treaty between Japan and America was still in place, and would be renewed in 1960, prompting a number of more overtly anti-American films to be made.

This is all conjecture on my part (much like my assertion that Gappa is about ugly American tourists). But hey, the best science fiction is often working on numerous levels. Or maybe it's just my white guilt.

Loyalty: Hachi-ko and The 47 Samurai

Title: Hachi-ko
Japanese Title: Hachiko Monogatari
Director: Seijiro Koyama
Actors: Tatsuya Nakadai, Masumi Harukawa, Hisashi Igawa
Year Released: 1987
Genre: Drama
See Also: Milo and Otis
Otaku Alert: Hachi-ko was nominated for best film at the 1988 Japanese Academy Awards but had to settle with the Genesis Award, which is given to films that contribute to the humane treatment of animals.
Availability Note: Import only.

Title: The 47 Samurai
Japanese Title: Genroku Chushingura
AKA: The Loyal 47 Samurai
Director: Kenji Mizoguchi
Actors: Chojuro Kawarasaki, Yoshizaburo Arashi, Kunitaro Kawarazaki
Year Released: 1941, 1942
Genre: Drama, Samurai
See Also: Chushingura, Swords of Vengeance
Otaku Alert: Chojuro Kawarasaki, who played Kuranosuke Oishi, also appeared in the classic Humanity and Paper Balloons.
Availability Note: Import only.

Loyalty, I would hazard, is a highly regarded virtue in Japan. From the bushido practice of unwavering fealty to one's lord, to the national adoration of one very devoted dog, loyalty is built into the cultural identity. As an ideal, it's certainly admirable, and yet it also has a darker side, as can been seen in World War II and the government's insistence on unquestioning loyalty to the emperor.

Hand-in-hand with loyalty is sacrifice, whether that be bodily or not. The former was exploited during the war, with young men expected to die en masse in the service of the emperor (and, by extension, the imperialistic goals of the government). The latter is just as important, for it forms the basis for the lord/vassal feudal system under which Japan was ruled for almost 300 years (and quite a bit longer before that under less strict guidelines). Certainly the adoption of Neo-Confuscianism as a justifying philosophy for the Tokugawa's social hierarchy contributed to the lasting power of loyalty, much as Calvinism still permeates American culture. It's not surprising, then, that two of Japan's most enduring, loyalty-based narratives should be made into film.

Hachi-ko, a movie about a dog, was a huge hit in 1987. This should not surprise anyone who's ever been to Japan and noticed the ubiquity of dogs as companions. Like Milo and Otis (yes, a Japanese film), Hachi-ko is largely animal-centered. However, although kids may enjoy it, it is decidedly a film for adults.

Hachi-ko, a pure-bred Akita, is given as a present to Ueno (Tatsuya Nakadai), a college professor who is at first cool about having another dog after the previous one passed away. As Hachi-ko grows and no one is found to adopt him, the professor takes to him like a child would, doting on him so much that his wife begins to get jealous. Wikipedia states that Akitas are known for their loyalty, and Hachi is nothing if not loyal. He follows his master to Shibuya train station every morning, and then trots back to meet him at the end of the day. If you're at all familiar with the story, you know that the professor dies one day while at work. Hachi-ko then devotes his life to waiting outside the station for his master, who of course never returns.

You don't have to be Japanese to be moved by Hachi-ko's single-minded devotion, and thankfully the movie avoids being overly sentimental—the story is moving enough as it is, aided by the always stellar acting of Nakadai. The only real "big moment" is when Hachi and Ueno are reunited in the afterlife, fresh cherry blossoms falling as they embrace. Cheesy, yes, but I cry every time I see it.

Hachi became something of a celebrity while he was alive, with newspaper articles detailing his vigil. After he died, a statue was erected in front of the station, positioned so Hachi is forever watching the station entrance. The statue is a favorite Shibuya meeting spot, and Hachi is often decorated to suit the seasons. His legend remains alive.

Also alive is the legend of the loyal 47 ronin, a story so soaked in myth and yet so remarkably present in Japanese culture, it's difficult to approach it in any length that doesn't approach book proportions. But I will try:

The year was 1701. Asano Takuminokami, the feudal lord of Ako, was preparing to welcome the imperial envoys to the shogun's castle for their annual visit. Asano was part of the official greeting committee, headed by Kira Kozukenosuke, a man of little virtue and, if the many plays and movies based on the following events are to be trusted, great vice, chief among them a desire to be bribed.

