3) Rocky IV (1985): “If he dies, he dies.”
Rocky was the franchise that proved that three times really could be a charm. Survivor’s ubiquitous “Eye of the Tiger” is, after all, from Rocky III. The fourth instalment, however, was less a welcome addition, and more a case of “oh, it’s not over.” On top of the clear struggle for a further storyline, the flagrant use of the film as a propaganda vehicle for the strained American-Russian relations of that time ran the serious risk of making a mockery of the admirably self-reliant little movie series that truly went the distance.
Rocky IV was going to have to do something major. So it took previously retired boxing hero Apollo Creed, and put him back in the ring – with Russian newcomer Ivan Drago. What begins as a mere show for Creed quickly turns into a literal death match, as it becomes wince-inducingly clear that Drago is basically a machine. Creed lasts just one and a half rounds before he collapses under the iron-like beating of the Russian, and dies. As the press swarm in, Drago recites what he has clearly been taught – that he is unbeatable, that he is a true champion. Finally, and without a flicker of a facial expression, he utters the disturbingly merciless sentence “if he dies – he dies.”
The sight of the beloved and capable Apollo Creed dying in Rocky’s arms on the floor of the ring was suitably shocking, but it is that robotically delivered line that makes this scene truly memorable. Summarizing not only the Russians’ attitude to the death of Apollo Creed, but to competition in general, those five words are basically the very essence of Rocky IV; they give Rocky – and thereby the entire movie – a justifiable premise from which to work, and a fresh challenge just when we thought that such a thing was impossible. Suddenly, the audience were willing to get behind Rocky again, one last time.
Until Rocky V came along. And then Rocky VI. And now VII.
4) Godzilla (2014): The HALO Jump
Godzilla has his own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. And yet he has become something of a Tutankhamen’s tomb for Hollywood – no matter who goes near him, there seems to be some kind of curse lying in wait.
There was absolutely no doubt that the 2014 version improved on the two previous movies (a movie about wilting lettuce would have improved on the two previous movies). In fact, within the first five minutes it was actually promising to be something close to really good.
Its title sequence is absolutely inspired; the censorship of names on the screen, the sea monster diagrams, and the Darwinian overtones quickly create an exciting atmosphere of conspiracy, and indicate that we might get a more robust biological explanation for this gargantuan beast that somehow keeps managing to be a surprise to everybody.
Furthermore, Bryan Cranston, who probably drew more of the movie’s audience than Godzilla himself, carries his all-too-short part well (before dying, and flagrantly cheating the expectations of millions of viewers), there are more than a few impressive monster-money-shots, and some changes have been made to the traditional monster-movie fare, such as the concept that Godzilla could actually be called upon as an ally. The idea that we are now on the same side as Godzilla gives a strange sort of nobility to this giant creature whose roar makes Jurassic Park’s T-Rex sound like a sheep with a cold. Overall, this Godzilla reached acceptable heights.
In every other way however, Godzilla basically follows the same footprint as every other Godzilla movie. Noise, underdeveloped (and faintly annoying) characters, destruction, noise – and, just in case everyone was missing it, more noise. It is against this background that one particular scene stands out. This is the HALO jump, an action the strike team must take in order to defuse the undetonated nuclear warhead that is currently sitting in a MUTO nest in the middle of Chinatown.
The jump begins with the Hercules’ load ramp lowering, to show a serene sunset above the clouds of destruction being raised by the battling monsters in the city below. As the team jump, we have a panoramic shot, some of which is taken from main character Brody’s perspective, inside his mask. With Brody’s erratic breathing as the only sound, we see the flares of the other jumpers as they descend into the increasingly impenetrable fog. As Brody falls past the fighting monsters, the shot of them is weirdly quiet – and this is what is so striking about it.
Not only is it an ingenious way of bringing the viewer, through Brody, into Godzilla’s space without it involving a descending foot, but the sudden change in sound levels provides thirty seconds of utter contrast to the rest of a high-octane movie, and demonstrates a sudden unexpected flair in imagination from director Gareth Edwards.
It is a shame that Edwards didn’t deploy more of this imagination through the rest of the film – especially when it came to Godzilla himself. Admittedly, Godzilla needs to be enormous, and there are limits as to how this sort of size can be properly conveyed. But why, why does his lower half still look like a man in a monster-costume? There was only one reason that the original Godzilla looked like a man in a monster costume – and that’s because it was man in a monster-costume.
