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Writer's pictureNathan Lunn

Cor Blimey Guv'nor! It's a Whopping Ginormous Lizard, innit!

Gorgo and the British Kaiju Blitz

Come And See: a long-lost treasure plundered!

Come And See: an idyllic coastal town in Ireland destroyed!

Come And See: the greatest circus attraction around!

Come And See: a vengeful mother rampaging through the streets and landmarks of London!

Come And See: GORGO! 


In what is perhaps a mildly detracting statement, many have described Gorgo (1961) as simply “British Godzilla (1954)”. Certainly, from an aesthetic perspective, this could be a fair descriptor - Gorgo, released in the wake of the kaiju kraze of the 1960s, does boast a large lizard-like creature, battling the thundering power of the national armed forces as it destroys the modern city’s famed landmarks, its angered motivations stemming from the ignorance of humanity and their destructive, capitalistic drive. Superficially and thematically, these similarities are clear. But the film is not a carbon copy of Godzilla; a simple relocation of narrative and image from the far lands of Japan to the local British Isles – as Rawle (2022, p. 17) identifies, the kaiju is a ‘borderless’ figure – it can be easily ‘adapted to different national contexts’ (p. 43), and just as the genre’s themes may find cultural currency in Japan, they too may find popular expression within the United Kingdom. Observing the raw narrative of Gorgo in isolation, a more accurate sibling to suggest for conceptual plagiarism would be the creature-feature classic, King Kong (1933), itself a real progenitor to the rampaging kaiju film trend popularised within Godzilla. These films, though almost 30 years apart, also share similar plot details: a capture of a spectacular creature from a foreign land, sold as an attraction for economic gain, the consequences ignored, always resulting in a highly destructive outcome.


Would we call it “British King Kong” then? Perhaps not. It is worth noting that British King Kong does, of course, exist – in the film, Konga (1961), ironically released within the same year as Gorgo – although, Konga struggles to stand on its own as a successful kaiju film, drawing more on the tropes and iconography of the classic “mad scientist gone rogue” films – potions, lab coats, a human hubristic mistake leading to a slightly-disgruntled ape going for a slight rager about the town. Characteristically, here, and rather unfortunately, Konga’s vast size is barely a factor to its destructive potential. The sequences of citywide calamity are severely underwhelming – as the titular Konga arrives outside the river-side Houses of Parliament, the obvious allusion that would cement Konga as an English King Kong is ignored, and instead of climbing up Big Ben for an Empire-state climactic conclusion, he is gunned down standing slightly to its side. The issue here is clear. Arguably, Konga may be attempting to forge a unique path, breaking away from kaiju traditions for a new story of its own, but the scientific hubris at the centre of its story is similarly reminiscent of Godzilla’s own meddling with the unknown worlds of nuclear science. As the creatures differ (lizard or monkey), the narrative influence is traded – Gorgo borrows King Kong’s narrative and Konga borrows Godzilla’s. Irrelevant of influence, the blatant failure to capitalise on its gigantic presence suggests that there is a necessity to stick to these established tropes and traditions for economic and critical gain – luckily, this is where Gorgo succeeds. 


Most accurate would be to accept Gorgo as it is – a postmodern-like bricolage of prevailing kaiju trends transported to the grimy streets of London, merging the narratives, thematics and aesthetics of both Godzilla, King Kong and a variety of other influential sources. Gorgo is not at all abnormal in this respect – as the foundational pillars on which all kaiju media stands, both King Kong and Godzilla are frequently the subject of many inspirations, their story beats replicated once more, the basis of their themes introduced again and again and yet again. Since the genre is ‘always evolving and adapting, according to when, how and why it is produced, and who is behind the wheel’ (Mustachio and Barr, 2017, p. 13), there are a variety of interesting ideas to be found within each kaiju film, but Gorgo is most concerned with two incredibly central concepts: the external exploitation of shared national trauma; and the internal exploitation of nature (and the animals therein) for economic gain.


