Health Scare #3: Limbaugh, Beck, Ingraham Laugh at Toothless Woman, Flash Everyone With Evil Underbelly of America

Thanks to David Brock's penance, Media Matters, even those us who consciously chose not to amerce ourselves in the Right-wing noise machine get to learn (as if we needed a refresher) just how evil a nation the United States really is.

During her turn at health care summit, Rep. Louise Slaughter (D-New York) talked about plenty of stuff. But because our media is full of sensationalist bullshiters, the only comment of her's with any legs turned out to be the story of a constituent so poor she "wore her dead sister's teeth."

The store grew gams thanks, in part, to the noise machine, a prime example of political symbiosis that keeps this country deadlocked into a uneven tug-of-war between centrist and rightwing crazies. A so-called "liberal" tells a horrible story in public. So-called "conservative" voices respond to it with ridicule, vitriol, and spite. And we can already here liberal voices rising in a chorus of indignation (MediaMatters holding the baton) at the Rightwing mouthpiece's callous indifference to the suffering of their fellow Americans. As if something like this:

LIMBAUGH: You know I'm getting so many people -- this Louise Slaughter comment on the dentures? I'm getting so many people -- this is big. I mean, that gets a one-time mention for a laugh, but there are people out there that think this is huge because it's so stupid. I mean, for example, well, what's wrong with using a dead person's teeth? Aren't the Democrats big into recycling? Save the planet? And so what? So if you don't have any teeth, so what? What's applesauce for? Isn't that why they make applesauce?

should come as a surprise. "Let them eat cake," Marie Antoinette shouted. Well, no, she didn't, but never mind. Evil people have shouted it ever since, whenever they wanted to display their complete contempt for the rest of the human race.

While discussing the probably results of privatizing Medicare (sick, old people tossed out of hospitals, into the streets, to join the legions of crazy people already tossed out in '80s), Rep. Slaughter declares, "We're better people than that." Well, I'm sorry, Congresswoman, but we're really not. Have you seen Glen Beck's ratings? I have. More people watch his rambling civics-lesson-tirades in one night than visited these pages last year. Surely all of them are sincere, red-blooded Americans, hoping to keep pace with the endless treadmill that is the News. And maybe they like their current events served up in silky, semi-sweet Beckness. Who am I to begrudge them?

Such was my thinking. Until I heard this:

On his February 26 radio show, Glenn Beck played an audio clip of Slaughter's account then said, "I am wearing George Washington's dentures right now. I'm wearing his teeth right now." He later added, "I just like wearing dead people's teeth. But in America -- I'm sorry, I didn't know that that was -- I've read the Constitution before. I didn't see that you had a right to teeth." Echoing Limbaugh's remarks the previous day, Beck stated, "The environmentalists should be all over Slaughter. 'How dare you say that?' My gosh, they're just recycling. They're just reusing."

You can hear Beck and his "sidekick" break out into frat-boy giggles when Rep. Slaughter says, "she wore her dead sister's teeth." Now I want to be clear, here: I respect Glenn Beck's right to laugh at the pain and suffering of Rep. Slaughter's constituents. All I ask in return is that he, and everyone else, respect my right to fantasize about his parent company's (owner's) destruction at the hands of an angry mob. That makes me giggle.

After all, Glenn Beck's program is taped at the News Corporation office studios, 1211 Avenue of the Americas (Sixth Avenue to the rest of us) New York, New York, right down the street from MSNBC's 30 Rockefeller Plaza.

So imagine, if you will, Keith Olbermann and Rachel Maddow leading a torch-wielding procession of correspondents, line producers, key grips, camera operators, runners, ADs, journalists, bloggers, and talking-heads through the night streets of Manhattan, singing "All Hell Can't Stop Us," or "I Wanna Free Miss Liberty" or some other fine selection from the IWW's Little Red Songbook. They storm News Corps' offices, overwhelming security. Rent-a-cops shit themselves in fear as red-eyed, foam-mouthed, Brooks Brothers-outfitted lefties, fed up with years of taking conservative shit, break down the revolving doors and pour in. Shattered glass twinkles in their frosted, TV hairdos.

Enmass they rush raving up the narrow stairwells, pouring out like a latte-fueled wave into the live studios. Sound men battle with boom mikes for bo staffs. Camera men's faces are driven into teleprompters by rebellious runners. Studio and viewing audiences keep their seats, shocked into rigidity by the sight of liberals actually doing something for a change. Other than bitch on endlessly about how dirty, evil and mean are those ol' conservative media whores, dag nab them.

Bill O'Reily, dragged from behind his desk, exposes his rubber-ducky emblazoned, $2000 silk boxers to a stunned and horrified world. He declares the whole "fucking thing sucks" as he's carried out to the streets on the shoulders of Chris Matthews Show interns, who proceed to tar, feather, and set Bill marching south, down Sixth Avenue, with instructions not to stop until he reaches the Village.

Meanwhile, back upstairs, Maddow stomps Laura Ingraham into bloodied unconsciousness with a pair of Manolo Blahnik's alligator boots, while Beck looks on, enraptured. Not by the girl fight. No, our man is caught by the visionary's paralysis. Like the audience itself, he is enrapture by the sight of his own worst fears made flesh. In a last ditch moment of egoism sure to make his spiritual grandmother, Ayn, proud, Beck has just enough time to stand and declare, "See? I WAS RIGHT!" before an Ed Schultz boot-to-the-naughty-bits reduces him to a simpering ball of well-dressed muck...

Whew. Sorry. Blacked out there a minute. And now I've got old union songs stuck in my head. What was it we were talking about?

Oh, yeah. Right. Fantasy.

Godzilla the Series: An Exercise in Over-analysis (Part IX)

(Back by popular demand, it's) Episode 10: Bird of Paradise

Inside the sweaty jungles of what the title card tells us is the Yucatan, a red-headed backpacker finds himself face to face with an Aztec pyramid, built into the side of a volcano. “There you are,” he says, as if greeting an old friend. Inside the pyramid, our Dollar Store Indiana Jones discovers a secret passage into the volcano's crater, complete with sacrificial alter and emerald-eyed bird statue. Because pre-Columbian Aztec engineers were just that cool, touching said statue makes the emerald eye glow and sets off a small eruption. A screaming, red shape escapes from the resulting blast of lava and noxious fumes. Cue credits.

Meanwhile, back at H.E.A.T. Headquarters, all's right with the world. Godzilla's eating fish, Dr. Nick's making notes, and Randy continues to labor under the delusion that he's funny. Dr. Elsie Chapman and DGSE Agent Monique Dupre are caught up in that great American pastime: watching television. (Some scientists you all turned to be.) Good thing, too. Otherwise they might never have learned about the, “mysterious wave of destruction sweeping across southern Mexico.”

Enter Dr. Mendel Craven, with a timely phone call for Elsie “from a Lawrence Cohen.” The mere mention of his name is enough to make Elsie put on her constipated face. “He sounds pretty upset. Something about Mexico.”

That “something” amounts to a ruined small town filled with uncommunicative eyewitnesses. Monique quires Elsie on the status of their contact: “I thought your boyfriend was going to meet us?” “Lawrence was never my boyfriend,” Elsie insists. “Just someone I...knew...a long time ago.” Larry (voiced by Tate Donnovan, who played TV's Disney's Hercules for all of one season, the show's entire run) is also an ornithologist. And by “knew...a long time ago,” she meant “almost married.” The team's collective reaction to this is priceless. (Much better the show's Running Gag of the Week, involving Mendel and spicy foot.)

