Sold as the bout-of-the-century, this clash-of-the-titans opening credits seems more akin to a WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc) world title bonanza with all the hype and smoke & mirrors of extreme and hardcore moves to pull in the given target audience. It is here, that Godzilla Vs. Kong makes its appearance within this arena, adapting to a wide, or paradoxically, possibly a narrow, contemporary audience that holds its bated breath with excitement and anticipation. Holding one's breath whilst waiting for the great finale is not a particularly good practice and certainly not recommended; If one were to hold one's breath, we'd be holding-out until time eternal and with no contention of a second bout in sight.
We are being sold a one-way ticket to this extravaganza that leaves its reputation only in the visual, and pumps less iron where needed declaring that it is not how you start, but how you finish. The neutral positions of both contenders start with chest beating and erupts into facebusting plancha's and lariat tumblr's that releases tie-up after tie-up.
Comprising a higher percentage of action than diction, this is an easy road to glory when the Titan's rumble with the ethos of never giving up, never backing down and never losing faith; until the bitter end. Unfortunately, it will be how we shall best remember this bout and all that unravels around the ropes and bouncing off the turnbuckle's set at close quarters within this squared circle of celluloid; everything else is fodder and inconsequential.
Where strength and weakness conjoin here is the calling timeout of throwing in the towel of the abysmal, easily deposable ticker tape character development and any substantial plot. What are, exactly, are these parties achieving to enhance the narrative? Sadly, any screen time by Ms. Bobby Brown and her subplot adventures only ridicule's the tensions of the main event; whilst not to demonise her onscreen charisma, her dropping from A-Show to no-show B-Show here only disappoints and deflates any warranted tension; too, with the conjuncture of babyfaced Kaylee Hottle and Mr. Skarsgård for example, at best, simply add tedium and both hit the ground with a heavy bump that echoes throughout the whole debacle. The aphorism of less is more, albeit with an international cast, may have been appropriate to the overall quality of the narrative.
Within the, alleged, universe of the WWE, we are driven to the point of understanding that what we see is not necessarily what actually is: we came; we saw; we understand what our senses are being cajoled into believing that all is good and all is beyond the superficial. Understandably, too, this is where the parallels of the WWE and the celluloid bout of Godzilla and Kong merge. Beyond the cheap pops of smoke & mirrors, the hype and striking visuals, the target audience are left with two options of believing in what is seen will leave its mark or believing that the whole experience shallow and void of a missed spot and dusty finish.
We are being sold a one-way ticket to this extravaganza that leaves its reputation only in the visual, and pumps less iron where needed declaring that it is not how you start, but how you finish. The neutral positions of both contenders start with chest beating and erupts into facebusting plancha's and lariat tumblr's that releases tie-up after tie-up.
Comprising a higher percentage of action than diction, this is an easy road to glory when the Titan's rumble with the ethos of never giving up, never backing down and never losing faith; until the bitter end. Unfortunately, it will be how we shall best remember this bout and all that unravels around the ropes and bouncing off the turnbuckle's set at close quarters within this squared circle of celluloid; everything else is fodder and inconsequential.
Where strength and weakness conjoin here is the calling timeout of throwing in the towel of the abysmal, easily deposable ticker tape character development and any substantial plot. What are, exactly, are these parties achieving to enhance the narrative? Sadly, any screen time by Ms. Bobby Brown and her subplot adventures only ridicule's the tensions of the main event; whilst not to demonise her onscreen charisma, her dropping from A-Show to no-show B-Show here only disappoints and deflates any warranted tension; too, with the conjuncture of babyfaced Kaylee Hottle and Mr. Skarsgård for example, at best, simply add tedium and both hit the ground with a heavy bump that echoes throughout the whole debacle. The aphorism of less is more, albeit with an international cast, may have been appropriate to the overall quality of the narrative.
Within the, alleged, universe of the WWE, we are driven to the point of understanding that what we see is not necessarily what actually is: we came; we saw; we understand what our senses are being cajoled into believing that all is good and all is beyond the superficial. Understandably, too, this is where the parallels of the WWE and the celluloid bout of Godzilla and Kong merge. Beyond the cheap pops of smoke & mirrors, the hype and striking visuals, the target audience are left with two options of believing in what is seen will leave its mark or believing that the whole experience shallow and void of a missed spot and dusty finish.