Cloverfield destroys Godzilla

Cloverfield is the Marmite film of early 2008.

Those who hated it predominantly entered their local multiplex hoping to see another cringe-worthy stab at the Godzilla formula. You know the one. Giant monster takes issue with famous architecture. Giant monster stomps. Giant monster roars. People flee. Production costs pierce the stratosphere. Rather like a Miss Dynamite music video.

Yet those who loved it recognised the film for what it truly was – a story of human survival. From the shots of Rob and Beth’s holiday right through to the film’s ending, Cloverfield’s focus lies predominantly on its characters. The monster (whatever the hell it was supposed to be) is a mere catalyst, driving events forward so that they can grow and develop in response to their situations.

The decision to portray Manhattan’s destruction through a handheld camera is a remarkably post 9/11 innovation that deserves more credit than it receives. A similar style may have been employed for the oh-so-tedious Blair Witch Project, but the complete dissolution of American society is significantly more impressive than three teenagers running around the woods for 86 minutes.

But like so many products of the entertainment industry, anything that breaks with tradition is rallied against with the vehement disdain of a 1692 witchcraft trial.

We’re seeing a similar thing now with LOST. Challenging, engaging and at times deeply intellectual, JJ Abrams’ bizarre brainchild demands one thing guaranteed to kill off waves of viewers in one fell swoop – patience. For while it may be true that the show’s story moves along at the speed of a continental shift, the dip in ratings suggests the Frankfurt School was right to theorise that audiences would rather gnaw off their own limbs than consume something intellectually challenging.

It’s only when you realise that these same people are crying out for ‘smarter television’ that the irony becomes clear.

True, it’s frustrating that the creature’s origins are left blank. And the ending is a textbook example of ambiguity. But this smart use of imaginative space is what, for me, makes Cloverfield so unsettling. There are no pockets of all-American patriotism to hide in, no vestiges of light from which comfort can be drawn. We know as much as the characters do and in a world torn apart by the irrational, there are no rational conclusions to be found.

So you can keep your bargain-bin Godzilla DVDs. I wouldn’t trade Cloverfield for every giant lizard in the world.

JOE MARTIN