“Someone's work,” Elsie insists, “kept getting in the way.” But why quibble about the past? It's not like there are any other, better ways to flesh out Elsie's character. Off to the pyramid, and its volcanic home, “the resting place of Quetzalcoatl,” Larry informs us, “an ancient symbol of creation. His appearance signaled a bountiful harvest.” (Well...that's kinda right. Like sun gods from Atum to Jesus, the Feathered Serpent represented knowledge, civilizing forces, and the eternal cycle of creation we puny mortals perceive as the phenomenological universe...but who cares about accuracy, right Larry? It's not like you're a scientist or anything.) “No one can describe it. Q usually hides itself in the glare of the sun...I think that when I unsealed the temple, I may have released Quetzalcoatl.”

Indeed you did, Larry. Here it comes now. And you didn't even manage to get a picture of it. With the camera. Around your neck. Instead, you fuck around with the camera while the giant, fire-breathing bird attacks you and the hapless crew you lured into its lair. Frankly, my boy, I'd leave you at the alter, too. And since Randy's discovery of a Quetzalcoatl feather typifies much of what's wrong with this episode we'll only mention it here, with promises to revisit it.

First we deal with Elsie's righteous indignation at her former-fiance...which only lasts as long as the next scene. Turns out Larry's been slaving away at proving a direct evolutionary link between dinosaurs and modern birds. Q could be the culmination of that work, in living color and complete with dragon breath. Ironic, then, that this is the “work” responsible for downing their relationship, especially since it was probably what brought them together in the first place, Elsie being a paleontologist and all.

Well, it turns out all is not for naught. Elsie extends Larry a glance down the microscope by way of a peace offering. Seems the feather Randy found is really a scale, covered with enough silicate for the flying lizard to survive a five hundred year nap in the interior of a volcano. Dr. Nick bursts in at their most perfect moment together, to Elsie's consternation. “We were looking at a...science-thingy,” she stammers. Nick doesn't even blink. Is he enjoy this after all the crap Dr. Chapman's given him over his choice of romantic leads? I know I would be. In any case, clock's ticking. Time to saddle up for the third act. Q's attacking another small town. Its apparent invulnerability to tranquilizers necessitates some on-the-spot chemistry utilizing the venom of some local scorpions—Black Scorpions (har har). Nick warns Monique “We only have enough for one shot.” Because catching any more bugs would just be a chore. “Then,” she says with characteristic, French aplomb, “I will make it count.”

Promises, promises. The situation in town prevents Monique from showing off her markswomanship. Panicked civilians (unlike the Mexican army) are everywhere, forcing Elsie and Dr. Nick to once again become action heroes. Elsie even rescues the stereotypical Stranded Baby from the middle of the road...and, as a reward, gets carried off in Q's super-sized talons, along with a good chunk of local real estate.

Now we've got our third act's Ticking Clock all wound and ready. Any real shows might've cut right to Elsie waking up call and spared us the painful Call to Arms/Expository speech H.E.A.T. stands around and delivers to itself amidst the wreckage. About how all of Q's previous attacks were little more than materials gathering expeditions. About how those materials have gone to form a nest for God-knows-how-many “baby Qs.” And about how Elsie's to become their first breakfast if the rest of the team doesn't move, move, move (as Dr. Nick says—interminably). Hey, I know: let's stand around yaking about it some more. Then Elsie's sure to get eaten alive.

Back to the volcano, where Elsie is indeed being menaced by creepy, big-headed, plucked-chicken versions of Q. Big Mama Q, meanwhile, circles the volcano, making H.E.A.T.'s ascent hell. Desperation forces Nick to call in the team's not-so-secret weapon. Props to Larry for not even blinking when Nick gives the order to, “Signal Godzilla.” That's focus. After all, there's a redhead to save. Who has time to notice that Elsie's boss appears to have a thirty-story, atomic-powered engine of destruction at his beck and call?

Not Larry. While Godzilla and Q duke it out downslope, he rigs up a cable from the shattered bits of N.I.G.E.L. the Doomed Robot. Repelling into Q's nest, he joins Elsie in a frantic but not-too-tense chase scene before being rescued himself by the rest of H.E.A.T. Drawn by the desperate squeeks of her progeny, Q returns to the nest, no doubt eager to roast up the human morsels skittering around its edge. Godzilla, thankfully, has other ideas. Once again displaying the kind of higher-order thinking that would give me pause, were I a Scientist, he not only shoulder-checks Q back into the volcano's crater but proceeds to seal it, and Q, and her featherless babes (who we can assume die in the resulting avalance), up with a blast of his atomic breath. A collective cheer goes up from our human heroes and its time for the coda, wherein Elsie decides, even after all his heroics, that Larry is “still for the birds.”

This episode is a giant in-joke, designed specifically for fools like me, who spent our childhoods so desperate for a giant monster movie fix we watch anything even vaguely resembling a Godzilla movie. The concept, execution, and even the design of Q is a self-conscious throwback to 1982's Q: The Winged Serpent, a forgettable piece of fluff written and directed by (drumroll, please)...Lawrence Cohen. Larry Cohen (whom my colleague, Dr. Freex, characterized as “a Great White Hope” of the 70s and 80s) is a seminal Bad Movie maker, most famous for his Mutant Baby trilogy of It's Alive flicks. He also made the cinematic let-down God Told Me To (though any movie that features Andy Kaufman as a crazed cop can't be all bad), and the much-better, anti-consumer-culture horror flick The Stuff. But it's Q that concerns us here because, for all its low budget weirdness (mimes with guns, anyone?), Cohen's second attempt to discuss religion with the grammar of horror movies sticks in my head much more effectively than his first.

Q starred Richard “Shaft” Roundtree and David “Kwai Chang Caine” Carradine as a pair of cynical NYPD detectives with an unusual rash of disappearances and dismembered bodies on their hands. After about an hour of fruitless investigation, they discover a cult of New Wave Aztecs have made the unusually-stupid mistake of resurrecting the god Quetzalcoatl through sacrifice and prayer. Without so much as a “Thanks, dipshits,” Q proceeded to build a nest in the cone of the Chrysler Building and started thinning out New York's herd of window washers and rooftop sunbathers. The machine guns of the NYPD shuffle it off this mortal coil and (after the obligatory twist ending) the credits rolled. The End.

Unfortunately, only those who know all of the above will get any kind of kick from this episode. Unlike it, the movie Q had enough time on its hands for actual character development. At best, the character of Larry Cohen presented here is little more than a walking in-joke, with no real role to play in the proceedings. We know Dr. Nick can play action hero when he has to, and all Larry does is reduce Nick's opportunities to do so. Larry's presence necessitates that he contribute something to justify his presence and redeem himself for letting Q out in the first place. Too bad Larry never does anything unexpected. The final coda (wherein Larry breaks off a conversation with Elsie to photograph a Peruvian finch) proves that Larry's learned absolutely zilch from the whole experience. I hope the Mexican government gets wind of all this somehow and sues his Wrangler-clad ass into Chapter Eleven for all the collateral damage.

