Godzilla, Like You’ve Never Seen Him

“I’m sorry, but we can’t admit a visitor from within the Hudson.”

The Intrepid Museum is one of the most fascinating tourist attractions in Manhattan: a World War II–era aircraft carrier that houses an expansive collection of fighter jets, bombers, helicopters, and more. To visit the Intrepid is to walk through decades of aeronautical history: a stirring reminder of what mankind has achieved since the Wright brothers first took flight at the turn of the 20th century. I could tour the Intrepid a dozen more times and never grow tired of it, but that’s not the only reason I’m here. There are few places in the entire city that could handle the immensity of my latest interview subject.

When a publicist offers you the chance to become the first journalist to profile Godzilla, you say yes and figure out the logistics later. Since The Ringer wouldn’t sign off on a trip to his native country of Japan—“Why would we waste thousands of dollars on a trip when you’re definitely going to die?” editor-in-chief Ben Glicksman told me—Godzilla was gracious enough to swim across the globe and meet me in New York. It’s an occasion that got the attention of Mayor Eric Adams, who hailed Godzilla’s arrival in the city. “There’s a special energy that comes from here,” Adams said in a press conference, explaining that New York sits on a store of rare gems and stones. “And I feel it even more now that Godzilla has graced us with his fearsome presence.”

Of course, not everyone aboard the Intrepid is as enthusiastic as the mayor. Even though one employee wanted to deny Godzilla’s admittance, well, you try telling a radioactive lizard that he’s not allowed on the premises. And so, while standing in the Hudson like it’s a kiddie pool, Godzilla scopes out the Intrepid. Ever since watching Top Gun: Maverick—starring his close friend Tom Cruise, who has tried in vain to convince him to join the Church of Scientology because he and Xenu would “vibe”—Godzilla has been fascinated with planes, which soar to towering heights even he can’t inhabit. (“He also likes to tease Kong that these tiny machines have vanquished him in multiple movies, which doesn’t go over well,” one source told me.) As Godzilla hovers over the ship, hoping to get a better look at the aircraft on the top deck, a few people scream in terror and run for the exit. I assure everyone that, despite his reputation for wanton destruction, Godzilla isn’t a monster: He’s a movie star. From there, a sense of normalcy resumes; one family even takes a selfie with him.

What follows is entirely preventable. As I leave the ship, I mention offhand to Godzilla’s publicist that my favorite attraction on the Intrepid is the space shuttle Enterprise, which is housed in a pavilion at the stern of the vessel. “For fuck’s sake,” she responds, pulling out a flask from her purse and taking a giant swig. At this moment, Godzilla hoists the Intrepid out of the water, and the guests aboard are flung into the Hudson like rag dolls. Bystanders scatter from the scene; the police, meanwhile, can only watch on, powerless to stop him. Godzilla is tilting the aircraft carrier within his clawed hands, and I realize he is attempting to get a glimpse of the Enterprise. Turns out, even a massive, one-of-a-kind creature can come down with a serious case of FOMO.

Hoping to salvage a disastrous situation, I assure Godzilla that I took plenty of photos within the pavilion, but I’ll show them to him only if he puts down the Intrepid. Like a pouty toddler, he carelessly tosses the Intrepid aside, creating an enormous splash and damaging much of the pier. (Miraculously, the ship remains afloat.) As fire trucks and ambulances arrive on the scene, Godzilla and I make our exit. I mouth sorry to one of the naval officers, who gives me the finger. I am later informed that the Intrepid requires extensive repairs, a process that will take years and cost hundreds of millions of dollars. We have also been permanently banned from the premises, and security has orders to shoot us on sight.

“Same shit, different day,” Godzilla tells me.

I should probably get this out of the way: Yes, Godzilla and I are able to have a conversation. Ever since making his acting debut 70 years ago in Japanese studio Toho’s Godzilla, communication between man and mammoth lizard has been a challenge. “Normally, we can intuit what Godzilla is feeling from the tone of his roars or whether he destroys important landmarks in a temper tantrum,” a source at Toho told me. But while filming his 2021 blockbuster, Godzilla Vs. Kong, Godzilla learned sign language from his simian costar. It was a breakthrough that allowed for a better relationship between Godzilla and the rest of the crew, who lived in constant fear of a violent outburst. “You know that moment when Christian Bale lost it on the set of Terminator Salvation?” a crew member who has worked with Godzilla on several movies asked me. “Well, imagine that kind of energy coming from something the size of a skyscraper because he’s not happy with craft services. People were literally shitting themselves daily.”

Godzilla assures me that much of the on-set tension was the result of miscommunication and the stigma surrounding kaiju. (He does, however, admit to stomping on the craft services tent on multiple productions, but he claims it was due to a lack of vegan-friendly options.) On the advice of esteemed director David Lynch, Godzilla has been practicing transcendental meditation for the better part of a decade with the hope of managing his temper. He says he’s never felt more in control of his life. “I want people to finally get to know my side of the story,” Godzilla tells me as we traverse FDR Four Freedoms State Park on Roosevelt Island. (Godzilla is, once again, minimizing damage by staying in the East River.)

