Rather than relying on the blinding cuts and whip-pans that have become a staple of far too many blockbusters, the director’s work calls to mind the films of Steven Spielberg, where a single shot — buoyed by meticulous framing and shifting focus — can create a sense of inescapable tension. It’s even more impressive considering that Edwards’ only film before Godzilla was the festival darling Monsters. That indie feature cost less than a million dollars, with Edwards himself manifesting the visual effects on his laptop. For him to make such an assured outing in his first big-budget picture is nothing short of remarkable.

One of the things that made Monsters work was its unrelenting patience, doling out hints of its creatures at carefully chosen times, and that same technique is used in Godzilla. Like the shark in the original Jaws, much of Godzilla’s time is spent just off-screen, or in fleeting glances. Edwards plays a game of cinematic keepaway, putting the audience on edge as they wait for a big reveal, though the approach does run the risk of alienating those expecting massive fights at every turn. Sure enough, in the second half it does feel like the movie presses its luck just one too many times, but it all pays off when Godzilla finally reveals his true might. The resulting sequence is more than just a cathartic bit of movie mayhem; it may be the loudest you’ll cheer in a theater all summer.

While Godzilla himself is an incredibly realized bit of effects work, he is ultimately just a giant lizard, so it falls to the actors to carry the emotional weight of the film. Bryan Cranston is the anti-Heisenberg as the broken-down and paranoid Joe, and it’s his grief over his personal loss that slingshots the movie forward. As Ford’s wife, Elizabeth Olsen (Oldboy) keeps that momentum going, delivering a surprisingly authentic performance even though she’s limited to herding hospital patients most of the time.