Fay Wray Come Out and Play: A Comprehensive King Kong Compendium

When it comes to creature feature smash-em-ups, two imperators share the scepter. I dig Gamera, Mighty Joe Young, the Ymir, and every other elephantine city stomper, but a certain pair of empyreal beasts tower above them all. Of course, I speak of Godzilla and King Kong. I've always been a G-buff myself. Ever since I was old enough to dandle my genitalia, I've apotheosized the iconic cynosure.

Maybe it was because outmoded monster movies were the only genre films that my mom would permit me to watch in elementary school. Maybe my fascination with dinosaurs bled into my cinematic tastes. Maybe I had no life. Whatever the mainspring, Gojira tickled my pickle, and I couldn't get enough of Toho's merchant prince. It wasn't until later in life that I took an interest in the eighth wonder of the world. And then after I discovered twinkies, I got into King Kong.

1925's The Lost World coxswained stop-motion animation as we know it, and was technically the first consumptive monster mash to shake up the film industry. 1933's King Kong is just as deviceful and innovative. The threat was no longer sequestered on a remote island. We took it upon ourselves to schlep the opposer to our territory. Having home field advantage didn't seem like much of an advantage. Whenever I see a brobdingnagian (yep, it's a word) brute plowing through oppidan urban areas, I think of Kong. This is the "skyscraper subversion" movie.

Who better to bring Kong to life than Willis O'Brien, Ray Harryhausen's mentor? O'Brien's clay constructs are superlatively detailed and veridical. Kong's movements are fluid, and while the actors could seldom react to a tangible existent, he's much more imposing and lifelike than any CGI contrivance could ever hope to be. Via rear-projection photography (fancy term for "blue screen effects"), Kong is allowed to interact with his human co-stars. For the most part, the humans aren't in the foreground, so relatively speaking, this then-vanguard technique is executed swimmingly.

The premier primate isn't the only stop-motion mutt in attendance. Throughout the course of the film, Kong spars with a Tyrannosaurus Rex, a Pterodactyl, a lengthy lizard (get your mind out of the gutter), and an anfractuous serpent. A Stegosaurus and an unidentified sauropod also make special appearances, but they don't joust with the lovestruck lemur. That's a lot of monsters. They call for A LOT of action sequences. Revisiting this punctilious paradigm after three years or so, I had forgotten just how action-packed it is. The entire second half is earmarked for ungrudging furore. The pacing is meteoric, the herculean battles are never cut short (this is 4.6 billion ambits away from the slatternly bedpan that is Jurassic Park III), and it's a given that the effects are matchless.

I don't see how anyone could be bored with it. Even the talky exposition is engrossing. The first act is fleeced of ataxia, but the human characters sustain the film's steady pulse. The sightly Fay Wray manages as Ann Darrow. It's a thin part, but Wray proves that she's capable of doing more than kicking and screaming. Robert Armstrong is lively as Carl Denham, the industrious filmmaker who will stop at nothing to accede to prominence amongst his peers. The ambitious type is usually portrayed as being insentient and egocentric (see Dr. Frankenstein), but Denham is refreshingly well-rounded. He aspires to achieve notoriety, but he's considerate of his compatriots.

It goes without saying that the script tries to wedge a love angle into the proceedings. It's sloppy, improbable, and apish ("I think I love you."). But gee-golly blandishment is expected. For what it's worth, Bruce Cabot is competent as John Driscoll, Ann's virile beau. As the film's most famous line denotes, this is a sportive variation on Beauty and the Beast. Even the most graceless savage can be lulled into amity by love, that wretched pro-depressant. That's really the only message that King Kong runs with. Some could argue that it touches on racism and misogyny, but the film doesn't concern itself with weighty social issues. If it does, these allegories are subtle so as not to dispirit prepubescent horror militants the world over. This is first and foremost a popcorn picture, a staggering one at that.

The film's success prompted a sequel. Son of Kong proves that studio heads have always been avaricious sensualists. It was released the same year as its predecessor. To call it a rushed production would be a vast understatement. The harefooted shooting schedule shows in the film's gauzy storyline, its minimal creature effects, and its imponderable running time of 70 minutes. It was obviously geared towards children. Kong's moppet stands at twelve feet and possesses human characteristics. He befriends trespassers, performs heroic deeds, and makes "cute" noises. None of this is as nauseating as it sounds, but I sorely missed Baby Kong's badass progenitor.

The plot picks up one month after the events of the first film. Carl Denham is faced with bounteous lawsuits, court orders, and encroaching reporters. He aches to get away from it all, so he emplanes with a few of his fellow seafarers and wends on the open waters. During this furlough, the notion strikes Denham to traverse Kong's native isle in search of a supposed hidden treasure. While there, he chances upon Kong Jr. It's an amicable encounter, and the filial fiend cottons to Denham and his crew. The leisurely build-up is both arid and rewarding. The character development is solvent, but the pace craps out early on. For a film so short, it feels hopelessly long-winded. Unlike the original, there is no payoff. The poised first act isn't complimented by a booming, clangorous climax.