The entire episode suffers from the lack of a punchline. Had Larry proved willing to sacrifice Elsie to the very imminent god-monster he'd just woken up (out of some benighted hope of controlling Q, say, and getting revenge on all those stuffy academics who ridiculed his research)...had the link between gods and monsters, and the frequent trouble humans have telling the difference, actually come under discussion...had Godzilla not been consigned to clean-up detail...I might have more good things to say about Bird of Paradise. As it is, this episode remains another low point for Godzilla's first season. Poorly written by Neil Ruttenberg (writer of such classics as Deathstalker II and Prehysteria III), it's in-jokes are appreciated (“Black Scorpion,” indeed), but they cannot support an episode all by themselves.

Things just go too fast for their own good here. Randy's discovery of the feather is a perfect example. No sooner does he say, "Hey, check this out," then it's time for the first Q attack. Blink, and you'll be mighty confused about just where that feather came from. With twenty-odd minutes of action-packed show to fill, I'm not surprised to see character development thrown overboard. But I am shocked at how much the plot is truncated to make room for itself. There are too many things going on here: Elsie's relationship with Larry; Elsie's relationship with the rest of the team; Dr. Craven's adventures with real-by-God Mexican food; Larry's relationship to H.E.A.T. (which never gets past "cordial")...it goes on.

The point being, this is a treatment, not a script, and there's enough stuff here for half again as much screen time. If only this had been a two-parter. If only Larry had something real to do. Anybody can rescue Elsie. With Monique being French and three other male leads available (all of whom appear in the weekly credit sequence), Larry starts in fifth place and never moves up the pack. The episode suffers because of that, and usual lack of its titular star.

But I've bitched about that often enough. I think Winter of Our Discontent spoiled me mightily. But there'll be plenty of time for that next week, when we go down south. And Freeze.

Godzilla the Series: An Exercise in Over-Analysis (Part VIII)

Episode 9 - Hive

On the vaguely-Pacific island of Santa Marta, a species of enormous, animate plant disturbs a band of youthful-looking looters, come to scavenge the island’s hastily-evacuated luxury resort.

H.E.A.T. arrives after the credits, and team lead Nick Tatopolus is quick to claim the moral high ground. “We’re not just here on their word,” meaning the looters. “The resort company also asked us to check it out.” The increasingly-annoying Randy, for once, delivers some useful information with his follow-up quip. “And he asked in the universal language: moolah.” We know now that H.E.A.T., like the Ghostbusters before them, work on spec, no doubt offering “Professional megafauna investigation and elimination.” Or “innovative, giant monster removal solutions.”

Whatever the case, an underwater thermal geyser spills Our Heroes onto the beach, wreaking their trusty inflatable motor raft. While Nick and Randy hotwire it, Craven, Elsie and Monique carve a path inland through the surprisingly lush foliage between beach and resort. Don’t volcanic eruptions tend to thin out jungles? And what’s Elsie talking about “underground nuclear tests” back in the 50s? This whole set-up spells BAD in big, blinking letters and you’d think someone (Nick, say?) would suggest staying together, at least until the boat’s fixed.

But no. Our team splits up. “Something inside the ash,” Elsie theorizes as they truck on, “must be acting as a super fertilizer.” Who died and made you Team Botanist, Doctor? Weren’t you a paleontologist a few episodes ago? Or are you just talking to fight the heeby-geebies? At least Mendel gives into them honestly; “Help me! Their alive,” he shouts, accidentally falling into a tangle of vines.

Elsie decides to climb a tree and gather samples, splitting the team up yet again. Mendel at least has the good sense to protest. Nevertheless, he melts at a wink from Elsie, so we know he is whipped.

At the hotel, French Fry and Cowardly Scientist find plenty of vicious vines. Retreating into the hotel, they also find a hive-full of pick-up truck-sized bees. Monique breaks an ankle evading them and still manages to keep Mendel alive. Her disdain is palpably French as they flee into the hotel’s ventilation system.

Offshore, Nick and Randy fix the boat. The island's active volcano has, of course, fucked with their communications, forcing them inland…right into the island’s vines. Godzilla arrives, apparently just in the nick of time (pun intended—that’s why I used italics)…until the vines ensnare him as well.

Now, let’s talk about fluctuating superpowers. About Superman turning back time by flying around the world. About He-Man holding starships in place with some magic lasso She-Ra stole from Wonder Woman. About Aquaman, cira Superfriends, and his glass jaw. About many a Decepticon taken out with one punch. I’m talking about Godzilla being unable to wrench himself free from a bushel of triffids. Why? So Nick and Randy can rig up a laser on site out of whatever they’ve got in their backpacks. Times like this, I wonder about Dr. Nick; he could be MacGuyver in disguise, befriended by a giant reptile. If so, I wish he’d hurry up and tell Godzilla to crush Nightrider.

Laser-equipped, Nick and Randy stand by at minimum safe distance and watch Godzilla trim the verge. And just when the series has lost me, it wins me back: a giant bee descends from the sky to snatch Randy away. Can I hope for the slow, painful death of this show’ s Odieus Comic Relief? There’s no real harm in that…is there?

No. Because you’ll remember the hive, which consumes most of the hotel. Nevertheless, Mendel and Monique (through sheer cartoon luck) happen to come out of the vents in the Queen’s Throneroom—formerly an Olympic sized swimming pool. Her Majesty needs all the space she can get though. Like so many cartoon monsters in this pre-digital age, Her Majesty will radically change size and proportion throughout the fight scene to come. As will Godzilla, who arrives to wreak havoc on the beehive, along with the hotel it just so happens to occupy.

Since we know H.E.A.T. works on a pay-for-play basis, I’d love to see someone try to deduct collateral damage to their assets out of Dr. Nick’s quoted price. Does Nicky start low or play high ball? He does seem to have the giant monster hunter market cornered, but how long will that last? Where’s the South Pacific’s answer to this shifty bunch of gaijin? (In a future episode, that’s where.) Where’s the army? Assuming there were underground nuclear tests “in the 50s,” what’s to say the Go’ment gave up its stake in this little bit of radioactive paradise? Maybe the whole “resort company” thing is a front—like Monique’s “casualty and property insurance” business.

A better episode than I remembered, Hive gives everyone something to do, even if that something amounts to “get captured.” Randy gets captured by a Killer Bee only to be rescued by the surprise team of Monique and Craven. She, of course, grows to respect Craven and his contributions to the team, and all it took was yet another traumatizing adventure in Science.

Elsie gets captured by giant vines…who don’t seem to do much beyond grab you and pull you above the treeline. Nick rescuers her with his new laser, and you can tell the boys in marketing really wanted to paint Nick as an Action Hero. Not only does he rescue the redheaded damsel with his handmade (rather Ghostbuster-like) blaster, he gets to catch her in his arms, a nerdy Fabio impersonator straight from a Harlequin Romance cover…if, that is, small armies of underpaid South Korean animators drew Harlequin Romance covers.

Godzilla’s neigh-invulnerability comes to the fore here, as the Big-G at last gets a decent fight scene under him. After the wrestling matches with El Gusano and the Orange, Candy-Striped Ooze, Godzilla’s had a run of low budget opponents. Not so with the Queen Bee or her hive of Killers. Having already survived the ocean’s depths and the U.S. military (who so-handedly dispatched the “first” Godzilla in 1998’s movie…which I really should get around to reviewing here at some point or another), Randy’s “Lizard King,” (no, honey, that’s Jim Morrison) survives a lot of crap in this episode. Bee stings, volcanic eruptions, hazardous falls, Randy’s one-liners…this Godzilla could give the Tick lessons in poise, and it’s nice to see…even if it does shoot any dramatic tension this show had left in the head. No, not the foot; the head.

