Chapter 244: Damn It! Seven's Still Chasing Me!
The moment the Ultra Brothers appeared, Li Ri'ang felt his emotions rise to an entirely new level.
It was a feeling too complex to describe, but if he had to choose just one word, it would be relief.
"So... you were always there…"
A faint smile formed on Li Ri'ang's lips as tears gently rolled down his cheeks.
But those weren't tears of sorrow—they were tears of joy and deep emotion.
Ever since the beginning of the movie, when he first saw Hayata and the others, Li Ri'ang had already felt a glimmer of this emotion.
But it wasn't until the Ultra Brothers truly appeared that he was finally sure:
The heroes of the past had returned.
No—not just returned.
They had never truly left him to begin with. They had always been there, just existing in a different form.
As long as the world still has people calling for Ultraman, they will always appear—To be the hero in everyone's heart.
"It's pathetic, really… I actually gave up just because of a few setbacks… how weak. And yet, I had the audacity to say I wanted to become Ultraman…"
"But... but…"
Li Ri'ang thought back to his childhood—those times when his test scores were bad, when his parents scolded him, when he felt defeated.
Back then, he would pop in a DVD, turn on the TV, and watch Ultraman fight bravely on screen.
And somehow, he always felt better.
Because Ultraman's spirit—unyielding, tireless, and always fighting for humanity—had always been his role model.
"Hyah!"
On screen, Jack used the Ultra Bracelet to break through Zepandon's shield. His fierce, clean battle cry made Li Ri'ang's whole body feel lighter.
"Such crisp, powerful shouts... punches stronger than ever... that elegant beam slicing through the night sky... No matter how many times it happens, Ultraman always lifts me back up."
He clenched his fists, smiling more and more freely. He let go of his burdens and, mimicking his little nephew, started cheering for the Ultras on screen:
"Go, Ultraman! You guys won't lose, right?!"
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Meanwhile, in a theater in North America, with his arms crossed, Milo Johnson was racking his brain about how to complete the new task his higher-ups had assigned him: a review of Super 8.
Sure, he reeked of capitalist stink, but as a "highly discerning" film critic, he couldn't just parrot what the audience around him was saying—
"Great effects! Amazing! So cool!"
Even if the fans bought it, his money-holding bosses definitely wouldn't.
They didn't drop hundreds of thousands of dollars for him to be a glorified echo chamber.
So for the sake of those lovely green bills, Milo Johnson knew he had to say something that ordinary folks wouldn't think of.
Something like the film's structure, its narrative techniques...
But Super 8's storyline was just too straightforward.
Stripped of its emotional nostalgia, the character development was extremely black and white.
Especially the main villain—the guy in the black hood.
He was a cartoonishly evil, destroy-the-world-for-no-reason type. No nuance, no depth. Just plain "bad guy."
Still, even if the characters were shallow, the film had a lot of them, and it portrayed a wide range of emotional connections.
Throughout the movie—beyond just monster attacks and humanity's cooperation with the Ultramen—director Shinji Matou paid attention to life's tiny, relatable details.
Those little moments might not even count as subplots, but they gave viewers a break from the tension of the large-scale action.
They were seemingly trivial, yet very effective in softening the nerves of an audience overstimulated by spectacle.
These moments also served to enhance the core themes, helping to flesh out the main characters within the film's limited runtime.
For instance, the film repeatedly celebrates family bonds from different angles.
When it comes to the human hosts of the Ultras, their familial relationships need no elaborate explanation. Even without scenes like Hideki Go's sorrow at his wife's bedside, Rena encouraging Daigo to rediscover himself, or Ryo helping Asuka regain confidence—just the subtle interactions between these characters and their partners were enough.
Especially the frequent, wordless moments where they would simply exchange a smile—those scenes alone were enough to show audiences how strong and warm their relationships were.
In truth, there weren't that many scenes like this throughout the film.
Yet director Shinji Matou skillfully embedded the idea that "they're all model couples" deep into the audience's mind with just a few, well-placed shots.
Milo Johnson understood perfectly well that this kind of "family-first" message would deeply resonate with North American audiences.
This mainstream value system was a surefire way to win over a mainstream crowd.
People often claim that Western and Asian views on family are very different—that Westerners prioritize individual independence, etc., etc…
That's all bullshit.
In reality, the core values that most people across the globe hold aren't all that different.
Family has always been one of the most important themes in people's lives.
If family wasn't important, then why would Hollywood produce so many movies centered around it?
Why would every other blockbuster keep hammering in the idea of "Family" like it's gospel?
Sure, the family values in the West differ from those in East Asia, particularly when it comes to blood relations.
In places like the U.S., blood isn't as important as the bond itself.