On the upside, Son of Kong betters its forebear where acting and melodrama are concerned. Robert Armstrong reprises his role as Carl Denham with discretion and abstemiousness. He's not as chirpy this time around. He feels somewhat responsible for the defoliation left in Kong's wake, having inadvertently aided in the death of hundreds. Armstrong's performance is believable, and it actually feels like the film takes place one month after the original. Helen Mack makes for a ducky substitute for Fay Wray. She serves as the obligatory love interest, but the chemistry between her and Armstrong is never forced. She's hot, too.

I loved the witty dialogue, the character interplay, and the circumstantial humor. Had Son of Kong gone the distance, it could have been an epic adventure. Hell, it could have surpassed King Kong. The film's dramatic elements are certainly superior to that of its antecedent. Alas, it defalcates in the action department. The stop-motion effects are still inimitable, but Willis O'Brien doesn't get a chance to exhaust all of his resources. Only two battle sequences left an affirmatory impression on me, one involving a giant bear and the other a sauropod of some sort (by the by, sauropods are long-necked dinosaurs...I envy those who didn't know that). I realize that this is an acclimatized family film above all else, but it's underwhelming for genre connoisseurs. RKO Radio Pictures should have been more patient with the project. It falls in the coulda-been-a-contender category, which is almost as submissive as being outright awful.

Kong hibernated for roughly 30 years after Son of Kong. It's hard to believe that RKO didn't further capitalize on the regnant titan's immense popularity with supplementary sequels. Bustle wouldn't betide Kong until 1962's King Kong vs. Godzilla, one of the goofiest kaiju romps ever machinated. Maybe it's just the American version that is unintentionally hysterical. Much like Gojira's big screen debut, the film was dumbed down for domestic distribution. Laggard footage of a news broadcast was inserted thereunto, the score was replaced (it seems to have been lifted from The Creature From the Black Lagoon), and the ending was deliquesced. In other words, Universal screwed it up.

For years, rumors suggested that two endings were shot. The Japanese version ostensibly revealed Godzilla to be the victor, whereas the American version lavished the championship belt upon King Kong. To the best of my knowledge, this rumor has since been debunked. Both redactions conclude the same way, only in the Japanese version, Godzilla's glottal growl can be heard as Kong canters in the distance. Technicalities aside, King Kong vs. Godzilla is a fun, cavorting match-up that is as reckless as you would suspect. I don't think that there are actually any characters. Sure, there are people who say stuff and do stuff, but they're as functional as props. They exist solely to...exist.

Of course, the dubbing is extirpative. All of the "actors" go so far over the top, you keep waiting for their extremities to pop off. The principal players (King Kong and Godzilla, that is) are decorticated of menace and wonder. This was only the third entry in both monsters' respective series. Godzilla wasn't kid-friendly yet, and Kong wasn't a man in a suit yet. Leave it to Toho to bestialize each character's legacy. Big-G is no longer an imposing presence. He simply skitters about as if he has quince marmalade running through his veins. A simulacrum of his former self, Kong is just a guy in a frazzled, unwieldy costume. The actor at least moves like an animal, but Kong's appearance doesn't, well, bring King Kong to mind. Why abandon stop-motion effects when they looked slick thirty years prior?

I like to chaff Toho for camping things up, but my inner child adulates dumb, facultative b-movie bedlam. Say what you will about the preceding 75-80 minutes, but the final showdown between Kong and Godzilla is a detonative sight to behold. It makes Freddy vs. Jason's climactic tiff seem like a complaisant misunderstanding. For one thing, it's not interrupted by "character" scenes. We get 10-15 minutes straight of the colossal archfiends duking it out. The action is pertinacious. At one point, Kong shoves a tree down Godzilla's throat! As toilful as the finishing fray is, the resolution isn't fulfilling. It's not terribly logical, and could irk many a fanboy.

If you can overlook the imbecilic plot holes, the egregious effects (you can spot shadows on the blue screen), and the non-acting, King Kong vs. Godzilla is gamesome entertainment. Never a studio to make stand-alone films, Toho contiguously cobbled up a sequel to their take on Kong. 1967 saw the fountainhead of King Kong Escapes. I almost declined to annex this flick for evaluation purposes. It's inordinately rare. It's not commercially available on VHS or DVD, so I had to swallow my pride and resort to commingling with eBay. I glommed onto the uncut Japanese version. The widescreen print is crystalline and I didn't have to withstand disgracious dubbing. Maybe eBay is good for something after all (sorry, but I despise auctions; thank Satan for the "Buy It Now" option).

