directed by Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack
screenplay by James Ashmore Creelman and Ruth Rose
after an idea by Merian C. Cooper and Edgar Wallace

One paragraph about King Kong (1933). Cooper apparently said that the idea of a giant ape threatening New York City came to him in a dream and it was that dreamlike craziness that struck me this time. I mean, an enormous monkey? I wanted to pretend that I was a first-time viewer who didn’t know what this “Kong” was going to be – the build-up to his first appearance gives away only that he will be something terrible and powerful – but I have to assume that Kong’s monkey-dom was a non-secret even in 1933, given that he appears on all the posters. Still, in the moment where suddenly we see what she sees – a surreal, jerky, monstrous gorilla with a hypnotic stare – the movie takes a huge leap forward in force of personality. Up until that point, all genre indications point to a typical kidnapped-by-the-natives-and-fed-to-the-volcano plot. But the giant monkey staring into the camera tells us that the movie is not about that or anything else; it simply must be taken on its own terms. That’s still exciting today, even though every scene in the movie is now familiar. Dinosaurs fighting, a Broadway theater, the top of the Empire State Building… it defies any conventions of plot or formula; each sequence arises out of its own sheer need to exist and is the more involving for it. I think of Nabokov writing (I forget where) about the complete vitality of fairy tales, the way that each element of the storytelling retains its full savor. On the other hand, these particular elements – dinosaurs, Broadway and so forth – are recognizably all part of the 30s imagination, and the fact that some musty “Weird Tales” mindset may be the only thing that holds them together becomes another delectable aspect of the experience.

Second paragraph is just extras. The whole thing is just so junky, but done with such panache. It makes me happy to think that nobody really seems to want to say a word against King Kong – sort of like it makes me happy when I hear non-junky people praising junk food; those pleasures that draw us to non-nutritional things are real and it feels good to acknowledge and endorse them as a part of the human experience. I think that’s the main thing that drives the cult of dignifying and mythologizing Hollywood* – the idea that this stuff might be worthy of dignity is immensely reassuring. The recent DVD looked wonderful. Fay Wray is a lot more appealing onscreen than she would seem to be from still photographs. I’ve heard people go on about how great and important Max Steiner’s score is, but for my money it was plodding and unimaginative. The recent remake, in retrospect, had more thought behind it and, obviously, fancier thrills, but was lacking that sense of actual craziness. I personally came away from the actual craziness more delighted, because it’s so much harder to be critical of actual craziness, but I could understand someone who felt, given the roller-coaster aspirations, that bigger and more sentimental was actually better. But not me; on its own scale, and its own way, this was the more unambiguously satisfying experience.

* e.g. see: TCM, AMC, or any Oscar broadcast.