Category: Art/Culture/Movies

Pre-/Post-Oshkosh Idea: Grohmann Museum (the art of humans at work)

by philg

At least some of the downtown areas of Milwaukee make for a nice stop on the way to or from EAA AirVenture. The Third Ward is a particularly well-done gentrification/re-purposing. If you do decide to make a stop, the Milwaukee School of Engineering (MSOE) is home to a four-story museum of paintings and sculpture of humans at work. The Grohmann Museum was funded by Eckhart Grohmann, whose family was expelled from Silesia at the end of World War II (a total of 15 million other ethnic Germans were killed or, with American approval, forcibly displaced).

The tour begins in the rooftop sculpture garden, which contains heroic bronzes:

Here’s a wider view:

Then one heads down a spiral staircase to the paintings and smaller statues:

Of course, this 2020 work titled “Corona” by Hans Dieter Tylle is my favorite:

(The artist is German so he doesn’t depict the hospital administrator billing Medicare $120,000 for putting the patient on a ventilator so that he can have a 90 percent chance of death instead of the 85 percent chance that he came into the hospital with.)

Here’s “The Tax Payer”, 1877, which was hung right next to “Corona”, a perfect juxtaposition for the U.S. system:

The museum reminds us that medical quackery didn’t start with coronapanic:

Grohmann attracted some criticism for including works celebrating Nazi construction and industrial achievements, e.g., the work below.

A November 2007 article about the museum’s opening:

the most represented artist in the collection, Erich Mercker (1891-1973), was commissioned directly by Hitler’s government to create images of the Third Reich’s expanding infrastructure.

One of the 81 Mercker works in the collection shows laborers cutting stone bound for the Chancellery in Berlin, the Reich’s seat of power, and others depicting bridges of the Autobahn, one of Hitler’s proudest achievements.

At least two other artists represented in the collection also have Nazi ties.

Dr. Grohmann and colleagues told the critics to pound sand.

Here’s an oil painting of one of the world’s worst jobs, i.e., serving on HMS Resolute in the Arctic:

The ground floor contains some stained glass:

The museum features two works by Hunter Biden: “Tapping Slag” and “Hosing Down the Coke” (painted pseudonymously, apparently):

There’s a huge painting titled “After the Mine Accident” (Fernand Dresse) that reminds us that our modern society is built on people who are willing to put their very lives on the line:

At the opposite end of the spectrum… “The Electrician” (J.C. New, 1890):

Unlike any other art museum that I can remember visiting in the past 5 years, the bookstore is entirely free of books promoting art by members of victimhood groups and books about the 2SLGBTQQIA+ lifestyle. Does that mean that the entire building is free of Rainbow Flagism? No. The building also houses offices for humanities professors at the Milwaukee School of Engineering. Nearly all of these teachers have festooned their office doors with the sacred symbology. Here’s Candela Marini‘s door, for example.:

Note that the Duke graduate also promotes “End the War in Gaza”, end the investigation of whether residents of the U.S. are here without authorization (“End 287G“), and questioning the definition of “American”.

Are there any paintings that combine the faculty’s passion for Rainbow Flagism and the museum founder’s passion for productive achievement? Here’s one of the Norwegian Dawn, often tasked with cruising the Greek islands, under construction in Germany:

What’s missing from the museum? Asian art! Hokusai, for example, painted people at work:

And, of course, the Socialist nations made a lot of great art of people working. I didn’t see any Russian or Chinese 20th century paintings of the masses cheerfully toiling (for those who call today’s Democrats “socialist”, remember that relaxing on what used to be called “welfare” was illegal in the Soviet Union; the correct adjective for Tim Walz (still struggling with PTSD after a taxpayer-funded trip to Italy) or Kamala Harris is “transferist“).

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Craft idea for the family from the Racine Art Museum

by philg

Before “Oshkosh” (EAA AirVenture), we spent a night in Racine, Wisconsin. The town is notable as the birthplace of J.I. Case, which pioneered backhoe loaders, and S.C. Johnson. The downtown square was once filled with shade trees, we learned:

There are some arty/fun shops:

There’s a big marina:

Do we think that the owner of Knot Woke is going to vote for President Kamala Harris?

The local art museum specializes in crafts.

