Monster Islands: Godzilla Movies As Teaching Tools of Human History
Nearly everything I wanted to learn about anthropology was influenced by the giant monster movies of Japan.
Why do giant monsters in the 1960s special effects films of Japan nearly always seem to come from make-believe islands situated in the South Pacific? From the time of my childhood in the 1970s, this connecting thread was something of a puzzle to me. But I wasn’t the only inquisitive daikaiju (“giant monster”) geek to ever get his brow furrowed over this oft’ recycled motif.
In a 1992 essay that begins his own inquiry into the matter, Japanese cultural critic Nagayama Yasuo also pondered the significance of this recurring theme in the motion pictures of his homeland when he asked: “Why do monsters always come from the South–specifically the South Pacific–in Toho monster films?”
Sollgel Island, a fictional volcanic islet featured in Son of Godzilla (1967), is home to both the giant spider Spiega and Kamacuras, a mammoth praying mantis.
Mothra, a hill-sized silkworm moth in the eponymous 1961 film in which she starred, comes from the similarly fictional Infant Island. And the suitably named Monster Island of Destroy All Monsters (1968) is yet another fascinating fantasy isle surrounded by the waters of the South Pacific.
“Why do monsters always come from the South–specifically the South Pacific–in Toho monster films?”
In a related essay, published in the 2006 book In Godzilla Footsteps: Japanese Pop Culture Icons on the Global Stage, Vanderbilt University professor Yoshikuni Igarashi also ponders the significance of the South Pacific Islands in the daikaiju films of the 1960s. During his exploration, Igarashi points out that the make-believe “Faro” Island serves as the fictional home of King Kong in the lowbrow masterpiece King Kong vs. Godzilla (1962).
For reasons that will soon be made clear, it’s worth noting here that the Wikipedia page for Godzilla fandom also includes the aforementioned home of the Japanese version of Kong in its own list of the imaginary South Seas isles in Toho monster films. And, as with the previously mentioned source, the spelling of the island’s name is unfortunately misspelled.
As such, it’s probably because of the common misspelling that an opportunity that helps us better understand the significance of the South Seas islands in the giant monster films of Japan may have been lost.
What’s more, due to our general lack of knowledge with regard to the South Pacific, it’s with a history of mostly concocted South Seas settings that the island used in King Kong vs. Godzilla has also been believed by daikaiju or giant monster aficionados to be made up. But it isn’t a fictional place at all.
In fact, like two more exotic locales from old-school daikaiju movies that will be explored in this essay, Fauro is a real “monster island.”
In King Kong vs. Godzilla, a gray-haired scientist shares with an ambitious publishing magnate the details of his recent discoveries on the jungle-covered shores of Fauro. It was while exploring on the island that he learned of strange red berries that grow only there and nowhere else.
The scientist learned from the natives of Fauro that the berries hold powerful sleep-inducing properties. The strange fruit was used by the tribal people to make kava, a narcotic beverage used in their ritual offerings made to placate the wrath of a giant monkey god.
“Just before returning home I touched down at Bougainville, here in the Solomons. And about sixty miles south from there was a small island called Fauro Island. There, gentlemen, is where I found the red berries and the strange god.”
Before he reveals the island’s location, the old scientist mentions Fauro’s connection to the South Pacific’s also very real Solomon Islands. He then walks over to a large South Seas map hanging a few feet away and then, using his eyeglasses as a pointer, shows Fauro’s exact location and says: “Just before returning home I touched down at Bougainville, here in the Solomons. And about sixty miles south from there was a small island called Fauro Island. There, gentlemen, is where I found the red berries and the strange god.”
Okay, folks, not to crack anybody over their knuckles with a ruler or anything, but that’s a really cool kind of factoid that no geek (or Vanderbilt professor) worth his pocket protector should miss!
But, then again, our educational systems in America should probably shoulder most of the blame.
When have our school’s curriculums ever made it part of their mission to fill some of the empty spaces in our sponge-like minds with factoids related to the Solomons or any other island in the South Pacific for that matter? As far as American history goes, it’s not as if a great many of this nation’s World War II battles were actually waged in this part of the world––or as if a young John F. Kennedy nearly perished in the fighting there!
