"For now, Godzilla, that strangely innocent and tragic monster, has gone to earth."
My brother and I were huge Godzilla fans when we were preteens -- I was 12, he was 11, and Dad was happy to rent every single Godzilla movie the local video shop owned.

Mothra, Ghidorah, Mechagodzilla, Rodan, Minya, Smog Monster, anything to do with the man in the rubber suit, we were there.

So, one day, because my mother has noticed our Godzilla obsession, and wants to show that she can be as cool as our dad, she rents us Godzilla 1985.

Unlike most of the Godzilla movies, this harkens back to the original, with the big monster smashing up Tokyo rather than other monsters. The Japanese have to destroy him, and, through a convoluted system, get him to a volcano, where he will remain trapped forever.

For at least five minutes, you get shots of Godzilla slowly falling towards a lava pit, intercut with shots of Japanese scientists crying. Godzilla falls, everyone cries, again and again, in slow motion.

His flailing arms can't stop him from falling. The scientists know that they have destroyed one of the finest creatures. For the good of the nation? For the good of humanity? But at what cost, people? What cost?

My mother walks into the living room to find both of us having complete fucking breakdowns. We can't stop crying, because this is it. Godzilla's dead, and there's no coming back. There are no more Godzilla movies, there is no more Godzilla.

She laughs at us and our pain, and goes back to bed. My brother and I wipe our tears and fitfully sleep, still upset over the loss of our most revered icon.

The next day, we visit a family friend, and what's on the TV? Godzila 1985. What scene is it on? Godzilla's descent.

"What's wrong?" they ask me, as I try to wipe away the tears.
"Nothing, nothing," as I look away from the screen.
( Sydney Bintstow, Sat 19 Jul 2008, 8:29, Reply)