The tropical resort provides a nice twist on the usually-monotonous Jungle Fight…though I always hate how easy it is for giant monster movie makers to lose perspective in natural settings. The tendency is to film (or animate) at your creature’s eye level, as once again our human heroes flee, leaving the volcano to clean up after Godzilla.

Clean up it does, wiping out the whole island in the tradition of Godzilla vs the Sea Monster. Godzilla survives, of course, to Nick’s evident delight. So, despite some weak spots in the middle, and the usual complaints, a good monster time is had by all. This is the most “traditional” episode so far, sharing its setting, plot-structure, and resolution with many an SF film “from the 50s.” I could rattle of a whole baker’s dozen of them (and those are just the ones that end with a spontaneous volcanic eruption). But then again, if you’re reading these words, chances are you can too.

Godzilla the Series: An Exercise in Over-Analysis (Part VII)

Episode 8 – What Dreams May Come

In Queens, a fifty-foot, six-limbed, godawfully ugly thing interrupts an obnoxiously “Nu Yawk” couple’s spat over the electric bill, reducing their five-story walk-up to scrap. Morning finds H.E.A.T. there (minus team-spy Monique), as they seem to be the only municipal agency at work in New York. Seriously, where is the Fire Department? Isn’t this a city in recovery from perpetual Godzilla attacks? Why does anyone still chose to live in this New York? But then again, why does anyone chose to live in Metropolis? Or Marvel Comic’s version of the City That Never Sleeps?

In any case, the team finds plenty of residual ionization, but actual, physical evidence eludes them…until a frantic phone call from Monique interrupts Our Heroe's search. The as-yet-unnamed creature is making its presence known down by the MTA bus depot. Team lead Nick and Mendel Craven (the Designated Cowardly Lion) leave Randy and Elsie to pick among the ruins, and on each other. Their constant sniping will be this week’s B-story, as each attempts to rest control of the teams Executive Officer position from the other.

Meanwhile, Nick and Craven join Monique at the MTA. Again they seem to be the only public servants in sight, rescuing civilians from the depot’s garage even as the still-nameless monster tears the place apart. Our (human) Heroes’ imminent demise once again appears at hand…until Godzilla, the real hero of the piece, stomps his way out of the ocean and into an inconclusive fray. The misshapen mutation appears to feed on electromagnetic energy, and reacts to Godzilla’s blasts of radioactive breath the same way mosquitoes react to type O-pos. Things look bad for Nick and his half of the team (who’re once again caught between the battle, and once again, survive uninjured, despite the flying buses and falling lizards all around) until Godzilla head-butts the creature into a cloud of debris…where it vanishes without a trace.

Stymied, H.E.A.T. reconvenes at their “high tech” condemned building of a headquarters. Elsie and Randy, for all their interpersonal sniping, managed to uncover something back in Queens: the one apartment in the whole building untouched by the destruction. That’d be the apartment of a Mr. Sydney Walker, an employee at the…MTA bus depot…who hasn’t been seen (at home or work) for weeks.

For all my disdain for Randy (I have a mild hatred for all characters who presume to speak for the audience) we occasionally think alike. “I see where you’re going with this,” Randy says. “Walker hates his job and everyone around him. So when he accidentally mutates into a giant bug zapper, he decides to get his revenge!” (Pause.) “What?”

"That Crackler thing can’t be a human mutation,” Mendel counters. “It’s not even alive.” Rather it appears to be a walking electromagnetic field—a walking, stalking, size-changing hologram, ripped out of its holodeck and set loose upon the world.“‘Crackler?’” Randy asks.

"Well, what would you call it?”

Indeed. Typically, the first scientist to discover a new organism gets the honor of christening it. Nick, never one to be a jealous fuck (except when his girlfriend’s involved), allows Craven’s name to stand as he doles out assignments. Elsie and Randy will proceed to Manhattan Neural Research Center, the last place anyone saw Sydney Walker alive (in human form, at least). Craven and Monique will join Nick for a little pleasure drive around the city. “Let’s go Crackler hunting,” Nick says. Do I detect a hint of relish in his voice? Methinks yes.

On their own again, Randy and Elsie gain access to the Center, despite Center personnel’s apparent obsession with security. “Looks like Walker isn’t here,” Randy says. “And he isn’t in room 213.” “Well,” Elsie counters, “let’s not pay him a visit.” Upstairs, they find two anonymous scientists and one sleeping man with more EEGs strapped to his head than a grand maul seizure patient.

Seems Mr. Sydney Walker checked himself in complaining of insomnia. “To put him under,” the male scientist explains, “we enhanced his Theta brain waves. That was…a week ago. We haven’t been able to wake him since.” Each attempt’s only achieved a slight increase in brain waves activity—accompanied by a massive electromagnetic discharge. “We assumed that dissipated into the atmosphere,” because that’s just what you’d assume…until the Humanitarian Environmental Analysis Team comes knocking. In the usual, haphazard way common to scientists in American media, our team hammers out a hypothesis through phone conferencing.

Seems like Walker (who’s psyche test “suggested intense repressed rage,” according to one of the Neural Research Center’s whitecoats—and you still went through with treatment? You bastards practically asked for a giant monster to hatch out of that man’s head), comatose state notwithstanding, controls the Crackler unconsciously, dreaming it into being and dreaming himself into the driver’s seat. Another Theta spike appears right on cue, setting up our final fight scene…and the predictable resolution.

Weird though this episode may be, it carries all the hallmarks of an American comic book icon. Yes, that’s Len Wein, co-creator of Swamp Thing, still slinging words from the trenches of American children’s television. (Show’s what happens to those unfortunate comic book creators who never secured the rights to their characters—hold them dear to your heart, boys and girls. Corporate American would like nothing more than to mine them for all eternity while paying you a pittance.) Being the case, you’ll find quite a few tropes from 70s-era comics scattered throughout the episode.

It begins in media res, with exposition (especially scientific exposition) delivered in clumsy blocks of dialogue, often in the middle of a fight scene. In the tradition of 70s-era team books, H.E.A.T. voluntarily splits itself up into more easily-managed micro-teams. This allows Nick, Monique and Craven to remain busy while Wein focuses our attention on the main characters: Elsie and Randy. Their separate and disparate skill sets do end up solving the case, despite the obligatory friction. Obligatory because, without it, how could you bring these character’s through a dramatic arch in twenty-two minutes or less? Bully to Wein, then, for not shoving that resolution in our face. It comes in a quiet moment during the final fight scene, as Godzilla’s battle with the Crackler tears apart Shea Stadium, not in a South Parkian, “I’ve-learned-something-today” moment…but with the simplest of gestures: an offered hand, by Elsie to Randy…who’s just been knocked across the room by an electric shock. You can see Randy’s entire character summed up in that rash but well-meant attempt to unplug Walker and shut the Crackler down. Of course his ad hoc, ask-questions-later tactics are going to run afoul of Dr. Elsie Chapman, team paleontologist. My only complaint is, since this is a kid’s show, its sympathies obviously tilt toward Randy; in the end, he’s always right. Even his “I see where you’re going with this” comment is more on-target than anything H.E.A.T.’s three scientists come up with—and that’s a bad sign all around. Do you want the punk kid to be the smartest one in a room full of “professional” monster hunters? I think not.