After the 1941 bombing of Pearl Harbor, America’s zealous effort to stop the spread of Japan’s rapidly expanding empire took place on and above the beaches and jungles of these little-known isles. Following Japan’s surrender in 1945, and before the country’s surviving soldiers were sent back to their homeland, large numbers were held in Allied detention camps on the shores of Fauro. So it wasn’t by happenstance that, nearly two decades later, a Japanese screenwriter would make Fauro the remote island home of King Kong in a campy Godzilla flick.
Nerds Just Wanna Have Fun
World War II itself actually has a small role in the screenplay of Gamera vs. Barugon (1964), as does another actual South Seas island. In this film, Papua New Guinea plays the natural habitat of a chameleon-tongued dragon that the giant turtle Gamera must battle to defend the people of Japan against. It’s also the place in the film where, during a reenactment of a WWII battle, a Japanese soldier stationed on the island finds a papaya-sized opal — which he quickly hides so that he can come back to rediscover it again later.
Sometime after the war, as that now-former soldier coordinates an effort to retrieve the priceless treasure left in Papua, he informs his soon-to-be accomplices that he hid the very sizable gem in a cave on the island, just before being rounded up and “sent to the prison of war camp.”
For an uber-geeky nerd like myself, little details like that bring historical authenticity to seemingly mindless fun.
In Giant Beast Gappa (1967), a film whose screenplay seems to have been pilfered without shame from King Kong vs. Godzilla, the tale begins on Obelisk, another real volcanic islet situated in the Solomon Islands, east of Papua New Guinea.
Unbeknownst to the eager team of scientists and journalists who visit the island while on the payroll of a greedy publishing tycoon, Obelisk is the ancient nesting ground of giant griffin-like creatures called gappas. But the island, like Fauro and Papua New Guinea, is home to more than just ginormous monsters. It’s also home to mysterious tribes of dark-skinned natives––played by Japanese actors in blackface and bushy Afro wigs.
The depictions of black islanders in all three of these 1960s giant monster films were inspired by those seen in King Kong (1933). This granddaddy of all subsequent giant monster flicks made in Japan used African-American actors and extras to play the roles of the natives of Skull Island, a mist-hidden landmass situated somewhere in the Indian Ocean west of Sumatra.
Like their Hollywood forefather, the peculiar fact that black folks inhabited these isles, thousands of miles away from the African continent, provokes absolutely nada in the way of puzzlement from any of the characters in these films. Not even from any of the so-called scientists. But for audience members who have room in their heads to find it curious at the very least, the inclusion of such folks hints at a largely untold tale about the South Pacific that’s even more fascinating than the origins of make-believe monsters.
The area of the earth that is made up of the seemingly endless waters of the Pacific Ocean, the world’s largest sea, and a near-countless number of islands that rise up and freckle the back of its southernmost portions is known as Oceania. In recent years, this region has also come to be known as Pasifika by many of the people who live there. And due to the incredibly wide variety of ethnic, linguistic, and cultural distinctions found among the people of this region, Oceania or Pasifika has been divided into the three closely connected territories: Melanesia, Micronesia, and Polynesia.
In America, the people of Polynesia, particularly those from the islands of Hawaii, Tahiti, and Samoa, are generally well known. This became especially true when Hawaii became America’s 50th state in 1959. Afterward, Polynesian-themed tiki bars and restaurants opened in cities across the country, a canned fruit punch was given the island’s name, and a long-running 1960s TV police drama was filmed on location there.
Despite being the most well-known of the Pacific Ocean’s three territorial regions, home to an estimated 1.9 million people, Polynesia (meaning “many islands”) accounts for only about 20% of the people living in this water-covered province. Micronesia (meaning “little islands”), is comprised of a combination of both Polynesian and Melanesian peoples and holds a much smaller population, estimated at around 650,000.
Practically unknown to a majority of Americans are the people of Melanesia, who make up nearly 80% of all Pacific Island peoples. Current estimates place this population today at somewhere around 6.4 million inhabitants, nearly 5 million of which are located in Papua New Guinea alone.
The term Melanesia was coined in 1832 by Jules Dumont d’Urville, and comes from the Greek words melas, meaning “black” and nesos meaning “island”. United under this grouping are the people of the Bismark Archipelago, including the politically divided island of Papua New Guinea (free West Papua!), New Britain and New Ireland, the folks of Maluku, and those of East Timor, Flobamora, the Torres Strait Islands, the Solomon Islands, Vanuatu (formerly New Hebrides), New Caledonia (Kanaki) and Fiji.