To this day, the true nature of Godzilla’s origins remains a mystery. Many believe that 1954’s Godzilla is semi-autobiographical and that Godzilla was born out of H-bomb testing in the Pacific Ocean, serving as a powerful, living metaphor for the dangers of nuclear weapons. But Godzilla’s origin story has changed in several movies since—the polarizing American reimagining of Godzilla in 1998 posited that he is an iguana who was exposed to the fallout from a nuclear test in French Polynesia—blurring the lines between fact and fiction. Likewise, Godzilla has been treated as friend and foe on-screen: Depending on the movie, he’s painted as either humanity’s savior or its greatest threat (sometimes both!).

“What really interests me is getting lost in a role: to be someone’s muse,” Godzilla explains as a bunch of panicked dogs within the park bark and growl in his direction. In fact, Godzilla is often known for going Method: Like Succession’s Jeremy Strong, he spent time as an assistant to Daniel Day-Lewis, learning the craft from the renowned thespian. “Sometimes I can get carried away,” Godzilla admits. That would be an understatement: In 1984’s The Return of Godzilla, he served as the film’s antagonist, and he was so in character during production that he laid waste to most of the set. Reshoots were considered too expensive, especially when the families of several crew members sued the studio after Godzilla killed them amid the mayhem.

However, the most talked-about element of Godzilla’s Method acting is how he’s willing to dramatically change his appearance: In 1998’s Godzilla, for instance, he had major work done to more accurately reflect the anatomy of a marine iguana. All the criticism aimed at the new look—and the movie itself—took a toll on the star. “I’ve struggled with body positivity for much of my life,” Godzilla says, pointing to an article that described him as “King of the Chonksters.” One can imagine how hard it is to find your identity when you’re the only one of your kind.

What about Godzilla Jr., your adopted son who’s appeared in three Toho productions?

“Are you serious? That was an animatronic.”

Thoroughly embarrassed, I swiftly change the subject and point out several fighter jets heading our way, surely as a result of what happened at the Intrepid. Unfortunately, as Godzilla turns around to get a better look, his enormous tail collides with the United Nations headquarters on the other side of the river. Within seconds, the buildings collapse like a bunch of Jenga blocks. The damage is catastrophic; pleas for help can be heard amid the rubble; sirens are blaring from every corner of the city. I’ve never seen something so horrific—the screams of the innocent will haunt my nightmares for as long as I live. I turn to my right, and Godzilla’s publicist is passed out on a bench.

“Could we check out the Statue of Liberty?” Godzilla sheepishly asks before twiddling his giant thumbs.

While Godzilla has been a pop culture icon since the ’50s, the past decade has arguably been the apex of his career. In Hollywood, he’s starred in the MonsterVerse, which presupposes that kaiju—or Titans, as they’re called in this universe—originated in the Earth’s hollow core, where an entirely different ecosystem exists. “I heard one of the Warner Bros. executives came up with the idea after an ayahuasca trip with Aaron Rodgers,” Godzilla explains as we head over to the Statue of Liberty. The world-building in the MonsterVerse doesn’t make any sense; then again, that’s not really the point of this franchise. These movies are pure popcorn entertainment, the kind of tentpoles that ask the viewers to shut off their brains and enjoy a bunch of giant creatures beating the crap out of each other for two hours.

Of course, Godzilla isn’t the only big star of the MonsterVerse: He headlines the franchise with Kong, the legendary, giant ape whose work in the industry predates Godzilla’s. (His first appearance was in 1933’s King Kong, where a daring stunt atop the Empire State Building led to serious injury.) But while Godzilla and Kong have commiserated over the absurdity of their situations—two ginormous creatures who must navigate the ups and downs of Hollywood—they don’t always see eye-to-eye. There were reports of frequent tension between the stars on the set of Godzilla Vs. Kong. Godzilla took issue with the fact that Kong was the emotional anchor of the film, developing an endearing connection with a young deaf girl from Skull Island’s Iwi Tribe, while Godzilla was reduced to a handful of action set pieces. As for Kong, he was upset that Godzilla was treated as the true King of the Monsters, besting him in battle, as dictated by the script. “If we were actually squaring up,” Kong tells me via an email from his publicist, “I know I could take him on.”

What do you think? Would Kong stand a chance in a fight?

“A god doesn’t concern himself with what comes from the mouths of kings,” Godzilla responds, snarling emphatically enough to shake the ground beneath my feet. Point taken.