What matters is the concept of "being a family," not whether or not you share DNA.
Take Shazam!, for example—a film that flopped in Asia but was a huge hit in North America.
One major reason it resonated with American audiences was its theme of found family—a group of people not related by blood, but bound together by love and mutual care.
That kind of family is rare in Asia, but in North America, it hits right in the heart.
And to Milo Johnson, Super 8's brilliance lay exactly in that point.
Shinji Matou depicted a group of Ultra hosts who, taken together, formed a massive extended family.
They often ate together, spent time together, and genuinely cared for each other.
Everyone was a part of that collective family unit.
It's this dynamic that made the characters' emotional reactions—like Daigo's breakdown after Aki Sakata was injured—so convincing.
Milo Johnson knew that "fighting for your family", no matter how cliché it sounded, was often the most touching part of a movie.
Even if it didn't make audiences cry, it at least grounded the characters' decisions in something believable.
In his eyes, whether it was the fight scenes, the explosions, the city destruction, or the emotional family moments—they were all tools used by Shinji Matou.
And the director had one clear goal: to please the market and the audience.
Even if the methods were a little lowbrow, as long as they brought in money, that was all that mattered.
To be honest, Milo Johnson didn't mind that at all.
After all, the paycheck he got from Time Group?
That came straight from the money Shinji Matou's movies raked in.
When you trace it back, every person sitting in that theater was basically one of Milo Johnson's indirect clients, handing him their money with every ticket.
Since that was the case, naturally—the more people watching, the better.
"I just wonder what the other critics are gonna think…"
Milo Johnson, now fully "sold out to the power of cash," had no qualms about Super 8's over-the-top cheesiness—but other critics definitely wouldn't be as forgiving.
"Let's hope they keep it civil and don't start yelling at the audience mid-screening…"
And honestly? His concern wasn't unfounded.
Because right at that very moment, a lot of Western film critics were sitting in the dark theater with increasingly bad moods.
In Japan, critics typically categorize Ultraman as kids' tokusatsu shows, and in China, filmmakers treat them more like cartoons—stuff meant for children, and therefore not worthy of being analyzed like "real cinema."
So critics from those countries weren't even trying to approach Super 8 like a serious film.
But in the West? Things were different.
Thanks to its cross-promotional campaign with Godzilla, Super 8 was officially being treated as a legit cinematic release in Western film circles.
The general audience didn't really care either way—the fights were cool, the visuals were sick, and that was all that mattered.
But for critics trying to view it as a "serious" film, things got rough.
Because from their perspective, the movie was filled from start to finish with simplistic fight scenes and emotional manipulation, and worst of all—the very thing it sold itself on, ultra-realistic special effects, was exactly what they hated.
For them, such a movie is not a question of whether they like it or not, but a question of whether they can bear it or not.
Their inner monologue probably went something like this:
"If I've committed a crime, please just send me to jail. Don't torture me with this loud, headache-inducing movie."
And that? That line basically summed up the collective feelings of Western film critics at that moment.
Fortunately for them, the film was starting to wrap up.
Once the Showa Four veterans transformed into Ultramen, there really wasn't much suspense left.
Sure, earlier in the movie the plot had some tension and tug-of-war moments, but by this point, throwing in more twists would've just felt forced.
So once the old guard showed up and rescued the petrified Mebius, everything moved into classic Ultraman territory—monster beatdowns galore.
The Heisei Ultraman Trio took on the Five King.
Jack, Ultraman, and Ace took on Zepandon.
And then there was Seven, who was sent after the lone Alien Hipporit.
Back in the old Showa days, Seven got solo'd by Hipporit and turned into a statue.
But this time, he came with unfinished business.
"I've waited 34 years just for this moment!"
Seven transformed into a total beast, delivering that iconic line like a gangster in a Hong Kong revenge movie.
The Alien Hipporit wanted to fight back—really, he did.
But against a background music-boosted Seven? He never stood a chance.
It was clear—this wasn't the same race of aliens anymore.
Sure, they both had the same weird forehead bulge, but one was "bricked up" while the other was "floppy"—and the difference in power levels was very obvious.
Completely overwhelmed by Seven's fists, the Alien Hipporit was forced to flee into the air, only to be toyed with mid-flight like a dog being walked on a leash.
Thanks to his forehead beam attacks, Seven had complete aerial control.
1v1 midair? Easiest thing in the world.
As Seven relentlessly pursued the fleeing alien, Hipporit finally lost it and shouted:
"Damn it! Seven's still chasing me!"
"Pfft—!"
That line made Li Ri'ang practically choke on his soda.
"Holy crap— No wonder that Alien Hipporit's voice sounded so familiar— It's THAT guy!"
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