When Monsters Reign: a perspective of kaijus in film

Originally posted in a different format in CinemaComRapadura.

There weren’t many wonders in the 1930s. The crash of 1929 cast a grim shadow over the world, and while the rise of Nazism left nations on the brink of a new world war, something even greater loomed. On the horizon, from the top of a tower, an enormous horror—roughly 15 meters tall—clung to a skyscraper, fighting helicopters, as an astonished audience witnessed, for the first time, a giant monster on screen.

“King Kong”, 1933. Dir.: Merian C. Cooper, Ernest B. Schoedsack

If here in 2025 we’re buzzing with the re-release of Shin Godzilla in 4K, audiences in 1933 watched King Kong with the proper sense of awe—perhaps imagining that the world was more mysterious and larger than the violent disputes of humankind suggested.

It’s important to contextualize the emergence of the “giant monster” subgenre—or kaiju—even before defining it, because that directly shaped how such films would later be understood. In these stories, the presence of an incomprehensible, superior threat forces enemies to unite and face it together, putting humanity’s internal conflicts and ideological quarrels in perspective.

In other words, it’s hard to stop and argue politics when a giant lizard is crushing buildings on your block.

“Gojira”, 1954. Dir.: Ishirō Honda

Thus, the giant-monster subgenre was born with a dual purpose: to distract people from their own horrors by presenting a reality of even greater dangers, and to show how the walls that insist on separating us are nothing but flimsy social constructs that a kaiju could obliterate in seconds.

Of course, these premises have changed and been reinterpreted over time—which is why we have this column today, sprinting between massive footsteps and crackling blue beams to trace the trajectory of these incredible and terrifying creatures.

Giant Monsters: A Cinematic Subgenre

Usually tied to science fiction, horror, or both, giant monsters did not originate in cinema; they’ve been part of human mythology for millennia. Across the many tentacles of culture, giant monsters have intersected with media, being reinterpreted for new generations across literature and film.

Take for example the mythical Kraken, whose tentacles appeared in Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest (2006) over a hundred years after it had surfaced in its rudimentary giant-squid form in Jules Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (1870). Meanwhile, the same Kraken also inspired H. P. Lovecraft to create his terrifying Cthulhu, which in turn gave rise to countless myths and the entire niche of cosmic horror—so dear, for example, to the work of director Guillermo del Toro1.

Poster art for “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea”. Dir. Richard Fleischer

This feedback loop helps refresh the subgenre, which, simply put, encompasses all films whose plots revolve around a giant monster, and also accounts for its longevity. With that established, we can trace the history of kaiju in cinema from 1933 to today, covering almost a hundred years of myths, pop-culture icons, and a few films better left forgotten. Still, even within a universe of giant lizards (and their robotic versions) and underwater creatures, our starting point and endpoint both lie with different incarnations of the same monster: the giant gorilla.

“It wasn’t the airplanes. It was Beauty killed the Beast.”

The first years of kaiju cinema carried the adventurous aura of the late 19th century, with authors such as Jules Verne and H. G. Wells, and with monsters portrayed as forgotten relics of nature. Kong’s Skull Island, for instance, conceptually echoes the subterranean world of Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth (1864). Thus, King Kong arrived in 1933, set on an island seemingly untouched by time and populated by brontosaurs, tyrannosaurs, and, of course, a 15-meter gorilla-god.

From the very first film, the contrast between Kong’s brute strength and his sensitivity forms the backbone of the story. The line quoted above, spoken at the film’s end, sums up his relationship with actress Ann Darrow (played by Fay Wray2): the affection Kong developed for her led to his downfall. This became inseparable from the myth of Kong: Beauty would always kill the Beast.

King Kong was a hit, earning nearly eight times its budget. Its sequel followed with incredible speed, even by today’s standards. Just nine months later, still in 1933, The Son of Kong was released, but it failed to replicate the original’s success and quickly slipped into Hollywood’s forgotten vaults.

From the same era, Mighty Joe Young (1949) featured another gorilla—smaller, about four meters tall. Made by the same team behind King Kong, the film did not have much to contribute to the genre, but helped cement the giant gorilla in the collective imagination, almost two decades after the original’s release. It also stands at the transitional edge between the era of “monsters from lost worlds” and the era of “atomic monsters”—a time much more suited to giant lizards than primates.

“Mighty Joe Young”, 1949. Dir.: Merian C. Cooper, Ernest B. Schoedsack (same directors of “King Kong”)

“So what do we do about the horror before us now? Do we just let it happen?”

World War II marked a turning point in human history for countless reasons, most of them grim. For Japan, it was devastating. When atomic bombs devastated Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the Japanese people watched in horror at the destructive power now wielded by the West. The impact was especially profound for a nation deeply rooted in tradition, suddenly forced to yield before an arsenal far beyond anything anyone could have predicted. How to respond to something on that scale?

Gojira.

The dividing line between the “lost world” monsters and the “atomic” era,

Original poster art for “Gojira”, 1954. Also easily one of my all-time favorite posters.

Godzilla (in its Americanized name) was a prehistoric creature awakened and empowered by nuclear radiation. The metaphor was clear: the Japanese felt as powerless before the bomb as if an inexplicable monster had risen from the depths to annihilate their cities. In both cases, they could do nothing but stand and watch.

