Film Review: Shin Godzilla (2016)

As of late 2023, there have been thirty-eight Godzilla films made over the last seventy years. This incredible feat is tempered only by the dubious quality held by many of them and the seeming abandonment of the very real and profound allegory found in Ishirō Honda’s original 1954 production.

While some would debate the merits and importance of the franchise’s bulk, many others would argue for its rightful place among science fiction and horror luminaries. And there are still others, myself included, who place the metaphor and symbolism found in many of the better Godzilla movies among the most thoughtful and significant anti-war comments cinema has to offer. All things considered, the legacy left by this behemoth isn’t too bad for something that started as a low-budget B-movie starring a guy in a rubber suit stomping on a bunch of miniatures.

After seeing Takashi Yamazaki’s Godzilla Minus One a few months ago, I immediately did two things. First, I rewatched Ishirō Honda’s original 1954 production, and second, I tracked down and finally watched Hideaki Anno and Shinji Higuchi’s Shin Godzilla from 2016. I’m far from an expert on the franchise, but when judging the value of this long-standing juggernaut, I believe it is these three films against which the other thirty-five should be weighed.

I’m sure there are purists and completists out there who would argue the merits of many other Godzilla films (something I welcome), but it’s this trio that truly represents Ishirō Honda’s — and by extension, the whole of Japan’s — continued apprehension about the atomic bombs that were dropped on their country in 1945, the survivor’s guilt and national shame that followed, the threat of nuclear accidents, and the natural disasters that have rocked the island nation over the years.

It’s the latter two where Shin Godzilla truly enters the conversation, as the then-recent Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami, along with the Fukushima nuclear disaster that followed it (over 20,000 people lost their lives between the two), have replaced the horrors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki as the main sources of Japanese consternation. The power of the atom, however, still holds a remarkable amount of weight; only this time around, it’s homegrown nuclear fission that drives the narrative, not a bomb dropped from an unseen aircraft 31,000 feet in the air.

Where Shin Godzilla really shines, though, is in its depiction of a bogged-down and red-tape-choked bureaucracy that places appearances above action. Filmmakers Anno and Higuchi take a documentary-style approach to their story that accentuates the urgency of the developing situation (a giant, nuclear-powered monster rising from Tokyo Bay) while condemning the Japanese government’s ineffectual response to crises. The results are at times harrowing and at others frustrating, but the effect is successful: the chaos and uncertainty faced by the people of Tokyo is contrasted brilliantly by the foot-dragging of the elected officials they’ve put their trust in.

But, because of the sheer number of characters, scientists, and politicians we’re asked to keep up with (including actors Hiroki Hasegawa, Yutaka Takenouchi, and Mikako Ichikawa), Shin Godzilla has a tendency to get confusing. Things get worse when an “American” special envoy representing Washington D.C.’s interests (Satomi Ishihara) is introduced to add a little comic relief and eye candy to the nearly all-male cast. It’s a turn that, from time to time, changes the tone of the film, but not enough to grievously undo the great work that’s been done up to that point. As annoying as she can be, at least she’s given a personality — something seriously lacking in the characters found in similar American productions.

Shin Godzilla’s combination of CGI and traditional practical effects can be a bit off-putting (the googly-eyed creature that crawls from the sea might be goofy-looking, but personally, I can’t help but be enamored by him — especially when he starts spewing blood from his gills), but in the end, I much prefer this approach to Hollywood’s completely computerized way of doing things. Shin Godzilla, googly eyes and all, at least has a persona and a tactile character. Again, something I can’t say for any Godzilla production with American fingerprints on it.

Update: September 8th, 2025

I recently took my 11-year-old daughter to see the theatrical re-release of Shin Godzilla. She loved it and I loved it even more.