Asano was a virtuous man who refused to give in to Kira's demands for payment, even when Kira withheld crucial greeting protocol information during the visit of the imperial envoys. Finally, unable to take it any longer, Asano drew his sword on Kira and cut his forehead and shoulder before being restrained. The punishment for drawing a sword in the shogun's castle is death, and Asano was summarily ordered to immediately commit seppuku, or harakiri, ritual disembowlment.

At the time, there was a provision in the law that specified equal punishment for all parties in a quarrel. While Asano nobly went to his death, Kira received no punishment. Asano's territories were to be confiscated by the shogun and his employees, his samurai cast into the street as ronin, masterless samurai.

It is common during circumstances such as these that the samurai of the fallen lord will choose to die defending their castle, thus joining their lord. Or they may commit seppuku as well. Asano's samurai, headed by chief retainer Oishi Kuranosuke, chose instead to plead for an amendment of the order and the reinstatement of the Asano house, with Asano's younger brother in the head position. When this failed, a second plan went into effect.

The retainers dispersed themselves around Edo, taking odd jobs and generally laying low. Oishi even disappeared into a brothel for two years to throw off the scent. Then, on December 14th, 1703, 47 of the former retainers made an attack on Kira's compound, claiming his head and avenging their lord.

The 47 loyal retainers marched through the snow-covered streets of Edo to Sengakuji Temple where their lord was buried and presented him with Kira's head. The 47 were ordered to commit seppuku and were buried with their master on the grounds of the temple.

Kenji Mizoguchi's version of the story of the 47 ronin, Genroku Chushingura, was released in two parts, in 1941 and 1942. Historical accounts differ, but there is no doubt that Mizoguchi was asked by the Japanese government to make a wartime version of the famous story, ostensibly to foster feelings of loyalty and sacrifice in the people.

I don't know what the government thought of the version Mizoguchi filmed, but, depending on how you look at, it can be seen as either a nationalistic parable or, more likely, a criticism of nationalistic behavior. Indeed, the version of the story used was written by a leftist, Seika Mayama, and the chief actors were members of a leftist theater troupe. It could be that their contribution to the film assuaged the government about their politics.

The history surrounding The 47 Ronin, as it's known in the US, is undoubtedly fascinating, but how does it fare as a film? Let's just say that if you're not a Mizoguchi fan, you may want to get your Chushingura fix elsewhere. This is not a samurai film, as the genre is understood in the West, despite the presence of many a samurai. It may be jidai geki but it is decidedly not a chanbara. Mizoguchi famously omitted the big raid sequence, the pay off for most samurai movie fans. What you have instead is a slow, inexorable crawl towards group suicide.

This is not a criticism—it's merely a description of the screenplay. The Chushingura story has been done more times than seems countable, on stage, on film, and on television. Each version chooses a slightly different focus, from Kenji Fukasaku's revenge-heavy Swords of Vengeance to the comedic Salaryman Chushingura, which places the action in the corporate world. Mizoguchi was not an action director. He preferred drama, and in The 47 Ronin, the drama takes center stage.

That being said, Mizoguchi also favored stories about women, and The 47 Ronin (as the title suggests) is about mostly men. It's telling that the few scenes involving women are the most vibrant in the two films' nearly 4 hours. Indeed, he gives the duty of recounting the raid, read from a letter, to Lady Asano, who imbues the telling with warmth, something lacking from all the stony-faced samurai.

Mizoguchi himself has remarked that he was practically forced to make the film, an indication of how he likely felt about it. It's certainly not the deepest of his films, nor the most emotionally resonant. But it's still a Mizoguchi film, and that's saying something.

Ultimately, if you like Mizoguchi, you'll find something to like here. The camera itself is a wonder, moving gracefully amidst the serious rituals, a feminine fluidity to contrast the masculine rigidity. But if what you want is samurai action, look elsewhere.

Gappa the Triphibian Monsters

Japanese Title: Daikyoju Gappa
AKA: Monster From a Prehistoric Planet
Director: Haruyasu Noguchi
Actors: Tamio Kawaji, Yoko Yamamoto, Yuji Okada
Year Released: 1967
Genre: Kaiju
See Also: Gamera, Godzilla, et al.
Otaku Alert: Star Tamio Kawaji would go on to appear in Takashi Miike's Gozu, 36 years later.

