We all have an image in our heads when we think of those classic monster movies, those hilarious distractions that we would find on our TV as we would channel surf on a lazy Saturday afternoon, the cheesy, black-and-white movies with a big creature stomping around on a model supposed to be a city, inspiring equal parts amusement and curiosity. Far from the more familiar, human-based monsters like Frankenstein or Dracula, these animal-based creatures were rawer and simpler in their destructive appetites, not needing us to engage as much on an intellectual level, intentionally silly, yet just menacing enough to get drawn into the struggle to defeat them.
But there was something uniquely appealing about King Kong and Godzilla, the undeniable masters of the monster genre, as their existence and rage became a metaphor for humanity’s destruction of the natural world. We got what we deserved in these creatures, as their destructive force was the inevitable result of our careless treatment of the planet. Our insatiable appetite for versions of their story, in all media, makes me wonder what that says about us, about our self-awareness, about our own sense of existential dread.