Here’s an idea from Linda Dolack for a fun kitchen table project with kids:

Right next to this art, the museum explains that it is tracking “self-indentifying women” and “artists of color”:

The museum was featuring what I think is a great idea for kid room decor: a 2.5-dimensional glass wall mural.

The above mural is by Frances Higgins (1912-2004) and she can’t be commissioned to make more. However, it looks as though her studio is still in operation and individual pieces can be purchased and, perhaps, commissioned. Imagine a custom mural with each element being an aircraft seen at EAA AirVenture! Maybe with the fireworks at the end of the night airshow as well. That would be great for a kid’s room.

What about the gift shop? Exactly one category of books was featured in a window visible from the street:

Once inside, they also had several books on the subject of career advancement via having sex with a married man who was already famous within the field:

A few more items from the shop…

Overall, it is tough to disagree that this is Racine County’s best art gallery!

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History lessons at the art museum

by philg

I touched on my visit to the North Carolina Museum of Art in Is Donald Trump worse than George Washington? but I’d like to share some additional history lessons from the signage. This is a government-funded institution, so the lessons are, presumably, official State of North Carolina versions.

We learn that rich people love to laugh at peasants:

The Dutch were bad in general:

One Dutch guy was especially bad, being responsible for “Dutch expansion, exploitation, and violence” and giving Dutch people ships was bad because they used them for “violent establishment of foreign colonies”:

The English were bad settler-colonialists in North America (see previous post regarding a wall-sign biography of George Washington) and the Bostonians were especially bad, e.g., Sir William Pepperrell who was “the sole heir to a well-known merchant and enslaver in Massachusetts”:

The bird nerd is bad:

If you think that racism 200 years ago isn’t relevant, note that the National Audubon Society continues to support the party of slavery, with more than 98 percent of its political contributions going to Democrats (opensecrets.org; I think this might measure the contributions of executives and officers since a nonprofit org itself shouldn’t be donating to any political candidates).

Unlike Audubon, the museum bravely takes a stand against slavery (“deplorable”!) and “systemic racism”:

Has all of human civilization been exploitation and violence? No. Elites and peasants lived in harmony in pre-Columbian America. They danced and made music together at “communal feasts” where “diverse parts of society coexisted, sharing food and drink.”

What kind of “food and drink” was shared? From the History Channel:

When the Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés and his men arrived in the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlán in 1521, they described witnessing a grisly ceremony. Aztec priests, using razor-sharp obsidian blades, sliced open the chests of sacrificial victims and offered their still-beating hearts to the gods. They then tossed the victims’ lifeless bodies down the steps of the towering Templo Mayor.

Andrés de Tapia, a conquistador, described two rounded towers flanking the Templo Mayor made entirely of human skulls, and between them, a towering wooden rack displaying thousands more skulls with bored holes on either side to allow the skulls to slide onto the wooden poles.

Reading these accounts hundreds of years later, many historians dismissed the 16th-century reports as wildly exaggerated propaganda meant to justify the murder of Aztec emperor Moctezuma, the ruthless destruction of Tenochtitlán and the enslavement of its people. But in 2015 and 2018, archeologists working at the Templo Mayor excavation site in Mexico City discovered proof of widespread human sacrifice among the Aztecs—none other than the very skull towers and skull racks that conquistadors had described in their accounts.

While it’s true that the Spanish undoubtedly inflated their figures—Spanish historian Fray Diego de Durán reported that 80,400 men, women and children were sacrificed for the inauguration of the Templo Mayor under a previous Aztec emperor—evidence is mounting that the gruesome scenes illustrated in Spanish texts, and preserved in temple murals and stone carvings, are true.

In addition to slicing out the hearts of victims and spilling their blood on the temple altar, it’s believed that the Aztecs also practiced a form of ritual cannibalism. The victim’s bodies, after being relieved of their heads, were likely gifted to noblemen and other distinguished community members. Sixteenth-century illustrations depict body parts being cooked in large pots and archeologists have identified telltale butcher marks on the bones of human remains in Aztec sites around Mexico City.

Maybe show up for the concert, but don’t stay for dinner?

The state-funded museum provided some follow-up reading in the gift shop:

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Book about the world’s most successful art thieves

by philg

Let me recommend The Art Thief by Michael Finkel, a book about a French couple who stole roughly $2 billion (in pre-Biden dollars). Stéphane Breitwieser and Anne-Catherine Kleinklaus hit smaller museums over a 7-year period and hauled everything back to their apartment to enjoy. Since they didn’t try to sell anything, they were tough to catch, but of course they eventually were which is why we have the book (guess which one went to prison and which one successfully escaped by claiming to have been a victim under the control of the other).

