If I had a dog like you …
Wait! I DO have a dog like you.
If this was a day like today …
Wait! THIS IS a day like today.
If I could remember this moment …
Wait! I CAN remember this moment.
If I could always love you …
Wait! I WILL always love you.
Oh, the possibilities.
Oh! The possibilities …
The first trailer for Godzilla Minus Zero dropped this week, and I’m definitely looking forward to the release of this sequel to Godzilla Minus One, scheduled for Nov. 6, 2026. I have a friend who can’t resist reminding me that my interest is mystifying, so here I go trying to explain again.
I fell for Godzilla for all the reasons little boys are attracted to such things — a giant monster, explosions and destruction, what’s not to like? — but I became a huge fan of the first and last Japanese films when I began fully to understand the metaphor.
Japan was crushed at the end of World War II by the use of nuclear bombs against the civilians of two of its cities. The devastation Godzilla wrought on-screen was similar to the nuclear devastation — in fact, the creature is depicted as an ancient dinosaur revived and mutated by the nuclear bomb tests in the Pacific Ocean.
The first Godzilla film, produced in Japan in 1954, is a distinctly anti-war and anti-nuclear movie. The scientist who discovers a way to kill the monster at first refuses to deploy the weapon because he fears what politicians would do if they ever got hold of the technology, and the movie ends with a grave warning that if the Pacific testing continues, more monsters could emerge from the sea.
The film was so on-point that Americans edited the story for its 1956 U.S. release to make it more of a monster-fest like King Kong or Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein. The Japanese version was not available for general distribution here for 50 years, and by then various sequels had turned Godzilla into something less than a metaphor for nuclear war — more of a superhero, or sometimes a supervillain, than an harbinger.
Godzilla Minus One is my favorite sequel because it returns the monster to his original role as an existential horror, and because the story focuses more than ever on everyday humans trying to cope against the backdrop of a nation devastated by war and now an otherworldly creature.
I can’t imagine this sequel, set two years later, being as good as the last film, but it has the same director, Takashi Yamazaki, and the trailer has at least two moments that promise similar themes. One is an American voice over what looks like the first film’s climax ordering, “Abort third drop — repeat, abort third drop.” Does the new story suggest the U.S. was about to unleash a third nuke, this time on the flotilla that was trying to kill the monster?
The other moment shows Godzilla slowly stalking past the Statue of Liberty, the monster having arrived at the doorstep of the nation that invented nuclear devastation.
Godzilla is not for everyone, and this interpretation of Godzilla is not even for every Godzilla fan — there’s a huge subset of fans who prefer to see Godzilla fighting other monsters rather than exploring the beast as a consequence of monstrous human behavior.
I, for one, am hoping Yamazaki is planning to deliver a continuation and expansion of the themes from his first masterpiece. If he does, Godzilla Minus Zero could be another triumph.
OK, brain, I turned off the screens and I’m going to write with pen and paper today. So here we go and … write!
What do you mean, you got nothing? You’re always racing around from topic to topic, you must have something for me — a conversation on the observation deck of a space station? the story of a little boy and girl collecting memories in the forest? a scary night when a little boy is sure he heard a monster crashing around in the backyard?
Nothing? Fine. The dog wants to take a walk anyway. Maybe Later.
LATER: My screen-free day has not been a total success, but I probably have only done half of the screen time I usually do. Not horrible for Day One, but not great either.
What did we do before screens? Maybe we sat out on the back porch in the sunshine, listened to the bird song and passing traffic, and appreciated the warmth and the deepening shades of green on the ground and the buds in the trees.
Maybe we looked over the yard and began drafting plans in our head for the coming spring and summer. We saw a few places where fresh paint could do some good, we thought about edges that needed sharpening and new tools to be purchased and old tools to be refurbished. Maybe we just marveled at how blue the sky is and how grateful we are to still be alive after all we’ve lived, and maybe we missed those we lost and we felt love for those we still have. Maybe we smiled at the young dog and fretted for the old dog, and we did all those things without reaching into our pockets for the miracle device we euphemistically still call a phone.
Maybe we regretted never learning the names of the myriad bird species that flit about wondering if we and the dogs would leave soon so they can come back to the feeder. Maybe we hoped some would realize we are harmless and dare to sweep in for some seed despite our presence.
I remember a time when we were not distracted by that little pocket device. What distracted me then? I know I still went days without writing or picking up the guitar.
What makes me write these thoughts as if I have lost another day? Just by writing these 500 words, I have won another decent blog post to transcribe for Friday. (I hear an unfamiliar bird call that sounds like a rusty gate swinging. And now, for a brief moment, a brave bird does swoop in for a nibble!)
The dogs want to come in, but I am enjoying the sun. I’ll go back in the house reluctantly, but at least I have my daily quota of filled journal pages, and I haven’t picked up my “phone” during this visit out back. But now a red-winged blackbird is shouting, “Go back inside so we can eat!” OK, girls, let’s go inside.
