The Lizard King

Of all the cringe-worthy tourist attractions in Hollywood, there is perhaps none so worthy as the Hollywood Walk of Fame. These 2,271 plaques fixed into the sidewalk firmament along Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street are meant to immortalize, but they’re more like star-shaped trapdoors to oblivion. Pepe Barreto, Al Lichtman, Yakima Canutt. Ah, Arsenio, we hardly knew ye.

It’s an odd thing, really, to watch tourists make their way along these sidewalks, heads down, leaning over their shoes, sounding out the unfamiliar names as if the whole thing were some bizarre sobriety test. Vilma . . . Banky . . . Hugo . . . Winterhalter . . . Guy . . . Lombar . . . do. And then they come to the newest star, a name that absolutely everyone, everywhere, knows. That’s right, folks, he’s huge, he’s radioactive, he’s hard on infrastructure: Godzilla.

On Nov. 29, in honor of his 50 years in show business, Godzilla received his star in a ceremony coinciding with the world premiere of “Godzilla’s Final Wars,” the 28th installment of the world’s longest-running film series. Toho Studios, the Japanese film company that holds Godzilla’s leash, is promoting the movie as a farewell tour in the style of, say, Barbra Streisand.

If placement means anything, Godzilla is an A-lister. His pink-and-gray terrazzo star, a few steps east of Grauman’s Chinese Theater, is flanked by that of Tom Selleck--another large reptilian star--and the great German director William Dieterle, though most people will have to take my word that he was great and German.

I spent a cold, rain-strafed afternoon with Godzilla recently, if only to document the irony: Now throngs of Japanese are walking all over the colossal lizard instead of the other way around.

Inevitably, people try out the name. The Long Islanders pronounce it “Gawdzilla.” Midwesterners: “Ghad-zella.” Italians: “Good-zella.” Every five minutes or so, a tourist will render a dramatic reading, bug-eyed and pointing with horror at the sky: “Godzilla! Run!”

They say in life there are no second acts, and one assumes this goes double for sweaty Japanese actors in rubber suits, but then there’s Godzilla. At first blush he doesn’t seem like a good candidate for career longevity. After all, this is a one-shtick reptile: Wade ashore on the mainland, snap a few high-voltage power lines, bear up under the awesome firepower of the miniature tanks. Not to mention that Godzilla is, well, a confirmed bachelor. He’s a press agent’s nightmare.

What’s the attraction? Academia has been trying to figure that out. In just the last couple of months, Columbia University held a symposium, “Global Fantasies: Godzilla in World Culture,” and the University of Kansas sponsored “In Godzilla’s Footsteps: Japanese Pop Culture Icons on the Global Stage.” The Kansas conferees asserted that Godzilla is, essentially, a primitive prototype of Pokemon, an avatar of Japan’s distinctive, anime-style brand of magical anthromorphs with strange powers that run toward the Heraclitean--controlling elements of fire, water, earth and sky. This is Japan’s most influential pop culture export: Monsters Inc.

Fittingly, the star has become a can’t-miss for Japanese guided tours. Every few minutes, groups of three or four gather around the star with what seems like a reverential air and listen to the guide before banging off a few pictures with adorable, not-available-in-the-U.S. cameras.

It would be hard to document, but Godzilla’s star must be among the most photographed. Jacob and Jessica Hawley of Seattle took a cab from Long Beach to visit the Walk of Fame. He has taken 206 pictures of stars, and they have a block to go. He lines up the shot with practiced care. Why Godzilla?

“I saw my first Godzilla movie when I was 7,” Jacob says. “They were just funny. I didn’t like the newer ones.”

For a stalwart of science fiction, Godzilla doesn’t fare well in the 21st century. One of the least popular of the series was the earnest and glossy 1998 film directed by Roland Emmerich and featuring a digitized big guy. The computer-animated Godzilla trod convincingly upon Gotham, but in the end, well, that Godzilla lacks a certain humanity, and humanity--not tank-melting halitosis--is his essential feature. He is a who, not a what.

The toddling to-and-fro walk-stomp, the chest-baring outrage, the way he swings his tail--Godzilla has a style. You might as well try to digitally animate Fred Astaire.

And so the rubber suit stays. The new movie employs the technique called, believe it or not, “suitimation.” But keen observers will note that Godzilla’s mouth is wider. His teeth, which were always the size of refrigerators, are now refrigerator white. And his radiologically active dorsal spikes are larger and more youthful--perkier, you might say.

It’s come to this: Godzilla has had work.