subject: Strange Splendor [print this page] STRANGE SPLENDOR STRANGE SPLENDOR
(Why Honda is My Hero)
By Peter H. Brothers
There is a moment in King Kong Escapes (1967) where the mighty ape finds himself standing in the middle of Tokyo (his second time around, as a matter-of-fact) when he hears a noise and looks up to see two Chinook tandem-rotor helicopters flying overhead with their navigational lights blinking. The scene lasts for only a second or two and is inconsequential to the plot, yet it perfectly encapsulates all that one finds wonderful about the Japanese monster movie genre: their diversionary exuberance, their preposterous believability, their sheer poetic beauty and a heartfelt human drama directed by Honda which was the essential ingredient -- the guts of the fairy-tale -- for any of these films to become truly unforgettable.
Honda was born in Yamagata, a small village north of Tokyo, and when he was six years old moved with his parents to the Big City where his father would work as a Buddhist priest. As the Fates would have it, it was during a movie night at Takaido Elementary School that Honda was exposed to his first cinematic screening; for the other children it was mere entertainment, but for Honda it was a night that would change his life forever.
Hondas career covered nearly the entire spectrum of filmmaking; not only had he learned screenwriting, editing and camera-work during his tenure at Toho Studios, he also directed films of various types: documentaries, promotional films, films about mans conflict with nature and with his fellow man, social dramas and even Salaryman comedies. But it was not until 1954 when he reluctantly accepted an assignment turned down by another director that his life and career took a profound turn in another direction. The film was about a monster, and the monster and the movie were called, Godzilla.
A mere 20 years later -- when Hondas career as a director of full-length feature films came to an end with Terror of MechaGodzilla (1974) -- he still had nearly 30 years left of life to ponder where he career might have gone had not Godzilla come along; would he be remembered as a director of conventional movies or be remembered at all?
The thrill of filmmaking never left him, reflected in moments such as Kongs wonderment seeing those two helicopters soaring in the sky above him: the curiosity of what had just happened and what was going to happen next -- in a world populated by monsters innocent of their origins and destructive in their designs was a titillation Honda found irresistible and one he couldnt wait to demonstrate.
For to Honda, filmmaking was a magic canvas upon which to paint a mosaic of fantastic events made somehow believable, and the earnest integrity by which he made his movies was the defining factor as to why they are still so fascinating to watch today. Yes, you could say that Honda is my hero. His fantasy films are filled with scenes which stay in ones mind forever: the plummeting into the bubbling pit of Chika and the Abominable Snowman (1955) , the deadly embrace of Fujichiyo and The Human Vapor (1960) and the ghastly approach of Gorath (1962) have a strange splendor all their own.
Unfairly derided by those with preset prejudices unwilling to accept them on their face value and raised only on their horrible American mutilations, those seeing the fantasy films of Ishiro Honda for the first time in their original versions with an open mind are always pleasantly surprised to discover that they were made not by a hack, but by a craftsman of the highest order who loved movies as he loved moments of life itself: such as during that mystical twilight-time when a dark curtain rings down upon the day with the promise of a new nighttime act where the next thrill is just around the corner.
(Peter H. Brothers is the author of the new book "Mushroom Clouds and Mushroom Men The Fantastic Cinema of Ishiro Honda.")