In 1967 Japan was in the midst of a kaiju boom. Ultraman was on TV. Toho was steady rolling out Godzilla pictures, Daei had both Gamera and Daimajin series, and even Toei got into the act briefly with its kaiju/ninja hybrid, Magic Serpent. Nikkatsu, which would soon abandon all sense and go entirely soft-core porno, threw its hat into the game with Gappa the Triphibian Monsters, a decidedly pedestrian giant monster offering that is obviously not a Toho kaiju film.

The plot fails to inspire: an expedition to the South Seas to find interesting animals for a new theme park stumbles across a baby lizard chicken thing, which the black-face painted Japanese actors portraying islanders call Gappa. In tried-and-true King Kong fashion, the expedition takes the baby back to civilization for extensive exploitation and plot strengthening. Naturally, the baby's two parents come looking for it, trash Japan, face off against inept Special Defense Forces tank and jet fighter models, and breathe optically printed death breath until the film limps over the 90-minute finish line.

When I said Gappa was obviously not a Toho film, I meant that even amongst kaiju films, the special effects are pretty lousy. I'm not sure if it's in the way the monsters are lit, or the way they move their dead plastic eyes, but it's just so obviously guys in bad suits—even more so than in a Toho film.

Also, this was 1967. By now moviegoers expected more than just monsters walking around and knocking things over, as the Gappa parents do. It had been 23 years since the original Godzilla did just that. In the ensuing time, Godzilla had faced off against any number of rubber-suited opponents. The two Gappas are a couple—they could at least act like it and get in some tiffs.

There are some posts on IMDB that assert that Gappa is some kind of winking satire, intentionally cliché ridden and knowing. I don't think it's that sophisticated but I will admit there's more going on than just mere B-movie exploitation. Think about it: the Gappas are foreign tourists, visiting Japan and treating it like trash. They're ugly Americans, running rampant through Japan's tourist attractions. They visit Nikko, pause to knock over a feudal-era castle, and descend on Tokyo. Once finished, they assemble at Haneda Airport and take off into the setting sun, the West. Cue swelling music and footage of quiet, foreigner-free Japan. Vapid, opportunistic cash-in or clever anti-tourism analogy? As it was Nikkatsu's one and only kaiju foray, the world may never know.

Three From Nobuhiko Obayashi

Title: Exchange Students
Japanese Title: Tenkosei
AKA: I Am You, You Are Me
Director: Nobuhiko Obayashi
Actors: Satomi Kobayashi, Toshinori Omi, Makoto Sato
Year Released: 1982
Genre: Comedy
See Also: Typhoon Club, Tenkosei: Sayonara anata
Otaku Alert: Etsuko Shihomi tackled one of her first non-action roles as the teacher in Exchange Students.
Availability Note: Import only.

Title: The Little Girl Who Conquered Time
Japanese Title: Toki wo kakeru shojo
AKA: The Girl Who Cut Time
Director: Nobuhiko Obayashi
Actors: Tomoyo Harada, Toshinori Omi, Ryoichi Takayanagi
Year Released: 1983
Genre: Sci-fi, Drama
See Also: The Girl Who Leapt Through Time
Otaku Alert: The film's composer, Masataka Matsutoya, appeared in photos as Kazuo's father.
Availability Note: Import only.

Title: House
Director: Nobuhiko Obayashi
Actors: Kimiko Ikegami, Kumiko Oba, Miki Jinbo
Year Released: 1977
Genre: Horror, Comedy
See Also: Tokyo: The Last Megalopolis, Jigoku
Otaku Alert: The watermelon seller was played by the film's composer, Asei Kobayashi, who also did work on Gachaman among other things.
Availability Note: Import only.

I first encountered the films of director Nobuhiko Obayashi in the form of Tenkosei, better known as Exchange Students, at an '80s Japanese film festival which also included two from Shinji Somai, Typhoon Club and Sailor Suit and Machine Gun. Of the three, Exchange Students was far and away the most fun, a playful mix of earthy humor and good ol' teenage angst that deftly captured what it means to be 15 and hormone-addled in a way that I hadn't ever seen. That the film managed to do this while saddled with such a preposterous premise is all the more impressive.