Here’s the kind of thing that they might have stolen. I saw it at the North Carolina Museum of Art while I was reading the book and thought that it would look great in the glass display cabinet of any Indiana Jones fan:

(Raleigh-Durham has become an Islamic area, but the museum has a sizable collection of Judaica.)

Breitweiser had a Swiss Army knife and Anne-Catherine had a huge purse. This was sufficient equipment for all of the thefts (which occurred perhaps just a few years before it would have been straightforward to attach an RFID tag to everything in a museum and then put sensors at all of the exits).

Breitweiser points out that art in a museum, rather than a private home, is unnatural:

He takes only works that stir him emotionally, and seldom the most valuable piece in a place. He feels no remorse when he steals because museums, in his deviant view, are really just prisons for art. They’re often crowded and noisy, with limited visiting hours and uncomfortable seats, offering no calm place to reflect or recline. Guided tour groups armed with selfie-stick shanks seem to rumble through rooms like chain gangs. Everything you want to do in the presence of a compelling piece is forbidden in a museum, says Breitwieser. What you first want to do, he advises, is relax, pillowed in a sofa or armchair. Sip a drink, if you desire. Eat a snack. Reach out and caress the work whenever you wish. Then you’ll see art in a new way.

The scale and pace of the thefts:

In the spring and summer of 1995, only a year after their first museum theft together, Breitwieser and Anne-Catherine find an incredible rhythm. They steal at a pace as fast as any known art-crime spree has been committed, outside of wartime. They hop between Switzerland and France, trying to keep at least an hour’s drive, and preferably two or three, between any places they hit. Even if they have to visit a couple of spots, museums are everywhere in Europe. And about three out of every four weekends, they successfully steal—a seventeenth-century oil painting of a war scene, an engraved battle-ax, a decorative hatchet, another crossbow. A sixteenth-century portrait of a bearded man. A floral-patterned serving dish. A brass pharmacy scale with little brass weights.

My favorite individual theft described in the book is a crime within a crime:

“Thief!” A word that no thief ever wants to hear shouted at him—shrieked—cuts through the bubbly conversations of the art-buying crowd at the European Fine Art Fair in the southern Dutch city of Maastricht. “Thief!” Even though he’s not stealing at the moment, Breitwieser flinches before realizing that the shouts are not directed at him. He watches as security officers rumble down the carpeted lane between booths. Heads in the exhibition hall turn. A thudding tackle and muffled blows bring even the owners out of their lounge-like areas. Richard Green, the iconic London dealer who is always granted prime placement at the fair, looks on, cigar in his mouth, as the thief is subdued and escorted away, the stolen item recovered. Entertainment over, Green returns to his stand, Renaissance oils arranged on pedestals, prices climbing from a million dollars. The dealer then discovers that one of his pedestals has a large empty space. Breitwieser’s giddy thought, as he and Anne-Catherine pull out of the parking lot a few minutes later, is that his car is currently worth more than the Lamborghinis they pass, if you include the souvenir in their trunk. The frame’s still attached, despite his stealing requirement; freak situations have their own set of rules. The artwork, an innovative 1676 unstill still life by Jan van Kessel the Elder, butterflies flitting around a bouquet of flowers, had hooked Breitwieser and Anne-Catherine from the art-show aisle, well outside Green’s booth. He’d never seen anything like it. The colors were incandescent. The work reeled them into the booth, through a mirage of shimmering hues that seemed impossible until they realized, up close, that the piece had been painted on a thin sheet of copper.

The European Fine Art Fair is a good place to covet items, though not to steal. The security unit is professional, with some undercover, Breitwieser says. Also, a potential deal breaker for Breitwieser, attendees are often searched at the exit, sales documents required. The copper painting sang to him and Green’s comeuppance felt ordained, but attempting a theft with almost zero chance of success is only the act of a fool. Providentially, a fool appeared as if on cue. With two piercing shouts, the fair shifted. The booths nearly emptied as the rubbernecking crested. Breitwieser was as surprised as anyone. Yet in the commotion that followed, he ascended into a sort of art-stealing nirvana, seemingly able to visualize the whole crime from above. The guards at the exit, he intuited, would abandon their post to assist the arrest. He’d bet a prison term on it.

