The American distributor thought an American audience would not believe in smart people from anyplace but America. The job they did reflects doubtfully on their reasoning. What can be said for a hatchet-job that goes so far as to misspell the monster's name in the title? Oh, right, we did that with Gojira too. At least we only gave Gamera an extra M.
One might assume that Japanese scientists, by 1965, were among the most qualified in the world to deal with gigantic reptiles. However, though of course aided by some nifty electronics, they are once again incompetent to the task. In what must be the tiniest office in New York City, a guy in a fez and an unspecified African in a dashiki indicate that we are at the United Nations. This small meeting in a closet bravely but silently tries to help out with the 200 foot fire-eating turtle, when fortunately a white person starts talking.
Veteran Caucasian Brian Donlevy stars from a chair as the voice of reason. A military man in a corset that constricts his breathing, and dentures that slur his speech, he rattles off arcane theories about the composition of the earth's atmosphere 200 million years ago, and offers the startling opinion that animals alive at the time breathed sulfur. Only in a rubber monster movie would he not be placed in restraints; only in a World Entertainment release would he be placed in charge. The United Nations votes for joint action, but, typically, remains seated, implicitly detailing the Japanese to deal with Gamera themselves. After all, rubber monsters only attack Tokyo, right?
Then Donlevy, or the Japanese, or the entire world - it's hard to tell in the American version - come(s) up with Plan Z. This plan is well-named, as it is the very last thing I would think of. It consists of setting a refinery on fire, feeding Gamera all the flaming gasoline he can stomach, luring him into the first space capsule ever launched from a missile silo, then sending him to Mars in a rocket that looks suspiciously like a personal vibrator.
So that's why every alien abduction comes complete with an anal probe - it's Gamera's revenge.
One might assume that Japanese scientists, by 1965, were among the most qualified in the world to deal with gigantic reptiles. However, though of course aided by some nifty electronics, they are once again incompetent to the task. In what must be the tiniest office in New York City, a guy in a fez and an unspecified African in a dashiki indicate that we are at the United Nations. This small meeting in a closet bravely but silently tries to help out with the 200 foot fire-eating turtle, when fortunately a white person starts talking.
Veteran Caucasian Brian Donlevy stars from a chair as the voice of reason. A military man in a corset that constricts his breathing, and dentures that slur his speech, he rattles off arcane theories about the composition of the earth's atmosphere 200 million years ago, and offers the startling opinion that animals alive at the time breathed sulfur. Only in a rubber monster movie would he not be placed in restraints; only in a World Entertainment release would he be placed in charge. The United Nations votes for joint action, but, typically, remains seated, implicitly detailing the Japanese to deal with Gamera themselves. After all, rubber monsters only attack Tokyo, right?
Then Donlevy, or the Japanese, or the entire world - it's hard to tell in the American version - come(s) up with Plan Z. This plan is well-named, as it is the very last thing I would think of. It consists of setting a refinery on fire, feeding Gamera all the flaming gasoline he can stomach, luring him into the first space capsule ever launched from a missile silo, then sending him to Mars in a rocket that looks suspiciously like a personal vibrator.
So that's why every alien abduction comes complete with an anal probe - it's Gamera's revenge.