How preposterous? Middle-school students Kazumi (Satomi Kobayashi) and Kazuo (Toshinori Omi) take a tumble down the steps of a temple, and when they stand up and brush themselves off they realize they've switched bodies. Freaky Friday did it first, and plenty of American movies would take the ball and run with it in the late '80s, but Exchange Students does it best. Unlike the American body-switch comedies (Dream A Little Dream, et al), which also go for the obvious metaphors of teenage confusion and body angst, Obayashi's film boldly goes where none of these other films will: below the waist. Teenagers are obsessed with their body parts; it only stands that they'd be even more obsessed if those parts were switched.

Exchange Students was apparently popular when it was released, and it's not hard to see why. The film is extremely funny, with both leads doing a hilarious job of playing the opposite sex. The film is unavailable on DVD as far as I know, but there may be old VHS copies floating around, or ports from television. Nobuhiko Obayashi remade the film this year with the title, Tenkosei: Sayonara anata. It will be interesting to see what, if anything, he's changed.

Teenage confusion also figures prominently in The Little Girl Who Conquered Time, a coming of age sci-fi film that Obayashi released the year after Exchange Students. Instead of losing her sex, Tomoko (Tomoyo Harada) finds herself unstuck in time, experiencing the same day repeatedly and becoming increasingly unmoored from reality. (If the title sounds familiar, it should. The same source novel was remade as the anime The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, which apparently follows the exploits of a grown Tomoko's niece.)

Obayashi takes his time getting to the big sci-fi finish, drawing us in to the almost ideal life of Tomoko and her friends in Onomichi, the picturesque seaside town that also served as the location for Exchange Students and part of Ozu's Tokyo Story. But when Tomoko finally falls into the time stream, it's a dazzling sequence, making use of all the Xanadu-like pre-digital effects available at the time. Amidst all the flash, though, Obayashi forgot to make sure the script made sense—it's not only Tomoko that loses her way. But the film's heart and adventurous effects more than make up for its lack of sound science.

And speaking of adventurous effects, Obayashi's debut film, 1977's teen horror romp House has more wild effects than a ride at Disneyland, more insanity than a night at Bellevue, and more spilled blood than an NHL season. That it's also funny, touching and a little creepy makes it one of the most unique films ever made.

Seven teenage girls head out to the countryside to vacation in an old house, which promptly comes alive and eats them all, one by one. But it's not your typical Nightmare on Elm Street or Exorcist. It's way more hallucinogenic than that. Imagine Gone With the Wind as a '70s-era music video invaded by traditional Japanese ghosts, with generous creative input from Jigoku director Nobuo Nakagawa. And lots of blood.

Obayashi was previously a television commercial director and he helms House like a man who's waited a long time to get where he is, yet is afraid it's all going to be taken away at any minute. He's got a list of visual effects he wants to use—fish eye lens, strobe edits, stop-motion, garish background mattes, double exposure—so he makes sure he uses them, in rapid succession, even if there's no dramatic call for it. That he keeps up this dizzying pace of visual effects for the entire film rescues it from pretension and elevates it to a kind of art of excess. You can't help but be caught up in Obayashi's giddiness. He's obviously having the time of his life and that pure joy is translated onto the screen. Even the most delirious Bollywood film pales in comparison to House, and that's saying a lot.

See another review of House at Eigazoku.

Tokyo Zombie

Director: Sakichi Sato
Actors: Tadanobu Asano, Sho Aikawa, Erika Okuda
Year Released: 2005
Genre: Horror, Comedy
See Also: Versus, Battlefield Baseball
Otaku Alert: Prince Akiyama was played by horror manga writer Kazuo Umezu.
Availability Note: Import only.

I can't think of a movie that sounds better on paper than Tokyo Zombie. Tadanobu Asano in an afro wig! Sho Aikawa with a bald head! Director Sakichi Sato wrote Gozu and Ichi the Killer! Zombies in Tokyo! Humor! Blood! Erika Okuda in a short skirt! Unfortunately, the only one of those exclamation-pointed statements that manages to stay consistent until the end of the film is the length of Erika Okuda's skirt.

People are burying bodies at the massive Tokyo dump, nicknamed Black Fuji because of its resemblance to the mountain, and one day they come to life, seeking, as the zombie myth goes, fresh blood to satisfy their hellish cravings. Fujio (Asano) and Mitsuo (Aikawa) are two layabouts who'd rather practice jujitsu than work. Their wrestling skills soon pay off as they take zombie after zombie to the mat, and pick up the aforementioned short-skirted Erika Okuda in the process.