The book says that there are roughly 50,000 art thefts per year, worldwide, with a total value in the single-digit $billions.

If you’d wondered about the veracity of Les Miserables…

In Switzerland, the guards had called him “Mr. Breitwieser.” In France, they shout his inmate number.

Within months of his arrest, the girlfriend has moved on. She’s pregnant with another man’s child and testifies against Breitwieser:

Anne-Catherine, dressed in a long black skirt, is called to testify after his mother, and she doubles down on total denial. She testifies, in a timid voice that Breitwieser says he’s never before heard, that she had not noticed any Renaissance works in the attic. She wasn’t present on his road trips. She never saw any art in his car. The two of them barely dated, she says. They were more like acquaintances. “He scared me,” says Anne-Catherine. Every day she was with him, she felt like his hostage. “He tormented me.”

(The hostage drove away from the apartment most mornings in a car and returned in the evening.)

More: Read The Art Thief.

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Blue Angels movie streaming on Amazon Prime

by philg

We took our family to elite entertainment last month (movie theater) and then a Michelin-starred restaurant (Cheesecake Factory). Total cost after the inflation that the government says doesn’t exist: $300, which includes AAA-estimated mileage rate for the 12-minute drive in an exclusive luxury vehicle (three-year-old Honda Odyssey EX-L).

What movie was worth $300? The Blue Angels documentary, now streaming for free on Amazon Prime.

The movie showed that the Blues go to the desert in El Centro, California for three months of pre-season “winter training”. That’s three months away from family who are back at the home base in Pensacola, Florida. There is no explanation for this move, though presumably it has to do with potential rain or low ceilings in Pensacola washing out training days and perhaps also more airspace being available in this forgotten corner of California.

Nerds will be cheered to learn that the Blues like to use multi-color BIC pens during briefing sessions. Medical nerds will be surprised to learn that the flight surgeon also plays the role of critic/judge during training. In other words, a person with no significant flying experience watches with binoculars and writes down everything that the pilots are doing wrong.

Perhaps reflecting Americans’ lack of interest in anything technical, the movie doesn’t bother explaining the weight at which the F/A-18 is operated, the airspeeds for the various maneuvers, or the flight control inputs that are required. We don’t get a tour of the cockpit and an explanation of the controls and instruments. We don’t see the maintenance people at work or learn what the need to do to keep the planes airworthy. Nor do we learn if they bring a spare plane! We’re told that there are 6 performers, but “Blue Angel #8” is shown with no explanation of what her role might be (the Navy says
“Events Coordinator”). We don’t find out what the demonstration pilots use for ground reference, especially important in the converging head-on maneuvers. We can guess that it is “keep right of the runway” for land-based air shows, but how do they do it when performing off a beach? (The Blue Angels web site has the explanation in a Support Manual; boats in fixed positions are used to create a “show line”.)

The movie failed to inspire our kids to want to become naval aviators. In fact, they were put off by the description of the hard work that was required, the blackouts in the centrifuge, the entire year mostly away from family, etc. Speaking of blackouts, the Blues don’t use the g-suits that Navy fighter pilots normally wear. They are bracing their arms on their legs and don’t want to risk suit inflation moving an aircraft out of formation enough to hit another aircraft. So they need to use muscles to push blood back up into their heads for demo maneuvers that are up to 7.5g. (No Auto GCAS on the F/A-18.) Speaking of muscles, the movie is a good reminder that everyone should take a job where he/she/ze/they is paid to work out at the gym. The Navy pilots look great compared to the same-age civilians in the movie!

Related (what the movie could have been in an ideal MIT Course 16 world; the F/A-18 is also a fly-by-wire aircraft):

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Helicopter pilot’s review of The Holdovers

by philg

I’m a huge fan of Alexander Payne (not just because my cousin produced About Schmidt). If you’re not familiar with his work, try Election, Sideways, and The Descendants.

