Giant Moths and the Rejection of Capitalist Values

I'm afraid that I've been amiss of late, failing to catch up with the really what the fuck, bat shit crazy bottom of the barrel schlock.  But there have been other temptations - this past weekend, for instance, one of those dubious streaming channels I get, which I strongly suspect doesn't actually have the rights to any of the films it has on offer, has just added a whole slew of sixties and seventies titles which haven't seen the light of day, on terrestrial TV anyway, in an age.  So I was able to catch up with the violent and explicit for its time Dark of the Sun (1968), set during the Congo Crisis, and White Lightning (1972), a more serious than usual Burt Reynolds vehicle involving moonshine, fast cars and corrupt cops in the Deep South.  It was good to see both of these again after many years but, just in case I was going too mainstream in my viewing habits, (I've also watched a couple of Brad Pitt movies lately), I tried to balance it all out by watching the English-language version of Mothra (1961).  I mean, movies and pop culture generally, don't get much more bizarre, (to western eyes), than Japanese productions.  Mothra occupies a curious place in Toho's initial cycle of giant monster films, unlike previous monsters such as Godzilla and Rodan, which are unstoppable forces of nature, the titular giant moth is more of a spiritual force.  Moreover, whereas those earlier monsters seem to exist primarily to trash cities, fight each other and generally cause mayhem, Mothra has a distinct mission. Rather than being awakened by nuclear tests or simply found living on some remote island, her incursion into the modern world is a response to modern civilisation's, (most specifically western civilisation's), attempts to exploit a hitherto unspoiled island and its natives.

Prior to these rapacious capitalists murdering peaceful natives and abducting the twin telepathic midget girls who act as priestesses of a sort, putting them on display as an act in a Tokyo nightclub, Mothra manifests only as a dormant giant egg, the object of the islanders' worship.  Inevitably, these events result in the egg hatching and Mothra, first as a giant larva, then a giant moth, heading off to Tokyo on a rescue mission, leaving a trail of destruction n her wake.  It is significant that the true villains of the film as the 'Rosilicans' - while the name of their country, 'Rosilica' might appear to be a combination of 'Russia' and 'America', it is clearly patterned after the US, being a capitalist superpower whose larges city is called 'New Kirk City'.  It is Rosilica that, years before, had used Mothra's island chain as a target for nuclear tests and its dark side is embodied in the character of Clark Nelson, a ruthless entrepreneur behind the killings of the natives and the kidnap of the tiny girls.  Ultimately, his actions bring disaster and destruction to Rosilica.  When Mothra attacks Tokyo, Nelson takes the girls and flees to New Kirk City, which is subsequently devastated by the moth's attacks.  It is notable that, throughout the film, the Japanese characters are portrayed as generally virtuous, seeking to frustrate Nelson's plans and acting only in self defence to repel Mothra's attacks on Tokyo.

Perhaps most significantly, it is one of the main Japanese characters- an anthropologist - who saves New Kirk City because he recognises the spiritual significance of the islanders' symbology and Mothra's spiritual relationship with the tiny girls.  The materialistic Rosilicans, it is clearly implied, are incapable of making such a connection, so far have they distanced themselves from their spiritual and cultural roots.  Consequently, it is possible to interpret Mothra as representing a rejection of western values and, by extension, the post-war enforced 'westernisation' of Japan.  Whereas the earlier monsters had targeted Japan with their attacks, doubtless representing the nuclear destruction visited on two of Japan's cities in 1945 by the west, Mothra's wrath is ultimately directed against a western power, a surrogate USA.  Indeed, the only part of Japan subjected to the destructive force of the down draft produced by the great moth's beating wings is Tokyo, a thoroughly westernised city by the early sixties, its skyline dominated by western-style tower blocks.  

Of course, I might be reading far too much into all of this - I really don't know enough about Japanese culture - but it seems to me that much Japanese popular culture since the sixties has represented a questioning, if not outright rejection, of western culture and values.  Yakuza films, for instance, could be seen as an assertion of more traditional Japanese values in the face of western-style capitalism, even if they are criminal values, they do encompass traditional notions of honour and obligation.  Much Manga and Anime likewise is an assertion of indigenous artistic and story-telling styles over western counterparts.  Even eighties TV dramas aimed at the youth audience, like Sukeban Deka, might, arguably, be seen as part of this movement.  The second series, for instance, puts great emphasis upon traditional codes of conduct and the importance of adhering to them, whether it be the code of the Yakuza or the discipline of the martial arts.  Notably, the series puts its heroine through a spiritual journey whereby she must prove herself worthy to face her ultimate opponent, showing that she embodies the spiritual value of selflessness and that she is motivate not solely by personal revenge, but also because she believes that it is the right thing to do.  Like I said, I could be reading far too much into this.  Maybe Mothra is simply - as it seems to be to the casual English-speaking viewer - a crazy Japanese film about a giant city destroying moth out to rescue a pair of midget nightclub singers.