Godzilla vs. Kong

 

"Godzilla vs. Kong" is a crowd-pleasing, smash-'em-up monster flick and a straight-up action picture par excellence. It is a fairy tale and a science-fiction exploration film, a Western, a pro wrestling extravaganza, a conspiracy thriller, a Frankenstein movie, a heartwarming drama about animals and their human pals, and, in spots, a voluptuously wacky spectacle that plays as if the creation sequence in "The Tree of Life" had been subcontracted to the makers of "Yellow Submarine." It has rainstorms and explosions and into-the-wormhole light shows, giant mammals and reptiles and amphibians and insects and beasts that might be hybrids of one or more of the animal kingdoms, with some zombie, robot, or demon thrown in. It dares to dream big and be goofy and sincere as it does it. And yet, for an over-scaled and incident-packed tentpole flick, "Godzilla vs. Kong" stays light on its feet, like its co-leading man, a skyscraper-sized primate who bounds through jungles, tropical and concrete, like an astronaut skipping on the moon. It might be the best studio film so far this year. If it isn't, it's for damn sure the most fun. 

Spoilers from here—even though, as I will argue, the tale is told in a way that renders such warnings unnecessary.

Directed by Adam Wingard ("The Guest"), and written by Eric Pearson and Max Borenstein (who wrote the first film in the series), "Godzilla vs. Kong" continues this series' tradition of moving the master narrative about the Monarch project forward while letting each successive team of filmmakers do their own thing. The first entry in the series, "Godzilla," was "Close Encounters of the Kaiju Kind," unveiling its creatures in Steven Spielberg magic-and-wonder mode, and introducing the franchise's unifying premise: giant creatures older than the dinosaurs once lived on the earth's surface, feeding on residual radiation from the Big Bang, then moved inside as that energy ebbed, hibernating in the "Hollow Earth" until humans disturbed their slumber with nuclear testing, strip mining, and the like.

This premise was fused to a philosophy that stayed consistent from film to film. Something like: the kaiju don't hate us. They don't even mean us harm (though they do enjoy a human snack now and then). They're animals jockeying for dominance, over territory and each other. If we hadn't treated Earth like a toilet for centuries, they would've stayed beasts of song and legend, talked about but never seen.

"Godzilla," the Vietnam-era period piece "Kong: Skull Island," and the Calling All Kaiju! extravaganza "Godzilla: King of the Monsters" also established a top secret, international, decades-in-existence organization, the Monarch Project, that linked the films across release years and story decades. (Monarch predates the '70s action of "Skull Island"; it was formed in the 1950s.) Of course all this stuff was modeled on binding elements in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, particularly the the S.H.I.E.L.D.-like agents and scientists of Monarch, and the post-credits scenes revealing the beasts-on-deck. But while some films were more MCU-like than others—the first is the least compromised—the kaiju never devolved into handmaidens of commerce. The most disarming thing about the Monsterverse is its horror, sorrow, and incredulity at the sight of humans dodging extinction-level threats while failing to accept that they can't defeat, reverse or even negotiate with them, only learn to coexist with them. That's why the shots of soldiers and tanks and planes and battleships unloading on these beasts are so absurd. They're cavemen throwing rocks at the sun.

At first, "Godzilla vs. Kong" appears to step back from the tradition of environmental doom-saying and pre-grieving. But those elements turn out to have been sublimated, or submerged, like kaiju, retreating into the earth's core until rude forces bait them to return. A beguiling opening sequence establishes that, following a storm that wiped out Skull Island, King Kong has been moved to a research facility beneath a virtual reality dome that simulates his jungle habitat. He's being studied by anthropological linguist Dr. Ilene Andrews (Rebecca Hall) and her deaf adopted daughter Jia (Kaylee Hottle), sole survivor of the island's Iwi tribe. 

Soon after, Godzilla, who hasn't been seen since he killed the three-headed extraterrestrial dragon Ghidorah, attacks the Pensacola, Florida research facility of Apex Cybernetics. Monarch scientist Mark Russell (Kyle Chandler)—father to kaiju-whisperer Madison Russell (Millie Bobby Brown), and former husband of the late renegade Monarch scientist Emma Russell (Vera Farmiga), who turned eco-terrorist in the last film—states that "Godzilla is killing people, and we don't know why." We know. Godzilla is an "apex predator." Like the gladiators in the "Highlander" series, there can be only one. Godzilla is obviously going after Apex (not a name that hides true intent!) because he's threatened by something within the facility. This is a corporation that can create mechanical, um, beings. You could say robots. Or robot monsters. You could even say that Apex could make mecha versions of Godzilla, wink wink.

The filmmakers don't knock themselves out pretending that we can't see where this is headed. The screenplay is front-loaded with cards-on-the-table foreshadowing, including a scene where Apex founder and CEO Walter Simmons (Demián Bichir) convinces Hollow Earth expert Nathan Lind (Alexander Skarsgård) to lead an expedition to the planet's core and help him access a primeval power source that he needs for his, well, project, which will, er, re-establish humanity as the earth's, I suppose you could say, apex predator (cue ominous synthesizer music). So the only remaining pertinent questions are (1) "How soon until Godzilla and Kong fight for the first time?"; (2) "Who will win the first fight, and the rematches?"; and (3) "When will Kong and Godzilla team up?" 

The film's "no muss, no fuss" story frees up space to develop relationships—not just between humans, but humans and monsters, and monsters and monsters. The childless Lind, the surrogate parent Andrews, and the orphaned Jia learn to trust each other and work together until they've formed a makeshift nuclear family, like Ripley, Hicks and Newt in "Aliens." Madison bonds with conspiratorial podcaster, muckraker, and Apex investigator Bernie Hayes (Brian Tyree Henry) from afar because he shares her cynical, questing worldview. She trusts his voice and message so implicitly that she embarks on a road trip to find him with help from her friend Josh Valentine (Julian Dennison, unfortunately saddled with the least-necessary character—an exposition-spoonfeeding chatterbox nerd, reminiscent of Bradley Whitford's character in the last movie). Madison lost her brother in one of the first film's kaiju disasters, then lost her mom in "King of the Monsters." By the end of this one, she's acquired a big-brother-like partner in the form of Bernie, and takes a scolding but affectionate quasi-parental tone with Josh (situationally becoming the mom that Maddie was robbed of—by madness, then death).