Standard monster movie tropes are bent over backward to provide a human interest story, parallel to and grounded by the big-ticket mayhem. Our monster turns out to be little more than a man with a lightning rod strapped to his head—a tiny, repressed, pathetic little man, who frees himself from his internal monster with a little help from Randy and some spontaneous, Primal Scream therapy (continued shades of the 1970s). Having confronted his trauma, Walker sinks into a crying jig as Randy consoles him with quite words: “No problem, dude. It’s over.” And just when I start to wonder about wishful thinking, Elsie steps in to give us an aside: “Except for the years of intensive therapy.” Amen, sister.

By provoking Walker into a shouting match, Randy (somehow) destroys the Crackler’s supply of emotional fuel. Godzilla, having battled the Crackler across Flushing Meadows (bye, bye, Unisphere), dissolves it with a well-timed fireball—miraculous, considering all previous attempts to nuke the Crackler only made it stronger.

In the end we have here a good stand-alone episode…that could’ve used a second draft and a little more thought put into its wacky excuse for physics. A little more money might’ve helped out as well, populating the otherwise-deserted monster scenes with fleeing civilians and/or useless human authority figures. By now I’ve probably worn your ears off with my complaining about Godzilla’s ancillary role in his own show, so there’s little need to reheat that hash here…except that Sydney Walker’s story, with its shades of Bruce Banner (the greatest giant monster in comics) has put me in that frame of mind. I liken Godzilla to Lou Ferrigno’s Hulk—a destructive force that shows up, no more than twice an episode, to solve things with a maximum amount of collateral damage. Is this the best role a giant monster can expect? Can we do nothing more without swinging wide into King Kong territory? And exactly what’s to become of that little Theta wave-amplifying, monster-creating, dream machine? No self-respecting “number one monster hunting team” in the world would just leave the damn thing sitting around the Manhattan Neural Research Institute.

Would they? Really?

Godzilla the Series: An Exercise in Over-Analysis

Episode 6 – Cat and Mouse

Plot: As New York City slowly but steadily rebuilds itself in the wake of Godzilla’s first “attack,” our pre-credit teaser finds an unfortunate homeless man beset by a giant, mutated rat.

Cut to…some mid-town restaurant, where Dr. Nick Tatopoulos and WIDF News Correspondent Audrey Timmonds attempt to have A Talk. You know, one of those annoying “Don’t You Think Its Time We Defined Our Relationship?” talks, gratefully interrupted by separate calls to both participants.

While Audrey and cameraman “Animal” Polatti chase down rumors of giant monsters making life hard on Bowery bums, Dr. Nick and H.E.A.T. deploy into the subway, where something is literally chewing its way through Con-Ed’s best-laid pipes, plans, and walls. The inevitable complaining and clowning around ensue, proving too much for H.E.A.T. Token Badass, DGSE Agent Monique Dupre.

Back at base, Monique tells Dr. Nick, ”I am tired of being the only professional on this so-called team.” Nick’s all-too quick to let his French Secret Service agent go but, “Alas," she says, "it is not your permission I require.”

Godzilla’s arrival paves over this potential team schism, once again almost crushing his nominal human companions as he climbs out of the East River. How he avoids that, or something similar (like sweeping them into the East River as he climbs over their heads, pushing walls of water ahead of himself) is a miracle of cartoon physics.

Further miracles abound as Godzilla peruse the first of the giant rats that’ll miraculously evade him throughout the episode, causing “comical” mishaps on par with old Warner Brother’s cartoons. For example: the rat (big as a small horse) manages to sneak its way uptown, where Audrey and Animal are on location, handing out cash for monster stories. Reversing to dislodge the rat from its perch on their Ford Newsvan’s roof, they succeed in backing right up the top of Godzilla’s foot—he having stealthily arrived on the scene without so much as a fleeing populous to proceed him.

In fact, the New York of this crazy, parallel dimension is eerily deserted, making it that much easier for three rednecks—Bill, Dale, and Earl—to sneak into the city with their pick-up truck full of rocket launchers (helpfully labeled “Army Surplus”). Finding Godzilla in the midst of his rat-hunt, lead-redneck Dale aims to bag the Big G, and succeeds only in re-destroying the Chrysler Building, which suffered so much during the summer of 1998.

Still, Major Hicks attempts to calm the City’s excitable Mayor (no longer named “Ebert”) with humanitarian caveats. “Our options are limited until the city is evacuated,” he says…riii-ight. I’m sure the Pentagon might have a thing or two to say about that, Major. For all their talk of “defense” and “honor,” I hear they’re still big on “acceptable losses” down there. I doubt they’d hesitate to give the green light with Godzilla on a rampage…in New York…again…Still, somehow, Hicks manages to buy H.E.A.T. the two hours necessary to track the rat to its subway home…or their home, as it turns out.

Yes, there’s a whole colony of giant rats quietly breeding below New York’s streets…what else is new? With the team separated by mass rat attack, it's up to Audrey, Animal and Randy to save Nick and Monique from the jaws of death. Meanwhile, above ground, Godzilla fights his own, over-long battle against ever increasing numbers of rodents, human and otherwise.

All threads align in an abandoned subway platform somewhere below the city, with Godzilla literally bringing the house down, leaving human Heroes and Rednecks alike trapped below ground. It's Audrey who leads Major Hicks to their burrow, saving the day. And all without resolving a single issue raised earlier in the episode. The credits find our lovers standing alone under a New York streetlight, right back where they began, going their separate ways.

Analysis

What should be a rip-roaring good time of an episode instead becomes a testament to the true limits of this series, pulling its punches at every turn. Few things were harder in pre-computer animation than crowd scenes, or the kind of complex visual effects we take for granted now a’ days. This episode, then, is a relic of late twentieth-century, the Age of Pokemon, when American imaginations were not so well acquainted with images of death and destruction, and we worried about the effects realistic portrayals of such would have on The Children.

The result is a—dare I say it—childish little romp that robs its audience of excitement by robbing its subject of dramatic weight. Nothings appears at stake here; so what if Nick paints nightmare word-pictures of a rodentine apocalypse? He and his little band appear to be the only people left in New York City anyway. Even without pressure from the area’s top reptilian predator, the rat’s will dissolve into cannibalism soon enough.

As always, I have my questions to fall back on. Like what keeps Audrey from cashing in on her…ahem…intimate relationship with H.E.A.T.? Nothing held her back during the movie, where she flagrantly abused Nick’s trust for the sake of her career. Should we assume her continued silence indicates growth, as a character? If so, it’s made her an even less-interesting figure, and she has every right to have an official Talk with Nick about the state of their relationship.

In the Tarot deck of Giant Monster Movie Protagonists there is no Major Arcana more superfluous than The Chick. You know the type. Faye Wray set the Golden Age standards for the role, with Momoko Kochi’s Emiko Yamane the first Chick in Godzilla history. It’s taken sixty years for stronger women to inhabit the role, attempting to flesh out its barebones requirements, the easy way being to combine The Chick with that other, often-superfluous Arcana, The Reporter.

Audrey is not the first Chick to play the dual role, but she is an uneasy mixture, a volatile chemical. Having literally no place in the show’s format or Nick’s life, her presence strikes a sour note in what was fast becoming a harmonious symphony of destruction. I am grateful that writer Steven Melching reversed the usual Cinderella role here, with Audrey coming to Nick’s rescue (leaving Godzilla to once again do all the work for none of the credit). But I’m also saddened that, after this, The Series’ creators would find only one other role for her to play—the role of Damsel in Distress.