Utilising horror and science-fiction tradition to offset and confront national trauma is not a method attached only to the kaiju genre – Susan Sontag (1965) described this very fantastical interrogation in her seminal scholarship, The Imagination of Disaster, positing that these genre features operate to ‘distract us from [those] terrors, real or anticipated’ that characterise our desperately doomed world and to ‘normalise what is psychologically unbearable’. This theoretically contains our fictionalised real-fears, through the consumption of fantastical and entertaining cinematic experiences. 


Godzilla begins this trend proper, drawing upon the recent and traumatic memories of both the Tokyo firebombing raids and the two nuclear bombs, ultimately using these visuals to support its overarching message of global harmony and the championing of the collective triumph of humanity. But this is nothing new. The kaiju genre has loaded the nitrate celluloid with no small amount of devastating imagery, each referring to real events: globally, we see the horrors of World War II, the seemingly ever-lasting, ever-anxious Cold War scare, in America they explore 9/11; back within the variety of Japanese films, explorations range from the devastating effects of the nuclear bombs, blameless and unprepared natural disasters like the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and subsequent Tsunami, and blameable and still unprepared manmade disasters like the Fukushima nuclear accident. 


Gorgo is a British film – a nation with, admittedly, very little visually-spectacular trauma to draw upon throughout its recent history (though, plenty of less visibly arresting countrywide issues can be accounted for, and are frequently explored in United Kingdom-centric horror cinema). As such, and likely unsurprisingly, Gorgo’s well of emotionally-exploitative traumatic imagery can be found entirely within the destructive devastation unleashed during the Blitz of World War II. Through its multitude of recognisable (and impressively rendered) destructive sequences, the film ‘consciously evokes memories of wartime bombings’ (Tsutsui, 2004, p. 192). Repeating imagery can be seen towards the close of the film that suggests as much – a ‘burning skyline’, distressed Londoners evacuated to the underground as buildings collapse around them (01:07.30), shops, houses and infrastructure reduced to rubble – there is even an explicit vocal reference to the Blitz attacks (01:08.14) for maximum emotional impact and clarity for any missed messaging. 


Of course, this destruction (and the civilians’ panic within) mostly remains an aesthetic decision within Gorgo, and mostly imparts any related meaning through those visual allusions alone. This imagery is offering the most visceral, most immediate response. The narrative – offered a more clear explicity in what it attempts to tackle – interrogates a couple of different themes, bringing concepts in from King Kong and attaching them against the modern British cultural memory. The familiar tale of a creature exploited for material and economic gain, ripped from its natural habitat and paraded in front of a paying and braying public for the primary purpose of monetary benefit has only one clear villain – and it is not the gigantic, panicked creature. Here, like with many kaiju films, Gorgo is really demonising capitalism by highlighting the exploitation and monetization of native culture and artefacts by invading forces.  


This premise is also no stranger to the kaiju film, and often points partially to everlasting anxieties of colonialism festering within the now-prospering and reminiscently re-assessing nations. The guilt that arises from this, on both a personal and cultural level, and the supposed suggestions of xenophobia that accompanies this colonialist embarrassment (at least, as far as the ‘far-reaching’ and obviously-foreign lands of King Kong suggests) can also be seen manifested within the giant creatures themselves. As a method to assuage their shame, the films posit their own national protagonists as bumbling, invading forces, robbing from foreign lands and feeling the subsequent consequences – posing a moral fable to those thieving parties and attempting a reprimanding admonishment by the conclusion of the film. It is mostly a form of revisionist history, a way to repeat the actions of their guilty nation and change the narrative so that some accountability can finally be taken, but it is little successful in fully tackling the issue. 


Indeed, many kaiju ‘films of the 1960s tended to focus on the exploitation and monetisation of native culture and artefacts’ (Barr, 2016, p. 69) – where Gamera vs. Barugon (1966) and Gamera vs. Jiger (1970) saw the theft of physical artefacts punished by giant vengeful creatures attacking native Japanese shores, King Kong, Mothra (1961) and Gorgo all situate their precious artefacts in the creatures themselves, removed to another country for immediate and unethical economic exploitation. Often, these creatures are directly linked to the native’s faith, making this theft a direct ‘disruption and destruction of native cultural heritage and ideals’ (p. 72). This is a common anxiety of the time – certainly, a large number of films from the Godzilla Showa period (1954 - 1975) tend to ruminate on this past, producing a collection of narratives with a ‘trend that explores the dangers of fetishising’ the theft of these culturally-important artefacts, or punishment for those simply engaging in unwarranted interventions – usually, this will result in the penalising of these ‘imperialistic peoples for their attempted hegemony’. Of course, these fears of prior conflict catching up to the modern day are in no way restricted to the past alone, and can even infect the sentiment of the present – critically, Gorgo, the titular creature, is stolen from somewhere a little closer to home. Where our previous examples find their creatures in far flung lands (often even fictional creations as a method of disavowal from the real victims of colonialism) Gorgo is found in the nearby island of Ireland. 