To ethnology geeks, Melanesia is known as the most linguistically diverse region on earth. While having a population of fewer than eight million people, the region holds an amazing one- fourth of all of the earth’s spoken languages — nearly 1,000 tongues, about 800 of which are spoken in New Guinea alone. But the sheer size of the world’s second-largest island after Greenland does much to explain why PNG holds such a large number of languages: its length runs roughly the distance from London to Moscow or San Francisco to St. Louis.
Ethnically, the Melanesian grouping includes not only Melanesians proper, i.e. “black islanders”, but also the culturally and ethnically related Papuans and smaller groups — no pun intended — of pygmy-like “Negrito” peoples living in parts of Papua New Guinea and on at least one of the islands of Vanuatu.
With regard to the people after whom Melanesia came to be named, anthropology tells us and DNA confirms they are the descendants of populations who came to this remote part of the world as migrants from the peninsulas of Southeast Asia thousands of years ago. The roots of their ancestors, however, lie without question on the distant shores of East Africa, out of which the earliest exodus of humans into Asia took place some 50,000 to 70,000 years ago.
Orang Asli: Introduction To The ‘First People’ Of Southeast Asia
For much of my adult life, I have been collecting old photographs of the so-called “little blacks” of Asia.
In spite of the incredibly vast span of both millennia and miles, Melanesians have retained strong physical resemblances to distant relatives living throughout continental Africa, India, and Southeast Asia. Included among the core physical traits are medium to dark brown skin, dark brown eyes, full lips, and curly hair. But straight or wavy hair is found in some, which is also fully consistent with similar traits found in some African groups.
In addition to their chocolate good looks, Melanesians have also held onto many practices and traditions that give testament to their ancient African roots. Those that will allow the briefest of mentions include: earlobe piercing and distending, the boring of the septum (the center wall that divides the nostrils) for ornamental purposes, genital circumcision, cicatrices (keloid scars made to decorate the skin), hair dyeing, braiding and twisting (aka “dreadlocks”), and the combed out expansion of the hair into the style commonly known as an “Afro.”
With special regard to the very last of the hair grooming techniques mentioned, it may be of interest to note that long-toothed combs and hairpins used throughout Melanesia, typically constructed of wood or bamboo, are virtually identical in both form and function to implements made by several populations in Africa, at least two groups in India, and the so-called Negrito populations of Southern Thailand, Northern Malaysia, and the Philippines.
What’s more, in nearly all of those areas just named combs can also be worn in the hair as a form of decoration. But they have an additional utilitarian purpose as well when used to give oneself the pleasing sense of relief that lightly scratching the scalp with such a device can bring. Readers with similarly luxuriant hair to any of the populations mentioned will probably already have an intimate knowledge of that particular sensation.
In what today could rightly be called a very campy depiction of Melanesians, the Japanese actors in King Kong vs. Godzilla boogie about the screen garbed in grass skirts, feathered armbands, and curly Afro wigs. The actors’ natural complexions blackened with make-up, each man is a spear-carrying savage, every woman is a coconut bra-wearing seductress, and everyone living on the island — little children included — is a sucker for cigarettes.
Although the characters are cast in vintage stereotypes, the characterizations, particularly that nasty bit about the cigarettes, has an unfortunate footing in reality: Photographs taken by military personnel stationed on the island of Emirau, in the New Ireland province of Papua New Guinea, preserve images of children presumably as young as 4-years old puffing away on hand-rolled smokes.
During the war, both Allied and Japanese soldiers sometimes used tobacco as an item of trade. In exchange for cigarettes, they could receive freshly caught fish, coconuts, yams, and other life-sustaining necessities brought to military bases by native traders. Considering, though, what the public now knows about the hazards of smoking, it was clearly the soldiers who got the better end of those deals.
Tamura Yoshikazu, a Japanese soldier stationed in Papua New Guinea during the war, penned journal entries to preserve a memory of his experiences on the war’s front lines. Included in those handwritten remembrances are thoughtful observances made with regard to the indigenous people of Papua.
“When I saw real naked natives for the first time,” writes Tamura, “I felt frightened. But they did not do any harm. They were well built and proudly decorated their hair with bird feathers. It was a surprise to me to see the way they showed off their decoration.”
Similar to the fears expressed by other soldiers, those felt by Tamura were proven to be wholly unjustified: “Everybody says, ‘The natives look very vicious at first, but isn’t it good to know that they are really gentle and innocent?’”
