When viewing the tapestry of Godzilla’s storied existence, that joy cannot – and should never – be ignored. Thus, it joins a patchwork of cultural depth, historical shifts, creative boldness, and thematic resonance that’s more worthy of exploration and, perhaps most importantly, celebration.
When I see a new book released with familiar subject matter, I sometimes wonder what else can be said about the particular subject. As someone who hopes to one day publish a book, that’s probably not a positive train of thought. I then remember the one thing that sets another book about horror movies, Hammer Films, or, in this case, Godzilla, apart: its point of view. Unless the author is regurgitating information in borrowed, rearranged words, they offer one thing that nobody else can: their own unique perspective.
Daniel DiManna has a unique perspective. In his new book, G-Cinema: An Exploration and Celebration of Japan’s Monster King, he writes that to celebrate Godzilla properly, we need to embark on a journey. It’s a journey that includes several stories, one of a country at a turning point, its art, its creative vision and innovation, its legacy and passion.
But most of all, it’s the story of a monster. A monster as subtextually rich as he is straightforwardly enjoyable, and as intrinsic as he is universally accepted, appreciated, and loved.
DiManna believes “Godzilla is special.” And his book “is the story of why.”
G-Cinema is divided into six parts, each generally aligning with a Godzilla era. The first, “Advent of a King,” though, is more of a preface about Japan between the Fourth Century and 1954, the year Gojira was first released. The chapters within subsequent parts feature cultural context surrounding the making of each movie.
For example, I jumped to Chapter 10 (“Give Back the Sun”) within Part III: “Sly Bugs, Cyborgs, Seatopians, and Smog Monsters (1971-1983)” to read about one of my favorites, Godizlla vs. Hedorah (1971.) In general, I knew that “the environmental reaction to Japan’s rapid growth was in full swing, and it was becoming deadly.” DiManna shares this in the first paragraph, but then follows with seven pages of more details.
While packed with facts, G-Cinema is not a scholarly volume. It’s 240 word-filled pages with small margins is engaging and quick to read, although you want to take your time to soak up all the information. It’s center 32 pages are glossy and filled with images, not all from the movies, but in pictures perhaps better suited for DiManna’s approach: movie posters, lobby cards, newspaper ads, and production art.
Although I enjoyed and learned from the book, my favorite part was the conclusion where DiManno recalls his first experience watching a Godzilla film, which was only the first hour of Godzilla 2000 before his father picked him up from his friend’s house. His desperate need for closure dissipated as his mother said to him, “You know, there are a lot more of those movies out there” and her point was proven as he scoured the “G” section of his local library’s VHS collection.
A sentence in the middle of this story resonates with me, helping explain how and why childhood experiences remain as an adult proving such things as, once a monster kid, always a monster kid:
Memories are a wondrous thing; the events we remember, how we remember them, and the miraculous fact that we remember them at all never ceases to amaze me.
G-Cinema was published in Great Britain by Fonthill, an imprint of Pen & Sword Books Ltd. It retails for $34.95, but can be found at discounted prices from online retailers. Before you order, though, check your nearest independent bookstore to see if they have it or can order it for you.
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