Monique, for all her temporary bitching, at least has a role to fill, and skills to contribute to the team, and proves herself invaluable against the rats. She leaves the episode convinced H.E.A.T. is much better led than not, realizing what everyone in the audience already understands: only a sad sack like Dr. Nick could possibly control this unruly bunch of teenagers.

I very much include Godzilla in this. He comes off the worst for the whole episode, barred by children's television censorship from actually catching his prey. Wouldn't want an explosion of rat gore spoiling The Children's Saturday morning. I certainly hoped for it, and it was sadly disappointed. My snarky comments during the synopsis should reveal my feelings as well as anything...though I'll state it plain if there's any doubt: Cat and Mouse is a low point early in the first season of a show obviously hobbled at the gate.

Tune in next week for greener pastures, and the coming of Leviathan...

Godzilla the Series: An Exercise in Over-Analysis (Part IV)

Episode 5: The Winter of our Discontent

We open in New York City’s seemingly-endless harbor, with the World’s-Number-One-Monster-Hunting-Team, H.E.A.T., in hot pursuit of Godzilla, their itinerant seventh member. (Can’t really call him “a silent partner” with all those roars, now can we?) Godzilla, in turn, pursues the call of an unidentified signal beacon straight to a pile of fresh-caught fish. Whatever Godzilla’s cognitive powers, I can easily see him wandering into such an obvious trap. I expect better from Our Human Heroes, who nonetheless react with shock when a flight of ten-foot-long, mechanical insects begin to strafe the Big G, mightily pissing him off.

These “Cyber Flies” arrived courtesy of the series’ first human villain: Cameron Winter (David Newsom), described by H.E.A.T. member Elsie Chapman (channeling her inner twelve-year-old) as “the world’s richest, most-hunkiest CEO, not to mention the biggest techno-guru.” Such hunkiness is beside the point for team lead Nick Tatopoulos, who spent more than enough time with Cameron Winter at their (unnamed) mutual college. Indignant, Nick accuses Winter of “drawing Godzilla out for target practice.” Cameron owns up to his little trap, which Godzilla easily muscles free of, enjoying a fine fish dinner on Cameron’s time after scrapping the last Fly.

But this trap has the dual purpose of, as Cameron says, “Confirming [Godzilla’s] connection to the illustrious H.E.A.T. team.” About time somebody fucking noticed. “Why don’t you come ashore and tour my facility? I always prefer discussing business face-to-face.”

“I have no business with you, Cameron,” Dr. Nick retorts via-bullhorn, warning his teammates: “Anything Cameron Winter has to offer always has strings attached.”

Nevertheless, Nick yields to the democratic process. “Nobody’s ever seen the inside of Solstice Technologies,” Randy Hernandez informs us. (Not even its employees?) DGSE Agent Monique Dupre casts the tie-breaker, offering to breech the place herself, dig up whatever there is to dig on Cameron Winter, and scratch “Penetrating Solstice Technologies” off the French Secret Service’s Spring 1998 "To Do" list.

The rest of H.E.A.T. gets a guided tour from “the man himself” as a distraction. Cut straight from the Lex Luthor mold, Cameron wastes no time making his guest feel unwelcome. “Nickels was too busy dissecting garden slugs to hang out with the rest of us,” he explains when Dr. Mendel Craven makes the mistake of asking into his and Nick’s past. “We called him 'Nickels,'” Cameron says, “because nickels were all he was ever going to earn.” He insults Craven’s pet robot, N.I.G.E.L. (“I can’t imagine what you could do with a budget”), freaks everyone out with talk of advancing mankind to the “next stage…once Congress comes to its senses about that cloning thing,” and captures Monique in mid-spy with the aid of remote-controlled Doberman Pinschers. “Neural stimulators,” Cameron explains, calling the dogs off with the touch of a button. “Makes for much happier pups.”

With the full team before him, Cameron makes his pitch: “I want you and your little band," he tells Dr. "Nickels," "to come work for me. I can offer you full government cooperation, first-rate facilities, and very generous salaries. I can even make your academic problems go away.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man,” Randy says.

Cameron, undaunted, continues, even as the team walks out en masse. “We both know mutation-biased weapons are the next wave,” he says to H.E.A.T.'s collective back. “Why not be ahead of the curve for a change?” Gee, Cameron, could it be all the death and destruction waiting just around the bend in that curve? I think so.

Godzilla, as is his want, tables any further philosophical debate with an ill-timed attack on Solstice’s walled-off, private inlet. Casually butting the wall aside, Godzilla seizes an unfortunate mini-sub, shaking it like a dog with a rat in his teeth. Fortunately for all involved (or, at the very least, for Nick’s conscience) that predatory head-shaking dislodges a man-sized neural stimulator from Godzilla’s ear-canal. Instantly, the Big G halts, his rampaged nipped in its technological bud. With a wave and a shout from Nick, Godzilla drops the sub and returns to sea.

Enraged, Nick and Co. storm out. “It’s a wild animal, Nick,” Cameron shouts after them. “How long before it turns on you?” (About ten more episodes, but don’t worry, we’ll get there.) Cameron, being eee-vil, spends the rest of the episode wasting valuable company time on a clandestine torture campaign meant to rile Godzilla all the way up. It succeeds, with ultrasonic, underwater signals driving the Big G so batty he nearly roasts H.E.A.T. HQ—just as Randy’s academic adviser drops by for a check-up.

Seems there’s more to Young Master Hernandez than meets the eye or ear. “He’s been looking out for the environment with my organization,” might sound good coming out of Boss Nick’s mouth, but it won’t move your GPA up. Or make those pesky “prior disciplinary actions” disappear. A certain hunky techno-guru just might have the cache for such a feat…to say nothing of a handy little device that’ll ensure Godzilla’s continued loyalty...but that would be wrong. Right?

Faster than you can say, “Judas Goat,” Randy’s hijacked N.I.G.E.L. for a midnight, monster ear exam. Discovered just as the neural stimulator comes online, Randy walks out of the resulting row with his boss/mentor. Tres pissed, Nick orders Mendel to extract Winter’s hardware…but it’s already too late. Neural stimulator installed and ready, Cameron Winter begins literally pushing Godzilla’s buttons, directing the Big G up from the depths (thirty stories high) and straight into the klieg lights and sirens of (fictional) Fort Berkley, on the Jersey shore. Monster, meet the U.S. Armed Forces. Insert scenes of fiery destruction here.

Secure inside his super-secret science fortress, it’s no wonder Cameron gets cocky enough to Monologue. All he has to do is wait for the audience—Nick and Monique—to attempt another break-in. They do so, get captured, and here we are. “Now,” Cameron says, “imagine an arsenal of Godzillas. Not just Weapons of Mass Destruction but, more importantly, my own personal cash cow. If I had a partner to help me work with these critters…well…it would be mutually beneficial.”

Nick throws this second deal back in Winter’s face as he must, being the hero and all. But we’re down to the wire so it must be time for Randy to show up and redeem himself. Presently he does, sending a flock of confiscated Cyber Flies out to destroy the neural stimulator and draw off the military’s fire. Returned to the Free Will Brigade, Godzilla escapes the Combined Forces full wrath. Cameron Winter goes to jail. “I put in a call to Major Hicks,” Randy informs us. “He’s real interested in you.” Let’s see: what is the minimum mandatory sentence for throwing a giant monster at your friendly, neighborhood military base? Does it depend on how much lobbying money you can throw around on Capitol Hill?

Winter doesn’t even bother with the question, having eyes only for Nick…and Nick’s scaly protégé. “Be seeing you, Nickels,” he says as uniformed MPs lead him away. “You can bet on it.” So can I.