With special regard for the children of Papua, Tamura describes them as typically curious, much like children anywhere, and also “innocent as if they were blessed by God.” And he also noted being surprised that the children never seemed to cry because of the weapons-bearing soldiers, “although we were still new to them.”
But the overall experience with the indigenous people of this region also left the soldier deeply puzzled about the seemingly limited state of cultural development at which such remote populations still lived then. In one of his last entries, the young soldier gave voice to this sense of bewilderment when he wrote: “The natives knew about the world, didn’t they?”
In 1942, as the modern descendants of several generations that had lived for thousands of years in near-total isolation from the rest of the world, the people living throughout the South Pacific Ocean still functioned at a stage of cultural development that smartphone carrying societies would quickly call primitive. Like in the Gilligan’s Island theme song: No phone, no lights, no motorcars, not a single luxury / Like Robinson Crusoe, it’s primitive as can be.
Still, they did many things to which technologically advanced peoples could relate: They celebrated births and mourned the dead. They cut down trees to build huts and created extensive villages. They cultivated root crops and raised pigs. They laughed heartily with friends and fought viciously against enemies. The children pulled sweet potatoes from the ground and knocked coconuts from the trees. The men carved outrigger canoes for fishing and travel across the water. And with deft hands, the women wove fans, baskets, and floor mats for sleeping.
And every night, when darkness fell upon these “primitive” isles, the people nuzzled their babes close, closed their eyes, and drifted away into dreams. But never in their wildest dreams could they have possibly imagined a time when these isolated isles would be engulfed in the fires of war. A war fought by strange men with strange weapons, all hailing from a world they never knew existed. A war that, though waged by strange foreign powers, would inevitably force many of them to choose a side, and to fight.
A limited work of this type cannot offer a worthwhile discussion of their involvement in the Second World War, but it should be noted that Melanesians were recruited in the thousands by Allied and Japanese forces. Forcibly recruited by the Japanese in many cases, as had been their way of doing things in China, the Philippines, Indonesia, and other countries invaded during Japan’s campaign to take over Asia and the islands of the Pacific. Islanders were recruited to find food, to build huts and dig shelters, to carry supplies, and to carry injured soldiers. For Allied forces, they took on roles as “bush nurses”, field guides, and scouts — even as spies.
Although their wartime contributions, like the very people themselves, are hardly known about in America today, two men of the Solomon Islands were credited with saving the life of then-future President John F. Kennedy, who along with fellow members of his crew had been given up for dead when the torpedo boat they were traveling aboard was rammed and capsized by a Japanese destroyer.
Regrettably, it would be all too easy, even for this anti-war writer, to gloss over the horrors of the hell that is war. But it should be mentioned in some detail that a long list of atrocities were also inflicted upon these islanders.
Melanesian villages were razed to the ground and numerous islander communities were moved from their homes to make way for military bases and airstrips. The sea-going canoes used to maintain subsistence in these islands were damaged or destroyed. When resources were scarce, soldiers from Japan pillaged gardens and raided food storehouses. Islanders believed to be working as spies were executed — by both American and Japanese forces — for providing support to the enemy.
Adding to the damage, women, and girls numbering in the thousands were raped by soldiers in the Army of Japan. A great many were continually held by soldiers as sex slaves or, as they are called euphemistically in Japanese culture, “comfort women”. Many of the victims were later murdered. But even that would not be the worst of the atrocities that islanders would endure.
In the book The Pacific Islands, authors Brij V. Lal and Kate Fortune document how:
As battles raged, areas occupied by the Japanese were cut off from supply lines, bombed incessantly and, in some cases, invaded with massive force. As Japanese troops became increasingly desperate, their relations with the islanders deteriorated badly, often leading to further suffering and death . . . The death toll of islanders killed by the warring powers, either accidentally or deliberately, will never be known. Allied forces eager to make an example carried out bombing missions against native communities suspected of collaboration with the Japanese. It is estimated that in Papua New Guinea alone, 15,000 people perished in the fighting, bombings and executions carried out by both sides.
In the interest of providing something in the way of a comprehensive overview of this region and its people, it should be said that among some groups in Melanesia varying degrees of cannibalism were practiced. As has been the case throughout human history it was practiced for a variety of reasons. This includes the old metaphysical belief that the eating of another’s flesh — most often that of an enemy — could enable the absorption of their more admired attributes.
