THE 20TH TAKE

The calm before madness

Japan – November 3, 1954.

The birth of Gojira shook cinema screens across the nation. A towering terror born from the ashes of atomic fear ravaged the city of Tokyo—not in reality, but on film. Crowds were left stunned, gripped by the horrifying realism of the monster and the groundbreaking suitmation that brought it to life. Godzilla wasn’t just a creature… he was a force. A symbol. A nightmare.

But as with every masterpiece, behind the scenes lay broken dreams and discarded ideas. One of them belonged to Masao Tawagaki, a passionate ex–art director who was fired mid-production.

Masao had a vision — not just a man in a rubber suit, but a terrifying animatronic beast, something truly alive on screen. But his ideas were dismissed. Again and again.

> "Too risky."

"Too expensive."

"It won’t work for us."

Masao had a dream—clear, burning, and unstoppable.

He wanted the world to witness what a real monster looked like.

So, he set out to build it himself.

His own crew.

His own Godzilla.

His own vision.

But no one could have predicted what came next.

What began as a passionate idea... spiraled into obsession,

And that obsession gave birth to something far more terrifying than he ever imagined.

One rainy night, Masao found himself in a dimly lit bar tucked between the neon shadows of post-war Tokyo. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, jazz whispers, and broken dreams drowned in cheap sake.

He wasn’t looking for inspiration. Just silence.

But then—

A voice cut through the fog.

> “I’ll make it, damn it! You’ll see! The world’s gonna know my name!”

Everyone ignored the man. Everyone except Masao.

At the far end of the bar stood a drunken wreck — skinny, unshaven, soaked in ambition and alcohol. He slammed his glass down and stared at the bartender like he was Hollywood itself.

> “I was born to act! Born to be something!”

Masao watched him.

Something clicked.

This man wasn’t just desperate...

He was hungry.

A blank canvas.

A ghost waiting for a role.

And Masao had just the script.

Masao walked over and took the empty stool beside the loud drunk.

> “You’re pretty good, kid,” he said, lighting a cigarette with steady hands. “What’s your name?”

The man blinked through the haze and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

> “Shinji. Shinji Yamamoto. I came to Tokyo to pursue acting... but every door slammed shut. Every audition... every chance… gone. I lost all my money trying.”

A passing waiter chuckled bitterly as he placed drinks nearby.

> “He didn’t lose it chasing dreams. He burned it all on cheap street drugs.”

Masao’s eyes locked onto the waiter—sharp, disapproving.

Shinji snapped, waving the waiter off like a pest.

> “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know anything.”

He sighed, then looked down at his cracked knuckles.

Masao took a drag from his cigarette and spoke, calm but intense.

> “You and I… we’re not that different. I had a vision. An idea they called ‘too dangerous.’ They fired me for it. Laughed at me.”

Shinji looked up, confused.

> “But I never gave up. And now I’m building my own monster. Not some guy in a suit. Something real. Something unforgettable.”

“But I need someone like you—someone with nothing left to lose—to bring it to life.”

“You in?”