Analysis:

Well, it’s about damn time we had a real, human villain with real human motivations to spice up the show. Every one of the six and a half billion people on the planet this show calls home is effected by Godzilla’s presence whether they live near coast or desert. That’s the power of science fiction: the ability to chart and graph the social, the historical, and most importantly, the human effects of random, radical element; a bastard child of Science and Technology, say.

Godzilla remains that through and through, the one constant element in a series that swings wildly in terms of quality. This is one of the higher-caliber episodes, if for no other reason than the Big G’s rampage through Fort Berkley. This is the first overt action Godzilla’s taken against human opponents. Unfortunate, that, but here it is. The show’s producers removed Godzilla in his natural moral environment episodes ago…which, if you’ve never watched a Godzilla movie (what the hell are you doing here?) is largely a landscape of slate-grays. This forces the audience to chose which side it’s really on and rare is the person who won’t go for a vicarious thrill by rooting for the monster to win…which he does, undoubtedly killing more than a handful of servicemen and –women, decorously off-screen, in the process.

And even that’s alright, since the G-man’s exempt from responsibility due to mind control from afar…not for the last time, either. Villainous monsters are the only beings on this show allowed to place humans in jeopardy…and those monsters need-not be multi-eyed, giant worms. They can look just like you. Or me. Or Dr. Nick, with white hair and a Van Dyke covering up any lack of design originality.

I kid series character designer Fil Barlow. Winter is obviously designed as a foil for Nick in every respect, visibly and philosophically. Hard science vs. the quick buck; Mr. Moneybags vs. Dr. Nickels; there hasn’t been such a clear-cut division between these two opposing forces since Peter Parker and Norman Osborn duked it out atop the Brooklyn Bridge. Consider this exchange:

Nick (pointing to the neural stimulator, recently ejected from Godzilla's ear): You mind explaining that?

Winter: The neural stimulators work like a charm on my attack dogs. Only made sense to try it on yours.

Nick: Where do you come off?

Winter: Like he’s your property.

Nick: Goodbye, Cameron.

Winter: It’s a wild animal, Nick. How long before it turns on you?

How long, oh Lord, how long? Not long, since Cameron’s already arranging that by the time he asks. His “arsenal of Godzillas” is exactly the kind of thing I imagine when I consider the science-fictional implications of a giant monster’s co-existence with the so-called “real world.” Monique, too, is right on the money when she strings Cameron along during his monologue with a question: “What do you gain from attacking your perspective clients?”

Cameron affects shock at the idea. “Me? Godzilla’s attacking them. I’m just the guy who’ll get the contract to replace all that damaged weaponry. Ka-ching.” Gotta admit, here’s a man after my own heart, and I love him as I can only love a good villain.

But if you want to talk about turning, let’s talk about Nick’s true pet: Randy Hernandez, who here proves himself the weakest link in H.E.A.T.’s chain, selling his team (including Godzilla) out, and placing the entire world in Hey-Some-Rich-Asshole-Has-Godzilla-on-an-Electronic-Leash Jeopardy. (A little known round of the game, held between Double and Final.) For their own good, of course. People usually do their worst with the best possible intentions. I know I do.

What, exactly, does Dr. Nick intent do to? Zip, zilch, and bupkiss, it appears. Where other shows might string the fallout from such a betrayal over the course of several episodes you’ve got to remember we’re in the land of Fox Kids. No problem exists that cannot be solved in under twenty-two minutes. The episode’s coda finds Randy back at his “low-rent, community college,” doing some “catching up.” We’re to assume all lingering trust issues lie settled with no hard feelings anywhere, least of all in Saint Nickel's heart.

If Nick Tatopouls really does intend to lead the world’s Number One Monster Hunting Team, he’s got a lot to learn about personnel management. The only member he seems to focus on is Godzilla and that creates its own problems. Cameron Winter is only the first to exploit Nick’s connection to the big lizard. This little incident should’ve served as the “wake-up call” Monique identifies.

Come to think of it, just how strong is that connection? And what in God’s name is it based on? Does Godzilla understand English? Nick seems to think he does. He speaks to the creature VERY LOUDLY …AND VERY…SLOWLY…as if addressing a brain damaged football player. Hate to break it to you, Doctor, but that’s a giant, fire-breathing lizard you’re fucking shouting at. I’d think you of all people would appreciate this fact and treat it with some fucking respect. No need to go with the Brain Box: how about a microphone? Have Monique wire up a cufflink or a shirt-mic or something and just talk to Godzilla for God's sake, like you’d talk to any member of your team. Better security. No more bullhorning your way into every damn situation. There are worse men and women out there that Cameron; people that make your old college classmate look like Barney Fucking Rubble. Frankly, Nick, you’re putting the world at risk every time you stand out there like Joshua and try to shout down that three hundred foot wall. A wall that stares right back at you with all the puzzled amusement of an untrained mutt.

Is Godzilla laughing at his adopted parent? To quote a Hernandez of my acquaintance, “I think so.” You don’t need to get up very early to have a good laugh at Dr. Nick’s expense.

Next: Godzilla vs. The Rednecks

Godzilla the Series: An Exercise in Over-Analysis (Part III)

Episode 4: D.O.A.

Plot: After the usual prologue/pre-credit teaser, the full strength of H.E.A.T. (including N.I.G.E.L. the Doomed Robot) lands in “Costa Roja,” the first of several fictional Central and South American countries exploited explored in the course of this show. “So how come I’ve never heard of this place?” Token Youth Randy Hernandez asks. Agent Dupre rises to demonstrate why she’s my favorite character, rhetorically replying: “Because you were educated in America?”

Dr. Elsie Chapman jokes that Dr. Nick Tatopoulos may find his holy of holies inside this steamy jungle: a giant worm, reportedly making life miserable for the local farmers (as we saw in the credits--way to built suspense, show). This is just about the last mention made of Nick’s pre-Godzilla life, and another instance of the show’s idiotic attitude toward Science. We can safely assume Nick’s abandoned his research into Chernobyl’s finer invertebrates, the better to run his freelance, monster-hunting road show—to be the leader of, as Randy said, last episode, “the world’s number one monster hunting team.”

Said team, after the obligatory machete-hacking, comes upon a scene of pastoral devastation: crop fields (what crop? Surely not cocaina. No…that would be wrong. Drugs are bad, m'kay?) turned into giant trenches by the passage of “El Gusano Gigante.” “Humongoid Worm,” Randy translates for Dr. Mendel Craven…who’ll spend today’s episode living up to his last name.

Because we’re only a twenty-minute show, El Gusano soon makes his presence felt for our heroes. Running, screaming, and the usual close-calls ensue, until (with an unbelievable level of stealth) Godzilla arrives to save everyone’s bacon.

Ah, but “the G-man’s” did not approach unobserved. With El Gusano distracted, the local military (in a response so rapid it shames the American response to the first Godzilla) pulls our heroes to (relative) safety before opening fire on both combatants. Nick’s pleas for sanity (“General, your weapons aren’t going to slow down those creatures. At best, they’ll only provoke the winner into attacking your troops.”) fall on deaf ears. The local generale has a brand new biological weapon on-site and he’ll be damned if some jumped-up team of Norte scientists is gonna tell him what to do with it.

