When I saw Pacific Rim back in 2013, I remember summarizing it by saying, “In this film, an oil tanker is wielded as a weapon by a giant robot. If that sentence makes you giddy, Pacific Rim is probably for you.” In Godzilla Minus One, an oil tanker is thrown as a projectile by the titular character. If that sentence makes you giddy, this movie is probably for you.

The first Godzilla film was a surprisingly somber affair. Released less than a decade after Japan’s defeat in World War II, it made frequent references to wartime suffering—a woman hiding from a rampaging Godzilla with her children weeps, “Don’t worry, we’ll be with your father soon,” while one man told to take cover in a shelter moans, “Not the shelters again!” Subsequent Godzilla films (both those produced in Japan and in the U.S.) would find new connections to tragedy or catastrophes to focus on: 2016’s Godzilla Resurgence evoked memories of the 2011 quake and tsunami, while Gareth Edwards’ 2014 Godzilla opened with images of the destruction of a nuclear power plant. Like plenty of movie monsters, Godzilla was frequently sympathetic—there was the sense that, were it not for the human tendency to destroy the planet via war and environmental pollution, Godzilla might have been content to just remain asleep at the bottom of the ocean. But human bombs, ocean mines, and nuclear waste keep waking the monster up (and pissing it off). 

Godzilla Minus One pays lip service to Godzilla-as-metaphor and to many of the first film’s iconic scenes. But really, this is a straight up action-horror movie that happens to feature a famous monster at its center. And, well…it works.

Our story begins near the end of World War II, when kamikaze pilot Kōichi (Ryūnosuke Kamiki), having had an attack of nerves and deciding that he doesn’t want to die for a lost cause, lands on the fictional Oda Island with a story about his plane being defective. That night, Godzilla rampages ashore in a scene that’s truly frightening and borrows quite a bit from the first T-rex attack scene in Jurassic Park. This Godzilla, it seems, is not going to get any sympathy—right away the monster is eating people and flinging their bodies away. (Which feels…different. Godzilla stomps and destroys, sure, but it doesn’t seem to grab specific people and eat them in most films.) Almost all of the mechanics stationed on the island are killed when Kōichi freezes up and can’t fire his gun. He returns to a decimated Tokyo and ends up living with a young girl, Noriko (Minami Hamabe) and a baby that she took in after the child’s mother died. A few years pass, and things seem to be looking up, although Kōichi is still clearly suffering from PTSD and is haunted by what he witnessed on Oda Island. Then the first Bikini Atoll nuclear tests happen, Kōichi gets a job clearing ocean mines with a ragtag crew of former navy men, and of course Godzilla awakens again. 

The film stands in interesting contrast to 2016’s Godzilla Resurgence, which focused a good chunk of its running time on government bureaucracy and endless meetings between different groups of officials. While that could certainly be read as a critique of Japanese government incompetence, Resurgence also had a noticeably ra-ra attitude toward Japanese military might (not surprising, given that it was made with the full cooperation of the Japan Self-Defense Forces). In Godzilla Minus One, though, the government—and the idea that dying for the country is noble—is scorned almost from the very beginning. “Information control is Japan’s specialty,” one character complains upon hearing that the government has decided not to warn the public about an imminent Godzilla attack. When people finally come together to figure out how to destroy Godzilla, they do it as individuals, not as a government or a national body. “This country has treated life far too cheaply,” one character says. Instead of running off to die for glory or national pride, characters are encouraged to risk their lives so that everyone can survive. “Hey, if it’s not certain death, it beats wartime!” one character jokes as he agrees to be a part of the mission to vanquish Godzilla. 

A World War II setting also allows for a lot of convenient plot devices. There are no super high-tech weapons available, and Japan also isn’t exactly in great shape when Godzilla shows up. Everybody is traumatized by the recent war. The film also makes the choice to essentially turn Godzilla’s bright blue “heat ray” blast into a nuclear weapon, with images of a mushroom cloud, flattened buildings, and men in hazmat suits and holding geiger counters following one attack (as well as what looks to be “black rain” falling immediately afterward). We also get to see some popular Japanese actors dressed in period costumes and fully immersed in wartime melodrama. 

The film’s plot is silly, and the plan to beat the monster is, it must be said, utterly ridiculous. But at least it has its own logic and rules (repeated by several characters multiple times), and the movie follows those rules. There’s the requisite scene of a scientist explaining how certain science-y things work that I am sure flies in the face of basic physics and chemistry. There’s the tense moment where we wonder if the plan will actually work (well, maybe we, the audience, don’t really wonder, but we sympathize with the characters who do). Part of the plan involves—I kid you not—giant orange floaties. 

It’s all nuts. But it works.

More than anything, this Godzilla movie looks and sounds really damn good. Writer-director and co-visual effects supervisor Takashi Yamazaki has made a name for himself with big-budget action films like Space Battleship Yamato and Parasyte: Part 1 and 2, and his team’s level of experience is on full display here. The action scenes are great, especially one at sea that riffs on the climax of Jaws (Yamazaki is clearly a Spielberg fan). Importantly, the action scenes also take their time and don’t rely on darkness or an endless series of quick cuts, meaning we can actually tell what’s going on most of the time. The “down time” scenes also work—sure, the characters are one-dimensional and their journeys aren’t exactly original, but they’re pleasant company and we care what happens to them. It’s also nice of Godzilla to keep its attacks to a regular and predictable schedule, giving our characters enough time near the end of the film to say tearful maybe-goodbyes to their families, restore a rusty old plane, and prepare all the gadgetry necessary to carry out their bonkers “destroy Godzilla” strategy.

I’m sure more than a few people will be unhappy that this film takes Godzilla further away from monster-as-metaphor and closer to monster-go-smash, or that it lacks Godzilla Resurgence’s sense of ironic detachment. But it’s all just so much fun. Sometimes that’s the best thing a giant monster movie can give you. Definitely see it on the big screen if you can.