The Holdovers (streaming on Amazon Prime) is Payne’s latest and features a teacher who loves giving bad grades so I can’t relate to that part (I don’t think that teachers should be allowed to grade their own students!). A Bell 206 Jet Ranger helicopter makes an appearance so I will try to confine my review to what I know. First, the Bell holds a maximum of five people, including the pilot, and the movie suggests that at least six people go on a flight in the machine. The helicopter comes in because one prep school kid’s dad is supposedly the president of Pratt & Whitney and the machine is his corporate perk. But why would a Pratt executive travel around in a machine powered by an Allison (now Rolls-Royce) engine?

The arrival of the helicopter is handled accurately, with the pilot apparently doing a high recon before the off-airport landing. (Assess the following from 500′ above the ground: Wind, Wires, Way In, and Way Out; Shape, Size, Slope, and Surface)

A few points beyond the helicopter-only comments…

The movie, set in 1970, makes only a few concessions to 21st century social justice. No character is a member of the 2SLGBTQQIA+ community. All of the Black characters are noble and exemplars of stable married life. Most of the white characters are deeply flawed and are either unmarried or divorced and remarried. The richer the white person, the worse he or she behaves (“he or she” because there were only two genders in the movie’s 1970). In fact, Paul Giamatti’s crusty teacher is too crusty for credibility. If he regularly gave a lot of mediocre students failing grades, the school would have axed him (or simply adjusted the grades he handed out). A private school teacher doesn’t have the union protection to do whatever he/she/ze/they wants as a public school teacher would. But it is still fun to watch him!

Readers: Who else saw this movie? What did you think? I wouldn’t say it is one of Payne’s best, but it is still better than 98 percent of what’s streaming today!

(We likely lost at least one great movie to California family law offering plaintiffs the chance to win a lifetime of ease following a brief sexual encounter. After three years of marriage, 34-year-old Sandra Oh sued Alexander Payne for divorce (Fox) and alimony (“spousal support”). The litigation to determine the profitability of her three-year marriage lasted for two-thirds the length of the marriage. The result was a gap in Payne’s filmography between 2004 and 2011. What did Sandra Oh do with the cash? Today she expresses her hopes for continued Hamas rule in Gaza (Variety), but it is unclear whether she’s donating funds to help the Palestinians liberate Al-Quds.)

If you’re interested in a possible route out of “more migrants; no more land” reducing living standards, check out Downsizing.

Related:

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Eden Golan vs. Fire Saga at Eurovision

by philg

Eden Golan in Sweden (note the big wheel):

Will Ferrell and a similar wheel as part of the Fire Saga act at Eurovision:

Separately, for fans of the Eurovision movie (one of the few bright spots of coronapanic!), here’s the official music video from Eden Golan:

It’s remarkable how faithful the film is to the real contest!

Separately, I wonder if Florida should get some credit for Eden Golan’s entry. I am not aware of any hurricanes in Israel and yet her song is titled “Hurricane”. I would pay Taylor Swift prices to see Eden Golan and Ron DeSantis perform a duet version!

Finally, shouldn’t those who want to ensure continued Hamas rule in Gaza have been happy that Israel was participating in Eurovision? The righteous say that Israel is committing “genocide” (extremely slowly?) in Gaza. If true, isn’t it better to have as many genocidal Israelis in Sweden where they won’t do any harm rather than in Gaza where they will kill Gazans (who are, according to UNRWA tweets, entirely unarmed and peaceful so it is actually a mystery as to how fighting continues because there are no Gazans shooting at the IDF).

Related:

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Annals of architecture failures: the luxury hotel with exterior corridors and no art

by philg

A few photos from a newish $500/night Marriott hotel in Newport Beach, California:

Note the circular waterfall in the middle of the driveway.

One of the more interesting features is a massive video screen above the bar at the end of the pool:

Why can’t we have this in every room of our houses?

The hotel is built around an open central courtyard and, thus, the corridors are exposed to the elements to some extent. Perhaps because of this, the architects and designers apparently decided not to put any art in the outdoor hallways:

The result is a bleak depressing walk from a fairly nice room to the very nice lobby. It makes the hotel seem cheap and old. I’m trying to figure out how they could have failed so badly. The indoor/outdoor structure isn’t that different from Spanish colonial architecture throughout Central and South America. A hotel with exterior corridors in Mexico or South America would have interesting stonework and, most likely, beautiful tiles and other decoration in the parts exposed to the elements.