On the (unnamed) generale's order, the troops fire a checker-board-patterned missile into the monster melee, releasing a cloud of yellow gas. El Gusano retreats after a bout of spontaneous mutation (warping its already out-there physiology to include horns and claw, along with the teeth and eyes--yeah, that's a "worm" alright). Godzilla, in what amounts to a surrealist parody of human inebriation, performs a short “Dude-I-am-so-wasted” dance before falling into the sea.

It’s time for Science to swing into action. After many moments of analysis, H.E.A.T. discovers…it’s cancer (dun-dun-DUN!). Well, no, not really cancer…but el generale’s “bio-weapon” is slowly but surely killing Godzilla. Without a fresh sample to poke at, the prognosis is negative: Godzilla will die within hours.

Ticking Clock firmly established, it’s time for some espionage, courtesy Monique Dupre. With a stoic, workwoman’s sensibilities and backup from the amorous Mr. Hernandez, Monique penetrates el generale’s jungle base, conveniently located within easy driving distance of the shore.

Meanwhile, back on the Heat Seeker, anchored alongside Godzilla’s unconscious bulk, Drs. Nick and Craven hold a little palaver. “I’m not cut out for this,” Mendel informs his nominal boss. “I’m a thinker, not a doer.” Nick agrees that, once this is over, he’ll be happy to cut Mendel loose—“no hard feelings,” no strings attached.

Unfortunately, Monique and Randy’s little adventure in provoking international incidents was all for naught: it’s impossible to synthesize an antidote from the “tainted” samples they pilfered. So it’s back to the jungle, where our heroes (including the reluctant Mendel) search for the rare orchid el generale used to create his little “bio-phage”. Shocker of shockers—H.E.A.T. finds hundreds of the little things growing in the rich, brown earth of El Gusano’s wake.

”If we burn the rest of these plants,” Nick says, “we may at least slow down el generale’s weapons program.” Unfortunately, this attracts the Humongoid Worm, setting up our last action sequence. While the rest of the team keeps El Gusano busy, Dr. Craven voluntarily runs through the jungle (never looking back to see) on a mission to revive Godzilla and save the day.

Analysis: This being the second full episode produced, we see a series in the midst of defining itself. Themes and issues established here will haunt the rest of the show, to be handled or miss handled in turn. Monique and Randy’s relationship is only the most obvious example…with Godzilla and Dr. Nick’s relationship running close behind. In the former case, we see annoyance on the one hand, and horiness on the other, merge into the kind of instantaneous, mutual respect found only in action movies…like the ones Randy describes as he and Monique flee Costa Roja’s forces: “Did you see us in there? We were like Butch and Sundance, Thelma and Louise…uhhh—Sundance and Louise.” Indeed. The latter case is a bit more complicated.

Better to ask the question Mendel’s (all-too-brief) crisis of consciousness trips over: Is anyone really “cut out” for professional monster hunting? Just what are the effects of such a high-stress job? What kind of person would chose to spend long hours of strenuous field work in godforsaken hellholes full of monsters, week in, week out? Why does Mendel Craven chose this life at the end of the episode? Odd that episode writer Richard Mueller didn’t chose to answer this question with Elsie. No, it’s not love, but a near-life experience that triggering Mendel’s epiphany, leaving me to wonder, Why? I mean, I know I’d probably be driven away by a close encounter with Godzilla’s foot. Mendel crawls all over the capillary-filled tissue of Godzilla’s mouth in an attempt to revive the Big G. Hope you never planned to have children, Mendel—Godzilla’s probably putting out enough rads to turn your seed into popcorn. If Audrey Timmonds ever wants kids, she better get real friendly with an adoption agency. For that matter, everyone at H.E.A.T. better watch out for the Big C, king of real life monsters. I’m amazed Dr. Nick hasn’t instituted mandatory radiation suit procedure.

Then again, Nick’s already lost his objectivity with regards to Godzilla. His comment at the big guy’s first appearance, make this obvious: "Godzilla followed us thousands of miles out of an instinctual need to protect…me.” Elsie’s response is priceless: “Give yourself all the credit, why don’tcha?”Good for her, bringing this up. How, exactly, does Godzilla track his adopted parental unit over hill and down dale? And air? And sea? “Instinct” is no answer, let me tell you . “Instinct” is a bullshit, catch-all phrase, translated from television-speak to mean, “Well…our writers were too busy, too harried, and/or too uncreative to come up with a good explanation. So we shrugged our shoulders, chalked it up to ‘instinct,’ and hoped no one would notice or think about it too awful much.”

Well, tough, guys. These are exactly the kinds of questions your audience will think about, assuming they’re smart. And daikaiju fans (no matter which side of the Pacific) are some of the smartest, most persnickety sci-fi fans around. We’re not Trekkies (yet…at least, not in this country) but we are a critical bunch, and we dearly love nothing a good round of pie-in-the-sky bullshiting. Having endured more crap in pursuit of our entertainment you’re your average bear, we know (if only on a subconscious level) a good explanation when we hear or see it. We know what works and we know what doesn’t. More often than not, we can even tell you why.

“Instinct” fails to explain Godzilla’s behavior because instinct (to make a bald-faced, oversimplification) is the product of evolution…mind-numbingly slow evolution. Birds fly south for the winter because, over the course of millions of years, their species “learned” that this behavior guaranteed survival. Pack animals form bonds, hierarchies, and familial units for the same reason, and they will rush to protect their genetic compatriots at a moment’s notice. But whatever rough, bestial process created Godzilla, it had absolutely jack to do with what the so-called Scientists in this show casually call “evolution.” As if we all know what that word means and all agreed on its definition. We don’t now, didn’t at the time this show premiered, and the creeping terror of Creationism and has only muddied up the waters.

Without going down that road...let me say, then, that Godzilla and his ilk are not “evolutionary” beings. The Series’ label for them, “mutations,” is about as accurate as you’re going to get without Latinizing. They are the rarest of the rare—spontaneous, beneficial mutations, so divorced from Mother Nature she won’t even give them visitation rights. The Series’ creators, relying on buzz words like “instinct” and “evolution,” created a plot hole wide enough for the Godzilla to walk through...and then only filled it up inadequately and haphazardly.

Each daikaiju story invents its own excuse for the titular monster’s presence. Times were Godzilla went where he wanted, when he wanted, for reasons known only to him—a popular track, revived in the 1990s. In the 1970s Hanna Barbara cartoon, Captain Majors of the research ship Calico literally had Godzilla at his beck-and-call, thanks to the ultrasonic pager on his belt (derived, no doubt, from the same technology running Jimmy Olsen’s wristwatch). H.E.A.T. will eventually resort to a similar technique for emergencies…but in a way, this feels like backsliding, in an Alcoholic’s Anonymous sense of the word.

Let me explain: giant monster storytellers (print or film—and I very much include myself in this) are addicted to lazy storytelling. It’s our own damn fault, and I’m sad to see it. We do not challenge ourselves. We wait for audiences to challenge us once our work is complete and it’s no surprise audiences pay so little attention to the finished product. By and large, we’re all producing generic crap, from the heights of Toho Studios to the depths of my own hard drive. We do it because it’s easy—audience expectations are so low, anyway, something like Cloverfield can come along and be like unto a revolution…even though it’s not.

In Nick and Godzilla you sense there’s a chance for the Series to strike out in a new direction, take this whole Monster As Friend To Man thing beyond the perfunctory waves and shouted commands we see here. I just find it sad to see that opportunity missed. Missed opportunities always get me a little misty.

Tune it next week for Cameron Winter and the Monster As Villain...and Victim.