King Kong Escapes isn't nearly as flaky as one would expect. Sure, the concept is quizzical, the effects are often antic, and the actors try too hard to act, but this sapid conversation piece crests King Kong vs. Godzilla by an olympic mile. It gets brownie points right off the bat for originality. It's basically a James Bond movie, only with whaling monsters crashing the party every once in awhile. A displaced mad scientist by the name of Dr. Who prefabs a robotic Kong (christened "Mecha-Kong") to retrieve Element X, a radioactive ore cached in the North Pole. When Mecha-Kong proves to be an impassable failure, Dr. Who requisitions the assistance of the real thing.

The setting is a fresh change of pace. We don't spend too much time in a peopled, multitudinous city. The aberrant martinets do the bulk of their damage either at sea, in an arctic climate, or on Mondo Island (the first name that has ever been given to Kong's domicile). The film doesn't waste any time getting to the protean carnage. Kong scraps with Gorosaurus (who would later appear in Destroy All Monsters) and a sea serpent in the first act alone. The action quotient is husky and conducive to the rolling pace.

Highlights include Gorosaurus dropkicking Kong while balancing on his tail (!) and Kong prying the exertive dinosaur's jaws open in a cute nod to the 1933 original. The creature suits aren't quite as felicitous. Everyone's favorite ungoverned gorilla looks frumpy and disheveled. I read that they used the straggly get-up left over from King Kong vs. Godzilla. I don't know if that holds any truth, but it's not hard to believe.

Director and kaiju veteran Ishiro Honda seemed to have had a hulking budget to misemploy. The photography is crisp, though I don't know what it would look like on a battered videotape. The cast ranges from stiff to lovingly strident. Eisei Amamoto leaves restraint and self-possession for dead as Dr. Who. He has a blast with the exultantly diabolical character, sonorous evil laugh and all. Our "heroes" are woefully glazed over. Save for the jocund, inobservant Linda Miller (who am I to criticize a cute blond chick?), most of these Shakespearian thespians are dull. There's no other way to describe them. They're just dull.

King Kong Escapes has a mean streak, which is something I can't say for any other Kong tryst (with the partial exception of the first film). It was actually intended for adults. No, it's not plethoric with gore or nudity, but there are a couple of instances of cold-blooded murder. They come out of nowhere, and keep things interesting. As I avouched earlier, this flick echoes your typical Bond exploit. We get hot femmes fatales, a theatrical villain, and (too) many verbal exchanges between the good guys and the bad guys. At one point, Dr. Who plays a game of chess with the central protagonist! The 007-esque subplots don't minify the monster movie badinage, though. If anything, they boost the film's schlock appeal.

After he "escaped," the barbarous spectacle took another sabbatical. Toho didn't want to play with big monkeys anymore, so famed producer Dino De Laurentiis took it upon himself to exhumate Kong. 1976's remake of King Kong has its heart in the right place. It understands the unalloyed scope of its source material. It treats the patrician tale as an epic, a timeless fable that deserves a snowcapped budget, kingly production values, and a deliberate set-up. However, the film ultimately drowns in all of its grandiose Hollywood posturing.

It certainly looks beautiful. The ruddy colors are pronounced, the scenery is scenic enough, and Kong himself is a palatial combination of animatronics and man-in-a-suit chicanery (Rick Baker-in-a-suit chicanery, to be exact). These outward endowments merely deacon the film's shallow inlay. Void of substance, the exposition grovels along with only a cosmetic grasp on its purpose. The moratory pace didn't vex me at first. I figured that it would take me awhile to warm up to a storyline that I was immune to. The script isn't exactly full of surprises, so I exculpated it for going through the motions. I wasn't as clement when it came to the lack of action, character development, or ingenuousness.

The acting is mostly affected. Jeff Bridges is the craftiest player here. I've always liked him, and his performance as Jack Prescott corroborates why. He saves the film from retrogressing beneath its oppressive breadth.

Prescott
is the only remotely sympathetic character to clamp onto. Jessica Lange is more interested in posing for the camera than acting. She's quite the looker, but it matters none. She plays Dwan (that's "Dawn," but with the 'a' and the 'w' interchanged just for the sake of being different...ugh), a naive, incipient actress. What a stretch. This was Lange's first role, and she approaches it as if she was starring in a straight-to-video softcore porno alongside Richard Grieco. Charles Grodin can play a disdainful asshole in his sleep. He gets the job done as Fred Wilson, an oil-digging comptroller. Since he's meant to be just as much of a monster as Kong, I didn't particularly care about his fate. Yep, these are the people that I was stuck with for 134 minutes.