While no desktop hypothesis could ever fully explain cannibalism, it also likely that little understanding will come from looking down the nose of a Westernized perspective. As such, it could be helpful to take into consideration an anecdote found in a missionary’s travelogue penned nearly a century ago. Here the author recounts an occasion where a man in Congo, after having been told by a European that the practice of consuming human flesh was a degrading act, replied: “Why degraded? You people eat sheep and cows and fowls, which are animals of the lowest order, and we can eat man, who is great and above all; it is you who are degraded.”
A yellowed photograph taken in 1892 preserves the portrait of a young islander. Both of his cheeks are painted with a design that has some symbolic meaning to various groups living throughout this region. His hair is combed out into a round bush of curls, and his comb neatly rests in it. Written beside this young man’s possibly first and final portrait is the surprising caption:
Solomon Islander. 21 years of age. Sentenced to be shot by Captain Davis (of HMS Royalist) for killing a trader and eating him.
Nearly a century before the 20th century battle in the Pacific, another war of sorts had already been waged throughout this region. This after Europeans had slowly begun attempts to colonize the islands, as they had already done elsewhere in their mass migrations from the Old World. Many of these would-be colonizers — had they still been alive at the time — would have been quite surprised to find themselves skewered over the smoking coals of a roasting pit.
Nothing could send out a stronger message that some people in the South Pacific were simply not be fooled with. For several years, the ferocity shown by the tribes on some islands deterred Europeans from going anywhere near them — like Fiji, which was once infamously called “the Cannibal Isles.” And it could very well have been there more than anywhere else that Afro-haired brothers and sisters proved that pork was not “the other,” as once coined in advertising by the US Pork industry, but just another white meat.
Europeans did inevitably begin succeeding in their aims to colonize these islands in the mid to late 1800s — after their missionaries had successfully brought in religion, of course — along with them came the long-practiced traditions of slavery re-packaged then as “blackbirding.” Here Melanesian folk, referred to as blackbirds, were kidnapped from the islands and forced into a life of slave labor on sugar and other plantations in the South Pacific and neighboring Australia.
Countless numbers were also shipped eastward to plantations in South America. And after capture by the so-called ‘blackbirders’, all could be subjected to the same horrible treatment as anyone stolen into slavery. According to most sources, the Solomon Islands and the islands of Vanuatu would suffer the most devastating number of losses to this heinous cultural practice.
The de facto slave raiding was often justified as “righteous” acts by good Christians against soulless, savage cannibals. This was the same justification that had been previously used in the barbaric abduction of countless millions of Africans more than two hundred years before. Europeans were saving the cannibals from themselves!
Not that cannibalism, mind you, was unknown to Africa. For both ritualistic and dietary practices, it had, without a doubt, been carried out in various parts of the continent. But nowhere near the levels claimed in the self-serving propaganda of slave traders.
But so it was during the 16th century, the era that ushered in Europe’s slave dealing in black folks, that Pope Innocent IV of Rome declared that cannibalism was a sin against God and therefore punishable by force of arms, which could include enslavement. After that decree by the head of the Roman Catholic Church, Queen Isabella of Spain announced that it was legal for the citizens of her kingdom to enslave Africans, but only if they had practiced cannibalism.
As could naturally be expected, due to the sizable impact that Africa’s precious minerals and the trafficking of Africans themselves had on the economic growth in Europe (Portugal and neighboring Spain in particular) the declarations of Innocent and Isabella only increased the likelihood that charges of cannibalism would be leveled against those who were stolen away and forced to work on plantations in Europe and throughout the Americas.
And from those contemptible beginnings in the 16th century up through to the late 19th century––when the fundamentally racist ideas of Darwin and other naturalists began making the rounds in Europe and America to not only scientifically justify the enslavement of black peoples but also to project the eventual extermination of blacks as well––the bogeyman of cannibalism often appeared on the shortlist of signs used to indicate a barbarous or savage people.
But such views were never fairly or equally applied. Especially not when various “civilized” populations found themselves resorting to cannibalism in the mid 20th century.
As previously mentioned, nearly a year before the end of the war in August of 1945, allied forces had successfully cut off the supply lines to tens of thousands of Japanese soldiers in the South Pacific. Gripped with the agonizingly slow death of starvation, their desperation would eventually result in the calculated depletion of nearby Melanesian communities.