Gorgo is intent on tackling its colonialising past with a forward attitude – all throughout the late 1960s to the turn of the millennium, tensions between England and Ireland were particularly tight, and would only get much worse in the years and tumultuous ‘troubles’ to follow. It is no mistake that this tackle of colonialism and the overwhelming power of the British Empire is linked to the more modern ‘boogeyman’ of Ireland, as opposed to any of their extensively-listed further conquered countries – much like the more recent trauma of the Blitz bombings, Gorgo’s Irish roots can be seen as pointing to a (then) modern fear that pervaded both the filmmakers: thinking in all time-tenses. The disquieting and damaging past, the uncertain present and the fear-soaked expectations of the future. Subsequently, the narrative of Gorgo (and the destruction it hath wrought) can be seen as a clear manifestation of this colonial guilt, imagining a world where the British Empire can steal from a culture that isn’t their own, battle the consequences and ultimately come out victorious.


Of course, the reasoning behind this conquering of the “great beast” Gorgo is not for land, nor for cultural artefact, and ignores entirely the possibility of scientific investigation or proper, safe conservation – but purely motivated and driven by the worst beast of all – money. Much like Kong’s exploitation at the climax of its film, Gorgo exists (much as the scheming characters throughout suggest) for the pure simple possibility of making some quick cash. Metatextually-speaking, we could also read that, since Gorgo is drawing upon previous wartime anxieties, itself fantasising those events for economic gain (and, unlike Godzilla, offering little therapeutic resolution for the trauma it parades), there are some suggestions of the exploitation and fictionalising of wartime media following the end of World War II. Here, the film itself is guilty of the same crime the characters commit. Only, the film is not punished as thoroughly as London is – its shops crushed (those centres of capitalistic greed), its political landmarks (those houses for uncaring politicians) destroyed or those civilians, panicked and worried for their lives as they run into the protection of tunnels and alarm-blaring safe houses once more. A grim reminder of their national complicity in uncaring colonial devastation, and the destructive consequences that arose as a result – unfortunately, arising from an entirely external, and entirely modern source – arising from Gorgo. But, Britain is tough, they can make do and mend, no matter how many gigantic lizards are thrown their way, Britain shall not burn. All they must do is keep calm, and carry on. It’s only your past you are ignoring. 


Filmography


Gorgo, 1961. [Film]. Directed by Eugène Louriè. UK: British Lion-Columbia Distributors.


Godzilla, 1954. [Film]. Directed by Ishiro Honda. Japan: Toho.


King Kong, 1933. [Film]. Directed by Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack. US: RKO Film. 


Gamera vs. Barugon, 1966. Film. Directed by Shigeo Tanaka. Japan: Daiei Film.


Gamera vs. Jiger, 1970. [Film]. Directed by Noriaki Yuasa. Japan: Daiei Film.


Mothra, 1961. [Film]. Directed by Ishiro Honda. Japan: Toho.



Bibliography


Rawle, S. (2022) Transnational Kaiju: Exploitation, Globalisation and Cult Monster Movies. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.


Mustachio, C.D.G. and Barr, J. (ed.). (2017) Giant Creatures in Our World: Essays on Kaiju and American Popular Culture. California: McFarland. 


Sontag, S. (1965) ‘The Imagination of Disaster’ in Redmond, S. (ed.), Liquid Metal: The Science Fiction Film Reader. Columbia: Wallflower Press, pp. 40 - 47.


Barr, Jason, The Kaiju Film: A Critical Study of Cinema's Biggest Monsters (McFarland & Company: North Carolina, 2016).






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