Where senseless regalement is concerned, King Kong '76 doesn't deliver. We get two notable battle sequences. Two. In a film well over two hours long. What's worse, the fight choreography is languid and fragmentary. Besides Kong, only one other beastie populates the film, that being a behemothic snake. Now, I'd like to think that I'm more cultured than prepubescent brats with exiguous attention spans, but when your movie flaunts a 50-foot-tall gorilla, you had better sustain momentum by stupefying the viewer with voltaic set pieces. Don't give me protracted scenes that establish a slushy relationship between Kong and our leading lady.

The ending is an effusive tearjerker, and expectedly so. It would later be cozened by Roland Emmerich's equally fluffy Godzilla revamp. Speaking of exanimate corporate products (I hesitate to label it as a "film"), Laurentiis upreared a belated sequel to his astral remake. 1986's King Kong Lives is not a horror flick. It's a saccharine Disney-esque production that virtually overpasses mature moviegoers. It could be viewed as the modern equivalent to Son of Kong, only it's not as amusing. Unlike most of my fellow genre practitioners, I don't loathe it with every fiber of my being. Still, it's hard to avert revilers with much aplomb or persuasion.

The plot picks up where King Kong '76 left off. We're apprized of Kong's current condition. It seems that he has been in a deep coma for the past decade, and requires a heart transplant. In order to perform the operation, Kong also needs a blood transfusion. But where in the world (is Carmen San Diego...sorry) will they find a blood type that matches Kong's claret? Why, in the form of Lady Kong, of course. King Kong Lives could have been entitled, Bride of Kong. Once the two amorous primates make eye contact, they are inseparable. We watch them canoodle, caterwaul, and covet one another. An accolade, if I may (it's the least I can do); the creature suits are truly amazing. They don't look like special effects, and the miniatures don't undercut their believability.

The humans aren't quite as lucky. You almost feel bad for Linda Hamilton, as she tries to take her role seriously. She takes it too seriously, in my estimation. Her histrionic dialogue only abrades her abscessed performance ("Only one thing can save Kong now." "What's that?" "A miracle."). Brian Kerwin is decent as the hero, but whenever his character attempted to be "funny" or "slick," I was moved to insert a catheter into my penis just so that I could frantically rip it out. The PG-13 rating is perfidious. If you don't blink, you can catch a fleeting glimpse of Linda Hamilton's breasts. There's also a remunerative amount of gore for a film of this pedigree. At one point, Kong tears a redneck in half. Good, clean fun.

The pace is swift. We dive right into the volant goings-on. The storyline is engrossing in an "I don't really want to watch Dr. Phil, but I want to know what becomes of this dysfunctional family" kind of way. You feel like you have to finish the film. Granted, I was rooting for Lady Kong and her inamorato, but anyone would. John Guillermin returns to the director's chair after having helmed King Kong '76. If I didn't know any better, I'd deduce that King Kong Lives was directed by King Kong himself. Guillermin succumbs to the "point and shoot" technique. Aside from a few shots of a full moon (which, as I learned from the immortal MonsterVision, was just a painted beach ball), the visuals are indecorously blanched.

I have nothing against sterile, salutary "kiddie horror," but the fact that King Kong Lives will be vouchsafed digital restoration before the 1933 original hits DVD is sacrilegious. Yes, you read that right. King Kong, one of the greatest films of all time, is not on DVD! Do you know what is on DVD? Blood Gnome, Monsturd, and Wrestling Women vs. the Aztec Mummy. That pretty much sums up the ills of society.

In all likelihood, a super-duper-uber-deluxe Special Edition DVD will be disencumbered into the market to either precede or coincide with the release of Peter Jackson's upcoming overhaul of the horror/fantasy staple. I know that angrily vituperating remakes is the trendy thing to do, but I can't help but to highly anticipate King Kong '05. Some say that Jackson is tarnishing a classic, that we don't need yet another version of Kong. While I'm just as disentranced by Hollywood's lascivious remake fetish as the next eremitic genre geek, I feel that this particular modernization (I say "modernization," but it will be a period piece) can be justified.

Kong isn't exclusive to horror circles. He's an ecumenical icon. It's important for the next generation to have their Kong. I had mine, and my parents had theirs. The eighth wonder of the world can't be forgotten by mainstream crowds. I don't mind if The Crazies or Suspiria fade into oblivion. Those are the movies that you seek out once you've been properly introduced to the genre by way of such tutelaries as King Kong, Godzilla, Freddy Krueger, and Jason Voorhees. Let the sprouting cherubs have their remake. Perhaps it will spark a love for all things horror, and they will one day be impassioned enough to foster their own creations...woah, that was too deep. Go out and buy Type O Negative's Bloody Kisses LP. It features a filler track by the name of "Fay Wray Come Out and Play" that samples the original King Kong. Hmm, where have I heard that title before?