Godzilla On My Mind

I recently checked Godzilla On My Mind: 50 Years of the King of Monsters by William Tsutsui, a Japanese-American from Texas, out of the library. It's exactly the kind of book I yearned for as a kid going through my Japanese monster movies phase: a full-length text by a lifelong, devoted fan of the genre who knows all sorts of geeky trivia. Well, I'm enjoying it just as much now, since my Godzilla film obsession (particularly those of the Showa era, the ones following from the original serious 1954 Gojira and eventually descending into camp and self-parody) has recently made a significant comeback. (I'm collecting the films one by one off E-bay in chronological order; Godzilla's Revenge is next on the list.) There's a funny photo in the book of Tsutsui as a grade-school kid wearing a homemade Godzilla costume that he coerced his mother into making him for Halloween.

I have always found fascinating the sort of pop-cultural exchange program that's gone on for decades now between American and Japan (with a similar one between America and England). The makers of Godzilla were admittedly influenced by American movies like King Kong and The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms. The original Godzilla has even been referred to as a thinly veiled Japanese remake of the latter film, which came out only a year before. But in Tsutsui's words, "Compared to The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms (or even, if I may be sacrilegious, to the great Kong), the message of the original Godzilla film is so much more nuanced, the special effects so different, and the emotions stirred so much more profound that any charges of cinematic plagiarism seem all but irrelevant."

The name Gojira itself (anglicized as Godzilla when the film hit the American market) is a combination of the words gorira (gorilla) and kujira (whale) despite the fact that Godzilla resembles neither of these mammals. It is said of Nakajima Haruo, the man who played Godzilla inside the urethane foam suit, that he "could spend no more than a few minutes at a time sealed within the costume" and that "technicians regularly poured a cup of Nakajima's sweat out of the suit between takes and the actor reported losing 20 pounds of weight during the shoot." Most interesting to me is that Ifukube Akira, the composer who made the soundtrack for the film, came up with Godzilla's distinctive ear-splitting roar by "drawing a leather glove across the strings of a contrabass and manipulating the resulting sound in an echo chamber."

Fascinating stuff!

texas chainsaw / lesbian separatists / japanese monsters

It's all downhill from here. Last night Lucy went to her new home. I also finally sold my computer yesterday. Today I returned books to the library and went shopping at Everyday Music with the gift certificate Kirk gave me at my party the other night. I bought A Dirty Shame (John Waters' best movie since Serial Mom, which was his best movie since his 70s heyday) and King Kong vs. Godzilla on DVD. The latter was a big favorite of mine as a teenager. I've always loved those Japanese monster movies with the hilariously bad English overdubs. Then I distributed copies of my zinebook at Powell's, Reading Frenzy and the IPRC. (I still have copies, if anyone wants one!) Then strolled down to Saturday Market and enjoyed walking about in the sunlight watching people buy things. I bought a nice little ring for $10 that fits my middle finger. This young girl kept trying to get the seller to tell her what size of ring to buy for her boyfriend, and the seller kept coming back to, "Without knowing what size your boyfriend's fingers are, it's hard to say."

After the market I light-railed it to Chameleon and met with Pat for the last time, and to give him the corrected DVD copy of the Hat Party footage. I drank water with a slice of lime and ate a delicious slice of carrot cake with white chocolate frosting...I've always loved carrot cake, but this was like a whole notha level, a carrotcakegasm. Pat and Aaron were mixing a new drink while I was there, trying to get the taste right. The third version was great: scotch with saffron, a little sugar, and tuaca. They needed a name and I suggested "Scotch Saffron" or "Mad About Saffron" (after the Donovan song), but they went with Aaron's suggestion of "Scotchbroom." Pat said he would give me a reference so I can get a server/host/bartending gig in S.F. That will really help, since my resume over the past few years is like a road badly in need of repaving.

I cried a little after Lucy left last night, for the first time in forever. It's probably good to do that once in a while. I sure will miss that girl. I keep expecting her to be there, thinking I glimpse her out of the corner of my eye. "Cat love is one of the strongest kinds of love," as Kaj-ann told me during the opening party of the Love Show. Which reminds me: I also volunteered (again) for the Love Show closing party last night. Got a hug from Chris H, gifts from Kara (including a hilarious musical card), handed out copies of my book to various people, briefly saw Molly, but there was no warmth. Break my heart. I sent Nataliya Kaye a friend request on Facebook as an experiment, and just as I expected she didn't accept. So I deleted Siren Nation from my list of friends.

I wrote the FIRST ARTICLE about your then-incipient festival in the local press years ago, and you're too good to be my online friend? Fuck that. As far as I'm concerned, support is a two-way street, even if you're a lesbian separatist here in Lesbos, Oregon.

Tomorrow night I'm going to see one of my all-time favorite films, "The Texas Chain Saw Massacre" (1974 original, not the dumbass Michael Bay remake from a few years back that Tobe Hooper had nothing to do with) at the Bagdad Cafe. I first saw it at age eight and can't count the number of times I've seen it since. It is a work of warped genius, and if you haven't seen it, you should really grab this opportunity to experience its full brilliant insanity on the big screen! It is the single most raw, intense and unrelenting film I've ever seen, but few films with its budget have ever packed such a stylistic punch or impacted our culture as much, and the final shot literally brings tears to my eyes. As insane, violent, and inexplicable as it is, it also possesses a crazy beauty like nothing else before or since.

This girl named Allison I met at the Hat Party was at the media center the other day when I saw Chain Saw was playing, and she seemed like the kind of girl who might like it (a little crazy and abrasive - I always gravitate towards those people), so I asked, and sure enough she has, and she said she's going to see it tomorrow night, too, and maybe we'll get a drink afterwards, and discuss Tobe Hooper's one and only unequivocal masterpiece. (They're also screening part 2, but I don't think I can take that one ever again.) As Kinsey said, it's miraculous that they're screening it right before I leave PDX.