KING KONG

Wow! King Kong is awesome. I just subjected my sister to a 15 minute maundering on how awesome it was, and now I am trying to crystallize all that nonsense into something coherent, but it is difficult. The movie is big, absurdly big, like a twelve course meal, except some of the courses consist of Hostess cakes and Twizzlers, but you don’t care because they are the biggest and best Hostess cakes and Twizzlers you’ve ever had, and you realize that was just what you wanted anyway. Ok.

So, thought the first: Peter Jackson is a new breed of creative fan. While most fans lack the talent and skill to create art on par with their object of fandom, Jackson has the chops to express his idolatry in an equivalent or greater work. And unlike remixers, fanfic authors, or LARPers, he doesn’t even create novel works. He simply weaves his love into the original content, enhancing it, ennobling it beyond its original aspirations into the Platonic imprint it originally left on his mind. I think that’s interesting. No doubt it isn’t.

Thought the second: how is it that this movie completely disarmed my finely-tuned irony immune response? There are many, many ridiculous moments, including a fight with not one, or two, but three tyrannosaurs, part of which occurs while said tyrannosaurs swing pendulously from conveniently placed vines. Awful lines abound (including the last), and, worst of all, it is a movie about a giant gorilla loving a beautiful woman. The whole affair is constantly poised on the cusp of a massive groan, or possibly a snort (a derisive one), but somehow manages to keep its balance. Even when some small portion of my consciousness recognized the absurdity, it was immediately quashed and told to leave the party. Jackson’s consummate craftsmanship plays a large role in this. He knows action and suspense well enough to bypass my cerebral faculties at will. However, most of the credit should go to the physical acting prowess of Naomi Watts and, more remarkably, Andy Serkis and the Kong animation team. Their mostly wordless performances are so genuine and heartfelt that it’s just very, very hard to laugh at them.

Corollary to Thought the Second: one of the most important elements of shock and surprise at the movies these days is defiance of low expectations. The premise of Kong is ridiculous in the extreme. It’s a remake, and the trailer was uninspiring, so I found it difficult to approach the film without hesitation, if not an outright sneer. But instead of the recycled essence of palm sweat I expected, I received delight, excitement, and complete suspension. This, to me, seems like the primary form of cinematic novelty.

Thought the Third: Kong is a fantastic distillation of the human response to nature. Or perhaps merely of the human fear of nature. In the first third, Skull Island is an ideal, and a resource. To Carl Denham, it is the savage film backdrop that will propel him to fame. To his funders, it is a potential source of stock footage. Of course, in the 2nd third, Kong subs in for the island, but it’s the same idea: nature as resource, not just for sustenance, but for power.

Then, in the 2nd portion, Skull Island becomes a nightmarish Bedlam of almost everything we fear in nature. Its arsenal includes impersonal poundings by storms and giant animals (ship dashed upon the rocks, brontosaur stampede), terribly personal attacks by man-eating beasts with large pointed teeth (velociraptors, t-rexes, Kong himself), and skin-crawling, wretch-inducing consumption by many-legged mucilaginous invertebrates (an amazingly gross scene with giant wetas, centipedes, crab thingies, and astoundingly revolting worms). Right there we have fear of arbitrary death by forces beyond our control, the primal fear of being eaten alive, and that odd fear of premature decomposition, which seem like fairly important generalizations of our fears of nature.

Then there are the natives. Their portrayal is uncomplimentary, if not downright bigoted, as their only interests seem to be ululating, eye-rolling, flesh-rending, and feeding pretty white ladies to giant apes. They are quite horrible and terrifying to behold, but after my initial offense at these stereotypical “savages,” I moved on to guilt (ah, terra firma!), not only at my readiness to associate these clearly fantastical maniacs with actual native peoples, but also over distinct feelings of kinship. Civilization coats us thinly, and it dissolves with just a little hunger. I think the Skull Island natives frightened me because in addition to chaotic puissance and pointy teeth and slimy things crawling upon slimy seas, I fear becoming animal myself, and recognize my own animal potential (HEH).

Finally, in the third third, we switch gears entirely as Kong comes to represent one of nature’s more prominent virtues: authenticity. Jackson’s Broadway is all glamor and pretentious cruelty, reducing the harrowing experiences on Skull Island and Kong’s natural majesty into an all-singing, all-dancing mockery. At this point, Kong has our complete sympathies, and when he begins his rampage, it seems nothing but righteous.

Ok, far too much brain spillage. Please, please tell me if the above is painfully obvious. Oh, and Happy New Year.