Pacific Rim

Some films play better on a bigger screen. In Pacific Rim’s case, seeing it at a very reclined angle while gazing upwards at a planetarium screen upon which godlike mechs and monsters brawl simply makes the heart soar.

Full disclosure – this is my third favourite film of all time, so of course I’m inclined to say it’s great. Today I had the pleasure of seeing it on a big, cinema screen for the first time, which was such a special experience.

Why does this film feel more grounded, tangible, and believable than most other big-budget, sci-fi action blockbusters? Of course the practical effects and sets wherever possible do an immense amount of heaving lifting. But consider the camerawork – obviously, this film is reliant on CGI and visual effects (unfortunately for ten-year-olds everywhere, the jaegers aren’t real – might be fortunate that the kaiju aren’t…). Often films with a similar reliance on shots constructed entirely of CGI can lose the tangibility of a human-controlled camera because the detachment from reality allows for all kinds of rules to be broken and fun to be had. But, our brains as viewers subconsciously know when we see a shot or move a camera couldn’t pull off. Pacific Rim doesn’t fall into this trap – expert direction from Guillermo del Toro and cinematography from Guillermo Navarro ensures we as the audience are always buying into the illusion, and not subconsciously question it. Every CGI-heavy shot in this film is plausible – what I mean by that is that it’s either placed in a way that the camera could be attached to something physical (the side of a jaeger or kaiju, a building, the ground, for example), or takes a wider, “helicopter” floating view. Because of this, we as the audience never stop to be “aware” of the camera – we’re always immersed.

This same tangibility extends to the designs of the kaiju. Enormous, Lovecraftian, titanic beasts may be hard to believe, but they’re grounded in real-life references in animals or folkloric creatures we recognise. The first kaiju seen in a prolonged scene is Knifehead – looks like a man in a suit with the head of a goblin shark. The Hong Kong duo of Otachi and Leatherback are different, but still referential – Leatherback is a reptilian gorilla brawler with a beer belly, while Otachi draws from well-known dragon archetypes and moves like a Komodo dragon. Slattern, Scunner, and Raiju from the finale all emphasise the alien-ness of these otherworldly monsters but possess touchstones – Slattern is a dragon like Otachi, but considerably more demonic (appropriate for the first category 5/ultimate final monster), Scunner fights like a bull and has the horns to prove it, while Raiju leans into a more crocodilian, aquatic influence. In Mako’s pivotal flashback, the kaiju Onibaba resembles – and more importantly – moves like an enormous crab. Other kaiju with lesser screentime like Trespasser (the very first seen, in the San Francisco opening) and Mutavore (the Sydney wall attacker) adhere to a similar design philosophy as Knifehead – humanoid (man in a suit) with an animalistic head. According to the filmmakers, each of the kaiju were designed with a semi-humanoid outline to homage the man-in-suit monsters of classic kaiju films (Godzilla 1954, for example) – which also lends them an air of shapes and appearances we recognise from our real world.

In less words, the same goes for the jaegers – they’re huge, they’re heavy, but we don’t question how they move because we feel their weight through their movements. They’re slow – they can’t throw a rocket punch immediately – it takes a few seconds for pieces to move, then the punch can be thrown. It’s why the sequel-that-must-not-be-named felt so flat and unbelievable – an 80-metre tall mech cannot throw a flying kick.

Something I appreciated greatly this time around is how multinational the film is – it is Pacific Rim after all, not Only One Country’s Rim. It’s not a jingoistic, f-yeah, fist-pumping celebration of the military (you can probably guess what country I’m thinking of). Director del Toro actively avoids what he calls “car commercial or army recruitment video aesthetics” – a very easy pitfall of many action or war films. The characters’ ranks aren’t the usual war-centric The characters’ ranks aren’t the usual war-centric titles of general, major, or sergeant – del Toro draws from westerns, using ranks like “marshall” and “ranger” (a wonderful point of uniqueness the film possesses). Him and co-writer Travis Beacham reject a nationalistic approach, embracing a wider, global effort – del Toro often describes the central idea of the film as being “we’re all in the same robot”. Our heroes hail from the USA, Japan, Australia, China, Russia, the commanding officer is a black British man (the original choice of Tom Cruise would’ve been very cool, but Idris Elba is the perfect stoic, fixed point, authority figure), and the ultimate world-saving plan comes from collaboration between an American and a Brit who beforehand couldn’t stand each other. Beacham and del Toro ask us to look beyond what divides us, to work together, because we’re all in the same robot. Del Toro himself states – “I think that's a great message to give kids ... 'That guy you were beating the shit out of ten minutes ago? That's the guy you have to work with five minutes later.' That's life ... We can only be complete when we work together.”

I confess, sometimes I prefer leading men like this film’s Raleigh Becket or Avatar’s Jake Sully to any ultra-interesting nuance machine in other works – regular, everyday guys who’ve been kicked down, making the best of their lot. Charlie Hunnam was cast because del Toro saw him as having an earnest, honest nature – and I quote “he was the kind of guy that I can relate to, as a male audience member I go, 'I like that guy. I would like to have a few beers with that guy’”. Not much analysis here, I just like the character and that line from del Toro especially. But then again, Raleigh’s arc does feed into the wider “we’re all in the same robot” theme – after the events of the opening, we find Raleigh laid low. He’s apathetic with no self-worth, will to fight, or perseverance. But the call to action comes – and through his time with the other characters, he re-emerges as a tremendous ranger who can overcome anything. We’re all in the same robot, and we can lift each other up again.

On the way out, I heard several other audience members talking about how much they enjoyed it after not seeing it before or not for a while – a favourite of mine has gained more fans, what more could I ask for?