Monsters have been representing primal fears since time immemorial, and the best of them are capable of adapting to evolving societal fears. From werewolves occasionally becoming metaphors for puberty to zombies going from supernatural slaves to viral consumerism, there’s plenty of multifaceted creatures to choose from. That’s why it’s fitting that the King of the Monsters himself has seen so many wildly different variations over the years.

Originally a physical manifestation of the fear of the atomic bomb, with the first film being produced a mere 7 years after the nuclear destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Godzilla would end up spawning a multimedia franchise as the radioactive dinosaur accidentally became a national icon. Over time, toys, games and countless toned-down sequels ended up diluting the character’s original purpose: to terrify audiences as a giant monster inspired by real-world horrors.

While several of these sequels would attempt to return Godzilla to his previous glory as a horrific antagonist, such as Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla (where the original monster’s bones are used to construct an undead cyborg with PTSD) or GMK: Monsters All-Out Attack (where he’s literally possessed by victims of the Japanese Imperial Army), none of these films managed to escape the merchandise-friendly tropes of a traditional kaiju film. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, as Godzilla is versatile enough to be an interesting character whether he represents natural balance or atomic energy gone wrong, but it was a shame that Toho mostly refused to fully embrace the scary side of their iconic property.

That is, until the company partnered with Shinji Higuchi (director of the highly successful Attack on Titan adaptations) and Hideaki Anno (creator of the iconic anime Neon Genesis Evangelion) to produce a genuinely frightening throwback to the monster movie that started it all. Titled Shin Godzilla, with the prefix “Shin” meaning “new”, “true” and “God”, this 2016 remake was a colossal success, going so far as to win the Japanese Academy Award for Best Picture as well as several international prizes.

Since its release, there have been plenty of think-pieces about how the movie touches on serious themes like the inherent evils of bureaucracy and the real-world mishandling of the 2011 Fukushima disaster, and while these are all notable parts of what makes this such a compelling cinematic experience, what I love the most about the film is how it’s probably the closest we’ll ever get to seeing a Lovecraftian Kaiju flick – and I think that’s worth discussing.

I don’t think Kong has a chance against this version.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: a God-like entity rises out of the sea and proceeds to show humanity just how tiny we are in the cosmic scheme of things, with our protagonists woefully unprepared to deal with the existence of a creature that defies everything we think we know about the world. From The Beast From 20 000 Fathoms (which actually inspired the 1952 Godzilla) to numerous post-Godzilla creature features, this could be the synopsis to any number of giant monster movies, but it’s also a brief summary of H.P. Lovecraft’s first entry in the Cthulhu Mythos, 1919’s Dagon.

Lovecraft obviously doesn’t hold a monopoly on sea-dwelling abominations, and it’s more likely that these monster movies were simply inspired by the same legends that informed his imagination, but the American writer did pioneer the idea of scary stories where primitive beasts actually represent the fear of an uncaring universe. In these stories, the real terror comes from the existential implications of realizing that the antagonists exist in the first place – not from a simple fear of death or destruction. And when you get down to it, I don’t think any monster movie encapsulates this better than Shin Godzilla.

The titular monster is much more than just a radioactive dinosaur in this incarnation, with the creature taking on the added dimension of an otherworldly force meant to punish the world (and more specifically Japan) for its sins. His coming is even foretold by the prophetic scientist Goro Maki, an enigmatic character that sets off the main mystery of the movie but never actually appears onscreen other than a photograph which is actually of the legendary director Kihachi Okamoto.

While a traditional Kaiju flick would have made Goro a central character meant to provide sci-fi exposition rationalizing the monster, Anno’s decision to have the character commit suicide at the beginning of the flick rather than face what was about to happen gives this story yet another similarity with Lovecraft’s dreary yarns and their ill-fated protagonists. And without a source of ancient knowledge to demystify our monster, the film becomes free to explore the fear of the unknown.

Hell, even the soundtrack hints at the idea that this version of Godzilla is not just a simple mutated animal, with the melancholy Who Will Know track featuring chorus lines spoken from the monster’s point of view. The ominous chanting here seems to describe Godzilla’s internal struggle with his own freakish existence, with lyrics suggesting that the beast is in fact a conscious being in an incredible amount of pain.

“A shaft of light is all I need to cease the darkness killing me.”

The soundtrack also features plenty of repurposed music, both from Evangelion as well as the original Godzilla. While the 1952 tracks serve to showcase how Shin is meant to be a return to form for the franchise, the references to Evangelion seem to reflect the common themes between the film and anime. Appropriately enough, Evangelion was an existential deconstruction of the Mecha genre which used giant monster battles as an excuse to dive into the psychological struggles of its main characters while appropriating religious iconography to explore metaphysical concepts. That’s why it makes sense that a film about a newborn God wreaking havoc upon humanity would share some common ground with the iconic anime (which even referred to its monsters as “Angels”).

While these preternatural elements of the movie are fascinating, the truly terrifying moments of Shin Godzilla are the ones closest to reality. Revisiting the film after a global pandemic reframes the entire experience, as watching bumbling government officials tragically mishandle a deadly crisis as deaths continue to mount makes for a decidedly uncomfortable viewing experience after Covid-19. While this clearly wasn’t Anno or Higuchi’s intention, it’s hard not to remember the race for vaccines when characters are forced to negotiate raw materials with factories in order to produce an absurd amount of coagulant to stop Godzilla in his tracks, much like real-world governments had to negotiate with companies to produce and distribute vaccines on an unprecedented scale.

These real-world horrors contribute to the movie’s scare-factor, as unlike a typical monster movie where protagonists are often finding themselves into ridiculous situations in order to justify them being near the main attraction, you’re never afraid for a single character here – you’re afraid for the world. Our heroes never even get close to the radioactive monster, and the final battle is truly won by committees and blue-collar workers, not giant robots or gun-toting action heroes. But even then, the movie makes it clear that it’s only a matter of time before Godzilla may rise again.

In all fairness, for Shin Godzilla to be truly a Lovecraftian piece of fiction, the mere sight of the monster should have been enough to drive the residents of Tokyo to madness and destabilize the entire world (though his cancerous redesign comes close to doing that to viewers). However, while Lovecraftian creations like the tentacled Cthulhu were never meant to be seen as physical beings, with that entire story hinging on how the Old One’s true form and intentions couldn’t be grasped by the human mind, film is a visual medium, and Shin Godzilla is likely as close as we’ll ever get to a big-screen representation of that particular kind of cataclysmic story.

There’s no way of knowing if these Lovecraftian elements were intentional, but there’s no doubt in my mind that Shin Godzilla remains an excellent example of cinematic Cosmic Horror done right. If you need further proof, I’d suggest taking another look at that hauntingly beautiful final shot of the creature’s mutated tail. It works as a horrific visual in and of itself, but the existential implications of that image are what make the ending truly horrifying, and that specific kind of apocalyptic dread is why Shin Godzilla remains my absolute favorite Kaiju flick.

Editor’s Note: This article was originally published on October 24, 2022.

“That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die.”