And then the movie goes off the rails.

Had the whole film been like the first 30 minutes, I'd be willing to call it a worthwhile campy satire of horror films, much like Zombie Baseball. But suddenly it's five years later, Mitsuo is long gone, and Fujio and Yoko (Okuda) are living inside a Land of the Dead-like rich person's compound. Fujio fights zombies professionally in the ring but never makes much money because his jujitsu skills are too good—the fights aren't flashy enough.

This is all fine and good, but the film ceases to be funny. In fact, it gets downright boring. Even the (expected) third-act return of Mitsuo isn't enough to save the film. A good idea—and two great actors—wasted.

Sanshiro Sugata

Director: Akira Kurosawa
Actors: Susumu Fujita, Takashi Shimura, Ryunosuke Tsukigata
Year Released: 1943
Genre: Drama
See Also: Sanshiro Sugata 2, The Men Who Tread on the Tiger's Tail
Otaku Alert: Aside from his numerous Kurosawa appearances, lead actor Susumu Fujita could also be seen on '60s TV in various Ultraman shows.
Availability Note: Import only.

Sanshiro Sugata is an interesting film for a number of reasons. One, it's Akira Kurosawa's debut film; two, it's a genre picture, something Kurosawa didn't tackle often; and three, it was made and released in 1943 while Japan was embroiled in war in the Pacific, and thus subject to wartime censors.

Donald Richie, in his A Hundred Years of Japanese Film, reports that a love scene was cut from Sanshiro Sugata. That the film was released at all is surprising given its decidedly Western approach to character. The titular lead, a ruffian rickshaw driver played by Susumu Fujita, begins the film as a wild youth and ends with humility, discipline and control. This is not achieved, however, though the acceptable methods of group participation but through a discovery of self.

It's the Meiji era, a time of great change in Japan, and wild man Sugata wants to learn judo, one of the new forms of martial arts being developed in the country (karate, another new style, will feature prominently in the sequel). He joins a dojo and learns what it means to be disciplined, abandoning his drunken, street-fighting ways as he comes into himself. Fujita is more believable as the transformed Sugata—his friendly face is more suited to inner tranquility than a young man's rage, but he is nevertheless consistently good throughout.

As Sanshiro Sugata is a genre picture, it is beholden to the usual genre picture trappings. Being a martial arts picture, it must have the requisite fight sequences, and they arrive like clockwork: the initial fight, in which the dojo master handily dispatches a group of rival-school toughs; the mid-film fight, in which Sugata reluctantly takes on the aging Hansuke Murai (Kurosawa regular and Toho player Takashi Shimizu); and the climactic sequence, staged on a hilltop field. That Kurosawa has chosen to set the final fight in a field of deep grass, thus obscuring the action—judo is fought low to the ground—he reveals his ambition. Kurosawa, right from the outset it seemed, wanted to make art, not just films, and by down-playing the whole reason for coming to a picture like this—namely, the fighting—he makes a point about violence and the ultimate pointlessness of it.

That Kurosawa is making these kinds of statements right out of the gate—in a wartime martial arts picture no less—reveals the kind of filmmaker he already knew himself to be. Repeatedly throughout the film, Kurosawa adds these kinds of little touches to enrich the story. When a challenger is thrown by Sugata against the wall, a broken piece of screen falls in slow motion, a surprising and stylistic coda to the action, and one that Kurosawa will re-use in Seven Samurai. Even something as commonplace in a martial arts film as the spiritual awakening of the young tough is enhanced by artistic lighting, a lotus blossom bathed in floodlights amidst a night-black pond.

In 1945 Kurosawa made Sanshiro Sugata 2 at the request of the studio and, it would seem, the government, creating a moderately entertaining if flat piece of propaganda. Sugata fights an American boxer and gets a lecture from his sensei on the importance of fighting, an odd message considering the previous film. But Kurosawa still shows himself: one of the antagonists, the mad younger brother of the man defeated in the previous film's climactic sequence, is outfitted in makeup and a noh wig, a bit from classical Japanese theater, a well which Kurosawa would return to often in his film career.

Five years later, Kurosawa would release Rashomon and everything would be changed. But here, in the midst of a war, we can see the artist on his way up, testing and experimenting yet fully confident in his abilities.