DESPITE THE GEOMETRIC implications of his surname, Dr. Cube isn’t the slightest bit square. Actually, he’s insanely brilliant, a walking embodiment of knifelike intellect wrapped in powder-blue scrubs, rubber gloves, and a stethoscope tie. A former University of Oxford medical-school student, Cube is the kind of self-proclaimed mastermind who distances himself from the masses by addressing other people as “humans,” prefers isolation to interpersonal interaction, and long ago snipped the tightrope between genius and madness before ever trying to navigate it. And so far, eschewing the tenets of social responsibility has served Cube well: at 27, he’s already poised to take over the world — that is, the world of Kaiju International.
Kaiju, which means “mysterious beast” in Japanese, is a Boston-based monster-wrestling league that stages full-scale matches, contests, and tournaments. Influenced by Japanese anime, World Championship Wrestling subplots, and the kitsch of dubbed monster-movie cult classics like Ultraman, Kaiju cultivates a roster of wrestlers that includes surly monsters like the genetic mutation Dino-Kang, alien hemipterans like Space Bug, and choleric humans like Dr. Cube.
Kaiju also fosters an air of mystery and a desire to keep its legacy inscrutable, which is why Dr. Cube agreed to grant an interview only via e.mail. “We’re really trying to distance ourselves from the characters,” says David Borden, PR guy for Studio Kaiju and brother of one of the studio’s founders. “We really want the characters to speak for themselves.”
Cube himself has other reasons. Explaining why he does only e.mail interviews with the press, he says: “I loathe speaking to humans on a one-to-one basis. Humans tend to think and to communicate at such an incredibly slow pace.”
But communicating with Cube is worthwhile: his responses illustrate the meticulous detail, the dry humor, and the fantastic imagination involved in this mythical wrestling federation.
Like any prodigy, Dr. Cube oozes eccentricity. He fancies himself “a collector” and has accumulated a gallery of exotic cars, rare birds, and “back issues of Track and Driver.” His aesthetic tastes tend toward the highbrow; he calls classical music “the ultimate expression.” He cites Howard Hughes, Jan-Michael Vincent, and the Renaissance Man as his heroes. Asked where he lives, Cube explains that his independent wealth allows him to reside in a retrofitted mansion in the Boston area — but being the mysterious fella that he is, he won’t divulge the precise location of his compound. “The complex is totally wired,” he brags. “I can clap my hands and have my carp pond automatically cleaned.” Probed to reveal his first name, Cube scorches, “Do you have trouble understanding the concept of first name and last name? Doctor is the first name. Cube is the last name. It’s quite simple if you would take a minute to think about it.”
Also, Camille Dodero interviews Dr. Cube
Cube is plainly derivative of sci-fi’s archetypal mad scientist: he bioengineers popular monsters that inevitably become supporting Kaiju characters, such as the boarlike Cyclops named Hell Monkey. He’s also a surgeon whose God complex scores a 12 on the one-to-10 scale: he wields a butcher knife instead of a scalpel, fraternizes with masked minions instead of nurses, and, when queried about his credentials, answers smugly: “Many impressive degrees grace the walls of my laboratory.” Finally, he’s a goof on the erudite, pompous, humanity-hating intellectual. Asked to identify the most disgusting part of the human anatomy, he quips, “The mouth.”
So far, Cube and his cohorts have wrestled only in Massachusetts, at venues like Davis Square, the lobby of the Museum of Fine Arts School, and Fitchburg State College. But like its arch-villain Dr. Cube, Studio Kaiju wants to be bigger, better, and grander. And now, in a pop-culture climate where Vince McMahon is the poor man’s Bill Gates, Kaiju just might have a shot at ruling the world.