Ray Harryhausen was a genius. Honestly, there isn't really another way to put it when you're talking about the man who basically birthed modern special effects. When people think about the kraken clash of the titans 1981, they usually picture that massive, four-armed beast rising out of the sea to snack on Andromeda. It's iconic. It’s scary. Even now, in an era where we have digital characters that look indistinguishable from reality, that stop-motion puppet feels more "present" than most CGI monsters.
There’s a weight to it.
You’ve probably seen the remake. It was fine, I guess. But the 2010 version’s monster felt like a generic heap of grey pixels. The 1981 version? That was Harryhausen’s swan song. It was the last film he ever worked on, and you can tell he poured every ounce of his "Dynamation" soul into that creature. It wasn't just a monster; it was a handcrafted piece of cinematic history that bridged the gap between old-school Hollywood magic and the blockbuster era.
The Monster That Wasn't Actually Greek
Here is something that kinda drives mythology nerds crazy: the Kraken isn't Greek. Like, at all. If you go back to the original myth of Perseus and Andromeda, the beast sent by Poseidon (or Neptune, depending on who’s telling the story) was actually called Cetus.
Cetus was usually depicted as a giant sea serpent or a whale-like fish monster. It didn't have arms. It definitely didn't look like a swamp creature from the black lagoon. So why did the creators of the kraken clash of the titans 1981 decide to swap a giant fish for a Scandinavian sea terror?
Basically, "Kraken" just sounds cooler.
The producers, including Ray Harryhausen and Charles H. Schneer, wanted something that felt more formidable. They took a Norse legend and shoved it into a Greek setting because "Release the Cetus" doesn't exactly have the same ring to it. Interestingly, the design of the creature itself was a bit of a hodgepodge. Harryhausen gave it four arms, a scaly tail, and a face that looks suspiciously human in its expressions. That’s the secret sauce. Because it has a face that can express "Oh, I'm about to eat you," it feels way more personal than a giant shark.
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How They Actually Built the Beast
We’re so used to green screens now. Back in 1980, when they were filming this, if you wanted a giant monster, you had to build it. Then you had to move it. One. Frame. At. A. Time.
The Kraken was a miniature. A relatively small puppet made of foam rubber and latex over a metal skeleton called an armature. Harryhausen was a stickler for detail. He spent months in his studio, hand-animating the creature's movements. To get that sense of scale—the feeling that this thing was hundreds of feet tall—he filmed it at a high frame rate and used "split-screen" matte paintings to composite the monster into the live-action footage of the beach at Malta.
The water was the biggest headache.
Water doesn't scale. If you splash water around a tiny puppet, the droplets look like... well, tiny droplets. They don't look like massive tidal waves. To fix this, the team used a combination of real ocean footage and carefully timed bubbles and mist. It wasn't perfect, but it worked well enough to terrify a generation of kids. When the kraken clash of the titans 1981 finally emerges, the way the water falls off its shoulders feels heavy. It feels wet. It feels real because, on some level, it was real. It was a physical object occupying physical space.
The Medusa Connection: A Narrative Trap
You can't talk about the Kraken without talking about Medusa. The whole third act of the movie is a ticking clock. Perseus has to kill the Gorgon to use her head as a weapon against the sea beast. It's a classic "A leads to B" plot, but the pacing is what makes it work.
A lot of modern movies would have the Kraken attacking the city for forty minutes. In the 1981 film, the actual "clash" is surprisingly short. The tension comes from the travel. Perseus is riding Pegasus, the clock is running out on Andromeda, and the Kraken is slowly, methodically being released by Poseidon.
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- The stakes: Total annihilation of Joppa.
- The weapon: A severed head that turns anything to stone.
- The twist: Perseus almost loses the head in the sea.
That moment where the Kraken sees the Medusa head is one of the best shots in fantasy cinema. The creature doesn't just die; it crumbles. It turns into this massive, calcified statue that shatters into the ocean. It’s a definitive end. There's no "he’s still alive for a sequel" bait. It’s just over.
Why 1981 Was a Weird Year for Movies
Think about what else was happening in '81. Raiders of the Lost Ark came out. An American Werewolf in London was pushing the boundaries of practical gore. The kraken clash of the titans 1981 felt like a bit of a throwback even when it was new. It was a 1950s-style adventure movie with a 1980s budget.
Some critics at the time thought it was "old fashioned." They weren't entirely wrong. The acting by Harry Hamlin is... well, it’s very "80s leading man." But then you have acting royalty like Laurence Olivier as Zeus and Maggie Smith as Thetis. It’s this bizarre blend of Shakespearean gravitas and stop-motion monsters. This contrast is exactly why it stuck in people's brains. It felt like a stage play that had been invaded by a nightmare.
Comparing the Original Kraken to the 2010 Version
I mentioned the remake earlier. Let's get into it.
In the 2010 film, the Kraken is basically a mountain with tentacles. It’s huge. It’s loud. It’s very CGI. But ask yourself: can you describe its face? Probably not. It's just a mass of teeth and anger.
The kraken clash of the titans 1981 monster has a personality. It looks tired. It looks ancient. When it looks at Andromeda, there’s a weird sense of predatory intelligence. Ray Harryhausen understood that for a monster to be scary, it needs to feel like a character, not just a disaster. He gave his creatures "performance." If you watch the Kraken’s eyes in the 1981 film, they move. They focus. That’s the kind of stuff you only get when a human being is manually adjusting a puppet every few seconds for weeks on end.
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The Enduring Legacy of "Release the Kraken"
It’s a meme now. Liam Neeson yelled it in 2010 and the internet took over. But the phrase—and the weight behind it—started with the 1981 original. Even if the line wasn't delivered with the same hammy intensity by Laurence Olivier, the concept of the Kraken as the ultimate nuclear option of the gods became part of our cultural lexicon.
It’s why we have a hockey team called the Seattle Kraken. It’s why every sea monster in every movie since is compared to this one. It set the bar.
If you want to appreciate the kraken clash of the titans 1981, you have to look past the "jerkiness" of the stop-motion. You have to see the craftsmanship. Every time that creature moves an arm, a human hand moved it first. It’s a handmade apocalypse. In a world of generative AI and automated effects, there is something deeply soulful about a monster that was literally built by an artist in a workshop.
How to Experience the Kraken Today
If you’re looking to revisit this classic or show it to someone who has only seen the newer versions, there are a few things you should do to get the best experience.
First, watch it on the biggest screen possible. The scale of the Kraken is meant to be overwhelming. Second, pay attention to the sound design. The 1981 film uses these high-pitched, screeching roals that are way more unsettling than the standard "lion roar" used for most movie monsters today.
Actionable Steps for the Ultimate Rewatch:
- Seek out the Blu-ray or 4K Restoration: The grain of the film actually helps blend the stop-motion effects better than the overly scrubbed digital versions.
- Watch the "Ray Harryhausen: Special Effects Titan" Documentary: It gives incredible behind-the-scenes looks at how the Kraken armature was built and operated.
- Compare the Kraken to the Chimera and Medusa: Notice how Harryhausen gives each creature a distinct "walking" style. The Kraken’s movements are heavy and aquatic, even when it’s out of the water.
- Look for the "Bubbles": During the Kraken's emergence, look closely at the compositing. You can see the genius of how they layered different film strips to make the monster appear "behind" the spray of the ocean.
The kraken clash of the titans 1981 remains a masterclass in visual storytelling. It isn't just a movie about a guy with a flying horse; it’s a testament to what's possible when you combine classical mythology with obsessive, tactile artistry. It reminds us that sometimes, the most "unreal" looking things are the ones that feel most alive.