In any case, Godzilla and Kong have set aside their differences to star in another film together, Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire, which explores more of Hollow Earth. And with the Apple TV+ series Monarch: Legacy of Monsters, which traces the origins of the mysterious government organization tasked with tracking down Titans across the globe, Godzilla has also become a fixture in the world of streaming. “I don’t really care if it’s a movie or a show,” Godzilla explains as he looms over the Statue of Liberty, which has been evacuated. “As long as the check clears.”

Indeed, I can tell that Godzilla is a bit disillusioned with Hollywood. He did not enjoy how both The New Empire and Legacy of Monsters extensively used StageCraft, also known as the Volume: new technology from the visual effects company Industrial Light & Magic that effectively wraps a film set in giant LED screens. The screens used for Godzilla and Kong’s scenes were the biggest ever developed by the company, but Godzilla prefers working with the sort of practical effects that he started his career with. “I don’t need the Volume,” Godzilla says. “The Earth is my Volume.”

Instead, Godzilla seems to be much happier with how his recent performances have played back home in Japan. In 2016’s Shin Godzilla and 2023’s Godzilla Minus One, he was able to embrace a villainous streak while the movies themselves carried weightier themes. Shin Godzilla was hailed as a sharp satire of Japanese bureaucracy, inspired by the Fukushima disaster; Godzilla Minus One, meanwhile, thoughtfully reckoned with the country’s place in the world in the aftermath of World War II. In addition to universal acclaim, Godzilla Minus One recently became the first film in the storied franchise to win an Oscar.

While the Dolby Theatre was unable to accommodate Godzilla’s attendance at the Academy Awards, he celebrated with most of the cast and crew at a viewing party in Japan. “When Lily Gladstone didn’t win an Oscar, we thought he was going to tear apart half of Tokyo,” one crew member told me. “But he did some deep-breathing exercises and ate the biggest helping of udon noodles I’ve ever seen.” The sense I’m getting from those who have worked closest with Godzilla is that he’s never been in a better place: He’s thrilled with the recent industry recognition his work has received, and as a longtime member of the Screen Actors Guild, he was instrumental to the end of the 2023 Hollywood labor strikes by threatening to sink every executive’s superyacht. (A deal was struck soon after he hurled Bob Iger’s newly constructed yacht across the Mediterranean Sea like a Frisbee.)

So what’s next for Godzilla? “I don’t think I’ll be welcomed back in New York anytime soon,” he admits against the backdrop of several helicopters armed with Navy SEAL snipers surrounding us. He hints at taking some time away from making movies: He and James Cameron are planning to partner on a new venture to explore the deepest depths of our oceans. “Ever since I watched The Abyss, I knew Big Jim understood the majesty of our great oceans,” Godzilla says, “and the opportunity to work with him will—”

All the whirring from the helicopter blades seems to have irritated Godzilla, whose head begins convulsing. Suddenly, he lets out a sneeze that produces gale-force winds—all the helicopters in the vicinity immediately lose control. It’s complete pandemonium: Some of the helicopters smash into one another, exploding on impact; others crash into the Hudson. A local news chopper rams straight into Lady Liberty—her torch falls off and lands within a few feet of me. Several SWAT members, bodies aflame, sprint across Liberty Island screaming in agony before jumping into the water. The clear, blue sky is now shrouded in smoke and ash.

I’ve never been more scared or confused in my life. As I look back in the direction of Godzilla, he’s holding up both hands in the universal gesture of my bad. He swims toward the Atlantic Ocean until all I can see are his dorsal plates sticking out of the water.

It’s been three months since Godzilla toured New York, and the city is still recovering. The U.N. headquarters will have to be constructed anew; for now, the widespread damage from the incident, ironically, stopped right in front of the Japan Society. For his enthusiastic embrace of Godzilla’s visit, Mayor Adams’s approval rating has hit an all-time low. New York is attempting to charge me with accessory to kaiju destruction—I would be the first person incriminated in such a fashion—for my role in the chaos. The symbiote known as Venom has offered to be a character witness. In the meantime, I’m not permitted to leave the state. “You’re on your own, dude,” head of editorial Mallory Rubin tells me, after I ask whether The Ringer can provide me with legal representation. “And please delete my number.”

Godzilla’s whereabouts are also unknown. In a press release, he lamented the events that unfolded in New York and explained that he would be taking some time away from the spotlight for “quiet reflection.” There have been unconfirmed sightings of Godzilla in Antarctica, as well as rumors of a weekend spent gambling in Macau. New York would like Godzilla to answer for his crimes, but lawmakers understand it’s a losing battle: You try bringing a nuclearly mutated reptile into custody, let alone finding a cell big enough for him.

This whole ordeal has made me question whether I’ve got a future in journalism. Thankfully, I received a lifeline from an unlikely source: Kong. We arranged a FaceTime call, where he explained that he wants the public to get to know the real Kong and exorcise some demons that have haunted him for decades. “My therapist suggested I try exposure therapy,” Kong says. “Care to join me at the Empire State Building?”

What could go wrong?