The dialogue quoted above occurs when two characters debate the pros and cons of attacking Godzilla with an even deadlier weapon. On the one hand, they could eliminate the monster with it. On the other, the entire world would learn of the new weapon’s existence—and might replicate it for evil purposes, with terrible consequences. Gojira was not only asking what Japan could do after the bombings, but also whether nuclear warfare was a solution at all, and whether the United States could have ended the war differently3. All of this, of course, was wrapped around scenes of a giant lizard wreaking havoc around Tokyo.

Godzilla became one of the most imposing and recognizable monsters, spawning countless sequels and inspiring a flood of other giant-creature films. To name a few: Them! (featuring atomic ants), The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (about a dinosaur awakened by a nuclear test in the Arctic), Tarantula (in which a spider mutates after contact with a radioactive serum4), culminating in the wonderfully terrible The Giant Gila Monster, where a giant lizard stomps through an obvious miniature set.

“The Giant Gila Monster”, 1959. Dir.: Ray Kellogg. You should definitely watch the trailer for this as well.

By 1959, the genre had lost much of its force in the U.S., bordering on a parody of itself. In Japan, however, giant monsters continued their reign of chaos, with classic creatures like Mothra (1961), Rodan (1956), and Ghidorah (1964), all of whom faced Godzilla at various points. To cap off this era, the two ages of kaijus faced off in the 1962’s King Kong vs. Godzilla, which brought the two titans together for the first time—in color, widescreen, and, naturally, in a spectacular brawl.

“King Kong vs. Godzilla”, 1962/1963. Dir.: Ishirō Honda

After that, aside from ventures into the openly kitsch (Tremors, 1990) or the supernatural (like the wonderful Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in Ghostbusters, 1984), giant monsters were largely laid to rest in Western cinema. With the rise of psychological horror in the 1960s and slasher films in the late 1970s, it seemed there was no longer room for giants among us5.

“Approximately seven hours ago, something… attacked the city.”

At a desk somewhere, producer J. J. Abrams (director of Star Wars: The Force Awakens) decided the U.S. needed its own Godzilla—one as terrifying, massive, and incomprehensible as the original was in its inception. From this idea, Abrams developed a creature worthy of awe and, in 2008, with a script by Drew Goddard (Deadpool 2) and direction by Matt Reeves (War for the Planet of the Apes, The Batman), Cloverfield was born. Beyond its world-building and metafictional approach, Cloverfield revived the giant-monster subgenre, pulling it away from humor and restoring its suspense and terror.

It did so by using the found-footage approach, simulating discovered amateur recordings. This format paved the way forward for our gruesome goliaths: they needed to dialogue with emerging formats to connect with new audiences. Thanks to advances in CGI, giant monsters stopped being laughable and became terrifying again.

“Cloverfield”, 2009. Dir.: Matt Reeves. One of my all-time sci-fi favorites.

With Clover’s roar, other creatures awoke. In Super 8 (2011), Abrams once again wrote his name in the Giant Monster Hall of Fame, this time as a director. In the ’80s-flavored flick, an alien creature—nicknamed “Cooper” by fans—unleashes destruction while trying to escape the military and make its way back home6. If Cloverfield engaged audiences through found footage, Super 8 did so through quality ’80s nostalgia—and nothing was more 2010s than that.

The brilliant Colossal, meanwhile, starred Anne Hathaway (Interstellar) and Jason Sudeikis (Masterminds) in a bold, twist-filled narrative that aimed to restore the genre’s allegorical roots. The film reinterprets the genre by replacing the fear of wild nature or atomic horror with something infinitely more dangerous: humanity itself. With an intelligent premise and unexpected drama, Colossal brought back a psychological depth the niche hadn’t seen in decades of Western cinema.

“Colossal”, 2016. Dir.: Nacho Vigalondo

In 2014, Godzilla returned to Western screens in a reboot that succeeded when focused on the giant lizard but faltered in developing its human characters. Still, it launched a new shared universe, which—after Kong: Skull Island (2017)—culminated in new showdowns: Godzilla v. Kong (2021), Godzila x Kong: The New Empire (2024) and the upcoming Godzilla x Kong: Supernova (2027), not to mention the AppleTV show Monarch: Legacy of Monsters that is ramping up its second season.

All to say that with new narrative approaches, CGI, and a renewed focus on the creatures themselves, Godzilla and all his friends are alive, roaring, and kicking—thank you very much7. Why now is hard to pin down; interpretations range from monsters as allegories for post-9/11 terrorism, to nature’s revenge against human environmental destruction. Both are valid, and despite me being more inclined toward the latter, neither has the historical distance needed for that kind of analysis.

We can affirm, however, that—after surviving helicopters, missiles, and audience skepticism—both viewers and studios continue to embrace the reign of these giant creatures as they stomp through our cities.

The kaijus are here to stay. Run for your lives.

Notes:

1. Hollywood’s most lovable director has spent years trying to adapt Lovecraft’s At the Mountains of Madness, but the project remains stuck in “development hell.” Fitting, isn’t it? ↩︎
2. “Whatever happened to Fay Wray? That delicate satin-draped frame…” ↩︎
3. This depth is what sets Godzilla apart not only from other giant-monster movies but also from most of its remakes and sequels. ↩︎
4. Because every franchise needs its Steve Rogers. ↩︎
5. Meanwhile, in Japan, Godzilla was already fighting its robot self, its future self, and every monster possible—sometimes all at once. Nihon is always one good step ahead. ↩︎
6. An E.T. with anger issues. ↩︎
7. Not to mention the Jurassic franchise, which had in its new reboot, Rebirth, one of the greatest hits of the summer in 2025. That is material for a whole different article. ↩︎