According to Gabriel Laku, a researcher from Papua, some 2,000 islanders, men, women, and even children, were literally and systematically butchered to death by soldiers from Japan.
While tied and still very much alive, fresh flesh parts were cut from their pain-racked bodies, particularly the meatiest portions like the legs, thighs, buttocks, and breasts. The parts were then cut down into more manageable pieces so that they could be easily cooked and consumed.
But Melanesians were not at all the only such victims.
Official reports filed with the Australian War Crimes Section of the Tokyo tribunal and investigated by its members revealed that a large number of Allied prisoners of war — both Australian and American soldiers — had also been cannibalized in a similar fashion. But it must be understood that such acts were in no way limited only to the soldiers of Japan.
Over seven long years of fighting peppered with the seasonal bouts of cold and the snows that winter brings, parts of war-torn Europe were also racked with famine. Such brutal climes would cause many there to also resort to the most drastic measures to ensure their survival. And when all things edible (including birds, dogs, cats, and even rats) had been consumed, the bodies of the dead, as well as the dying, were quietly cannibalized.
Such sobering truths should gnaw at the very femur of one of civilized society’s foundational myths about the differences between “us” and “them.”
After having been told by the gray-haired scientist the location of Fauro Island, two young adventurers set out on a mission to the island to capture King Kong and bring him back to be put on display in Tokyo. As soon as the two men and their Melanesian translator reach the shore they find themselves surrounded by agitated islanders who lead them away to their village at spear point.
Minutes after their arrival at the teeming island village, the three men stand cowed as the scowling chief and other elder members of the tribe approach them angrily. Fearing for his life, one of the adventurers from Tokyo throws up his hands and timidly cries: “Don’t eat me!” And this dialog, when looked at with a broader sense of history, has a rather…biting bit of irony.
But as goes the saying attributed to Winston Churchill: History is written by the victors. And in the hyper-modernized cultures of America and Japan, one can bet their overpriced cable bill that a great deal of history will be written by pen pushers on movie studio payrolls; war may be hell but it’s also a reliable source of popular entertainment.
Since the start of World War II, more than 500 combined propaganda films, dramas, comedies, musicals, TV shows, educational documentaries, and giant monster flicks have been based on, in whole or in part, the dramatic events of this military conflict. A great many have been devoted solely to the phase of the war that was carried out over the islands of the South Pacific.
After the release of Clint Eastwood’s two-part film that focused on the Pacific war from both an American and then Japanese perspective, Flags of Our Father’s (2006) and Letters to Iwo Jima (2006), director Spike Lee made a controversial contrast between those works and his own war-based drama, Miracle at St. Anna (2008). This by pointing out how not a single black soldier was ever seen in either of Eastwood’s two “historically accurate” films.
Despite the fact the military was racially segregated, 2.5 million African-American men and women volunteered to serve in the Second World War. Thousands were stationed on islands in the Pacific. Their presence there would have a profound effect on awe-struck Melanesians, who, upon seeing them, felt a natural kinship. Rather poignantly, the black military personnel were even believed to have been the descendants of those who’d been kidnapped from the islands long ago and taken off to plantations far away.
Not long after the airing of Spike Lee’s well-publicized views, members of America’s Latino community voiced similar frustrations with the work of documentary filmmaker Ken Burns. Somehow his 14-hour and 7-part documentary, The War (2010), had been equally remiss about the participation of enlisted men of Central and South American descent.
Also conspicuously absent from every romanticized film version of a great war fought in the Pacific by an allied force of brave Caucasians from America, Australia, and New Zealand are tens of thousands of Melanesians. The indigenous people of the South Pacific, who had often risked their lives willingly, but far more often had them taken by a war that was not their war.
Until a day comes when Melanesians are included in historical narratives about the South Pacific, facsimiles of them, good and bad, will be largely confined to the frames of giant monster flicks––which may not actually be as bad as it sounds.
In contrast to books in classrooms across the country, where such people are never even mentioned at all, the one-dimensional depictions found in such films could still be used as entertaining teaching tools to introduce them into a well-camouflaged essay, like this one. So, thank God for Godzilla flicks at least.
Paco Taylor is a writer from Chicago. He loves old history books, Japanese giant monster movies, hip-hop, anime, comics, Kit Kats, and kung fu flicks.