GODZILLA THROUGH THURS., MAY 20 IF PEOPLE WHO WORE monster suits were ...

/i> THROUGH THURS., MAY 20

IF PEOPLE WHO WORE monster suits were granted the same respect as regular actors, Haruo Nakajima would be as admired as Alec Guinness or Peter Sellers. The 75-year-old became a national icon (albeit of a minor and curious sort) by playing Godzilla, Japan's nuclear-breathed answer to King Kong and one of the longest-lived recurring characters in world cinema. Nakajima played him for 18 years, from the original in 1954 through Godzilla vs. Gigan in 1972. (Go drink your martini, Mr. Bond.) He also played an assortment of other beasts, including Mothra, King Kong, Varan and Rodan.

It is now possible to appreciate Nakajima's efforts in a new, serious way, thanks to the restored, released version of Toho Studios' original Godzilla: King of the Monsters! which is now playing at Film Forum. The classic monster movie was first released here half a century ago, badly dubbed, with 40 minutes chopped out and 20 new minutes added; the latter were devoted to a pointless Yank-pandering subplot involving Raymond Burr's witness-journalist, the Edward R. Murrow of giant lizard attacks. The restored film—originally titled Gojira, and mispronounced for decades by American marketers—is a much darker affair, an attempt by creator Tomoyuki Tanaka to depict Japan's postwar anguish in fairytale form.

An actor, martial artist and stuntman, Nakajima divvied up city-stomping duties with actor Katsumi Tezuka. After the first film's release in 1954, Nakajima became the role's principal actor. He was chosen mainly for his endurance—the suit weighed about 220 pounds and was poorly ventilated—yet he brought more to the role than mere strength. Like all intelligent actors, Nakajima approached the part as a part.

As any sci-fi geek knows, Godzilla is a mythological creature kept at bay by human sacrifice, then unleashed on Japan by nuclear testing. The character started out as a cautionary symbol of imperial arrogance begetting nuclear destruction, but he eventually mutated into a hero and a proud symbol of Japan's inextinguishable warrior spirit—a point lost on American film critics who dismiss the series as camp.

Nakajima is reluctant to discuss the big green guy in such theoretical terms. Speaking via phone from Tokyo via an interpreter, he projected an aw-shucks modesty and insisted he was just a man hired to do a job. "Those are academic analyses," he said. "I just did what was required by the script and performed the actions described in the script."

Okay, not quite. Prodded for details, Nakajima reveals himself as a craftsman who thought hard about what sort of creature Godzilla was, how he might move and why.

"I knew it didn't make sense for Godzilla to move like a human being," Nakajima said. "I observed animals in the zoo for a week. What I did bring home was the bear and the elephant. Actually, I tried to mimic the way an elephant walks."

Asked if Nakajima created specific movements for the scenes in which Godzilla knocked down buildings, the actor politely corrects the interviewer. He says the monster did not deliberately wreck buildings, but damaged them accidentally because he was a giant beast trying to navigate a man-made environment.

"I tried to walk naturally and not seem conscious about my movements," he said. "As an actor, you have to be realistic. That's what I was trying to do."

That's no mean feat when you're wearing a 220-pound rubber suit with a tail suspended on wires. Even though the suit became more sophisticated over the years, it still taxed Nakajima. "It was really tiring," he said. "I needed three or four men to help me put on the suit."

There were other hazards as well, including small explosive charges that detonated around Godzilla as he trampled buildings, cars and telephone poles.

"I didn't have any serious injuries at all," Nakajima said. "Maybe a little burn, nothing more serious."

Nakajima was rewarded with steady employment and the affection of his countrymen. He was honored this year with a limited edition Godzilla doll that can be opened up to reveal a miniature Nakajima inside. He has a copy of the doll in his house.

Nakajima is especially proud of Godzilla's popularity among Japanese children—a natural constituency courted early and often by Toho.

"When my daughter was in preschool and elementary school, she and her classmates used to come to the set with their teacher. The special effects engineer was very understanding of children's fondness for the monster. He used to invite children all the time to come to the studio and observe shooting. Because we filmed the scenes without sound and added sound later on, the children could stand off to the side and watch, and it was all right if they talked or cheered."

Although Toho officially retired Godzilla a couple of years ago, Nakajima believes the retirement will last about as long as Frank Sinatra's.

"I never thought it would achieve this level of popularity," he said. "Fifty years—that's a long time."

Film Forum, 209 W. Houston St. (betw. Varick St. & 6th Ave.), 212-727-8110, call for times, $10.