On the bright side, we were able to enjoy looking at a Z06 C8 Corvette parked in front:

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Birth control pill sculpture wins a prize at a suburban Boston public high school

by philg

Here’s a prizewinner from the AP Art class at the Lincoln-Sudbury (Maskachusetts) public high school:

(I blacked out the student-artist’s name in case she one day becomes a Deplorable.)

I’m not sure if “penis made from birth control pills” is the title of the work or if it has a title at all.

Science shut down the high school in question completely or partially for 1.5 years. Part of this period was “hybrid” in which students gathered two mornings per week and then retreated to their suburban bunkers. Presumably SARS-CoV-2 was told not to spread during these handful of hours, but the virus would have rejected a demand to refrain from spreading during a full school week.

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Could Dune be improved if Godzilla joined?

by philg

I enjoyed the special effects in the Dune 2021 movie, but the plot seemed overly serious and challenging to follow. For the strike-delayed second part, I’m hoping that Godzilla will join the mix. Who agrees with me that Godzilla v. a sandworm would spice things up?

(Side note: I would be willing to pay 15 Bidies to see the Barbie movie if Godzilla were included.)

Here’s an April 2023 effort by DALL-E to illustrate the concept:

For reference, a photograph of the real Godzilla:

What about the plot? Is my lack of imagination an obstacle to a successful career as a screenwriter? GPT-4 to the rescue! The prompt:

Write a story in the style of the novel Dune in which Godzilla arrives on Arrakis and fights the sandworms.

The script (note that ChatGPT was smart enough to realize that Godzilla must win at the end of the movie):

In the vast expanse of the desert planet Arrakis, where the great sandworms roamed, a new force would soon join the eternal dance of predator and prey. The Fremen, people of the desert, had long revered the sandworms, creatures that were essential to the production of the most precious substance in the universe: the spice melange. But as whispers spread among the sietches, they could hardly imagine what was about to happen on their sacred home.

As the suns set over the horizon, their path illuminated by the dust and sand of the desert, a storm approached. Fremen gathered in the caves and shelters, readying themselves for the fury of the winds. The sandworms, though, reveled in the chaos, emerging from the depths to feel the storm’s might.

Amidst the swirling sands, a great roar echoed, carried by the gales. It was a sound unlike any the Fremen had ever heard, a resonance that shook the very core of their being. The sandworms, too, sensed this new presence, and for the first time in their long history, they felt unease.

From within the storm, a titanic figure emerged: Godzilla. The King of the Monsters had found his way to Arrakis, and with each thunderous step, the desert trembled. Though not one to shy away from conflict, Godzilla’s primal instincts urged him to survey this new land.

As the storm settled, the Fremen cautiously emerged from their shelters. They spoke of the great beast that had appeared, their eyes wide with awe and fear. Muad’Dib, their leader and messiah, listened to their accounts and pondered the significance of this event.

Meanwhile, Godzilla continued to roam the desert, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. The sandworms, feeling the tremors of his steps, were drawn to the surface in search of the source. The air was thick with tension as these ancient creatures neared the mighty behemoth.

When the first sandworm burst forth from the sands, its colossal maw gaping wide, Godzilla turned to face it. His primal instincts ignited, and the beast within him awakened. As the sandworm lunged, Godzilla let loose a torrent of atomic breath, engulfing the creature in a searing inferno.

The Fremen, observing from afar, gasped in astonishment. They had never before witnessed a being capable of felling a sandworm so effortlessly. Muad’Dib, his mind racing with the implications, knew that this force had the potential to change the course of their history.

One by one, the sandworms emerged to challenge the intruder, and one by one, they fell to Godzilla’s might. The Fremen watched as their world was transformed, their reverence for the sandworms now tinged with uncertainty.

But even in the midst of this titanic struggle, the desert had more secrets to reveal. From deep beneath the sands, a new presence stirred. It was the Maker of the Makers, the worm that had birthed all other sandworms. It was ancient and powerful, and it sensed the threat Godzilla posed to its progeny.

As the behemoth and the Maker of the Makers clashed, the sands of Arrakis were sundered. The Fremen could only look on as the two titans battled for supremacy, each vying to prove their place atop the hierarchy of the desert.

The battle raged for days, their roars echoing across the dunes like thunder. The sands ran red with the blood of the combatants, and the very air seemed to tremble with the force of their strikes.

Eventually, the impossible happened. The Maker of the Makers, weakened and battered, fell before Godzilla.

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