Shin Ultraman (2022)

Shin Ultraman is special because it treats a beloved, rubber-suit legend with both reverence and audacity, updating the icon without sanding off the weirdness that made it magical in the first place. Shinji Higuchi stages kaiju chaos with crisp, inventive visuals and a propulsive sense of scale, while the film’s deadpan humor and bureaucratic detail make the world feel oddly lived-in even as it’s being stomped flat. The vibe is energetic, slightly off-kilter sci-fi spectacle—part thrilling disaster movie, part affectionate love letter to tokusatsu craft—where the action pops and the imagination keeps swerving into delightful surprises. It may not convert viewers who need grounded realism or who bristle at stylized, talky bursts between set pieces, but if you want a modern blockbuster that’s unapologetically Japanese, sincerely heroic, and consistently fun, this one earns your time.

Shin Ultraman is clearly trying to modernize a beloved tokusatsu icon with slicker visuals, government-procedural flavor, and a steady parade of kaiju-and-alien set pieces. The problem is it can feel episodic and a bit self-satisfied in its homage, so if you’re not already on Ultraman’s wavelength, the rhythm and references may leave you watching from the outside. Pacing-wise, it’s less a gripping character journey and more a sequence of “next incident, next debate, next fight,” which can make the near two-hour runtime drag if you want emotional depth or a strong human hook. If you’re here for inventive monster design, big-scale battles, and the novelty of seeing Ultraman treated with semi-serious modern framing, you’ll get your money’s worth; if you want something as tightly engaging as Shin Godzilla, temper expectations.