That was about as good as a Godzilla movie has any right to be. Normally I would recommend seeing such a something that will probably remain the pinnacle of its kind, but if but a single studio exec emerges from its burrow to find unexpected profits then it will mean six more decades of Kaiju movies for the rest of us. In this case what may have gone to four tickets, one popcorn bucket and two travel mugs, should instead be charged to Ali Express, where one can acquire six 3D paper towns, a pair of plastic boats, and one extra-petite dinosaur costume, (allowing one to exploit the free-with-account-creation child actor to its maximum value). We will never again blaze across such dreary skies, unless of course we roll the scattered remains of such paper towns into spice as many instructional joints and really educate the clouds about the breathing of heat beams. Japan was like this lost child subsisting on stale gum drops, stubbornly mudding on until it sucked the proverbial marble. Then a flash of light, this time from within, and all of this gory flesh spurts out from its hand-hole, an outflushing of tight-toothed growth, leveling the earth and piercing even into space. All this (and not much more) happened before I took my very first breath, but it would wait for me in its Cheshire way, with its furry windows that open my eyes to how sweet corn can mean. They say that comparison is the cream puff you have just before you hit your high. I say, have a few puffs more. Gander the length of this road and kazoo without a hint of snoot, because it’s all of it worth celebrating, including this heartbeat of an island. Would you look at that thump.
saltednotion 