🦖 “Godzilla Minus One” as a Tokusatsu Film: Genre, Craft, and Emotional Power

🎥 The Strengths and Pitfalls of the Kaiju Genre

Films featuring giant monsters—like the Godzilla series—are typically considered “genre films.” Just as novels are sometimes categorized as “genre fiction” (e.g., science fiction), these films prioritize certain elements over others.

In sci-fi literature, for instance, readers often value:

• The originality of the setting
• Internal consistency within the speculative world
• The appeal of the sci-fi concept itself

These can take precedence over traditional storytelling or literary polish.

Genre films work similarly. In action movies, for example, audiences may forgive weak plots or implausible twists if the action scenes are thrilling and well-executed. That’s the nature of genre: it caters to specific expectations and fanbases.

The Godzilla franchise, which began with Toho’s 1954 film, is firmly rooted in the kaiju genre. But the original film stands apart—it’s compelling even when viewed as a general drama, not just a monster movie.

Before the release of Hideaki Anno’s Shin Godzilla in 2016, I revisited the original and found it surprisingly engaging. However, when I watched the second film, Godzilla Raids Again, I realized that kaiju films as a genre weren’t quite my cup of tea.

🧪 Why I Love Tokusatsu—but Struggle with Kaiju Films

I adore tokusatsu (special effects-driven films), especially miniature sets. Kaiju movies are full of them, so in theory, they should be my favorite. But something doesn’t quite click.

One reason might be the difference in intent between Japanese and American monster films. In Hollywood, the goal often seems to be to genuinely fool the audience. You might think you’re seeing a real landscape shot from a hilltop—only to discover it was all miniatures.

Japanese tokusatsu, especially in Godzilla films, often features miniatures that are just as well-crafted, but somehow they don’t hide their artifice. Sometimes it feels like the filmmakers are saying, “Look at this beautifully made miniature!”—which breaks the illusion for me.

The original Godzilla worked because it wasn’t yet bound by genre conventions. It felt like a human drama that happened to feature a monster. Later entries leaned heavily into fan service: “Here’s Godzilla! Here are the miniatures!”—which can alienate viewers who aren’t already fans.

🧠 Why the First Godzilla Film Succeeded—and What Followed

The original film was a hit. Naturally, the studio asked: “Why did it succeed?”

• Was it the design of Godzilla?
• The intensity of the destruction?
• The quality of the miniatures?

All valid points. But if you keep amplifying those elements in sequels, the novelty wears off. The spectacle becomes predictable, and the films may only appeal to hardcore genre fans.

🌟 What Makes “Godzilla Minus One” Stand Out

Godzilla Minus One, written and directed by Takashi Yamazaki, was a joy to watch. It’s unmistakably a Godzilla film, but it doesn’t feel like a typical genre movie.

There’s no “please watch this as a monster flick” disclaimer. It stands on its own as a film—anchored by compelling human drama. Godzilla’s appearance is awe-inspiring, but the heart of the story lies in the people.

Set during and after World War II, the film evokes the atmosphere of classic Japanese cinema. Yet its pacing is brisk and modern—perfectly suited to today’s audiences, who have little patience for slow build-ups.

Godzilla appears early and without hesitation. I was surprised by how quickly the film unleashed its monster—and how well it balanced its screen time. Too much monster action can dull the impact. Spielberg’s Jurassic Park is a great example: the dinosaurs only appear for a few minutes, yet they leave a lasting impression.

Godzilla Minus One achieves a similar “golden ratio” of spectacle to story.

🎨 Beyond the Monster: Visuals and World-Building

The film’s production design is stunning. Yamazaki’s use of green screen and CGI creates a vivid, postwar Japan—bleak, haunting, and deeply immersive. It’s a level of realism that modern Japanese cinema can now achieve with confidence.

The battleship scenes are particularly impressive. I love the old miniature warships in classic Japanese films, but once water is involved, it’s hard to maintain the illusion. You admire the craftsmanship, but you still recognize it as a miniature.

In Godzilla Minus One, the CG ships are clearly digital, but they’re convincing enough to let you suspend disbelief and enjoy the ride.

Yamazaki is known for saying, “If you have a parking lot, you can shoot any scene.” True to form, he transforms ordinary spaces with green screens and visual effects into cinematic spectacles.

🏆 Why the Film Resonated Globally

The film won the Academy Award for Best Visual Effects, and rightly so. But I believe its true strength lies in its universal emotional appeal.

By embedding a classic human drama within a genre framework, the film ensures a baseline of narrative engagement. The special effects then become a “plus alpha”—an enhancement, not the core.

With a sequel now confirmed, I hope the filmmakers don’t rely solely on upping the visual ante. Spectacle alone won’t sustain audience interest.

Even if the technical achievements are groundbreaking, the visible surface must remain rooted in timeless storytelling. Ironically, it’s the emotional depth that makes the visual effects shine.

I hope this reflection helps you appreciate Godzilla Minus One not just as a genre film, but as a powerful cinematic experience.