King Kong: New Versus Old

So after not posting for a few weeks, when I do decide to do another one it's on the same subject as the last one: King Kong. Now, for some reason I seem to end up talking about King Kong a lot, and I'm not sure why really. I suppose it's because I like it and seem to be one of the few able to sit through it without getting bored by its hefty runtime - the major complaint, alongside Jack Black as Carl Denham (who I actually like, more on whom later). Perhaps I'm a Kong apologist, who knows: onward regardless.

The 1933 original which I watched for the first time today is generally (universally?) seen as the best version, and indeed, one of the best films of all time. This view is seriously rose-tinted. It's all about empathy.

In the original, Kong is a wild beast. He's animalistic. He's insensitive. He lacks empathy. While pursuing the fleeing Ann Darrow in both Skull Island and in New York, Kong eats (or at least gnaws at) a fairly off-putting number of people. He just picks them up, chews them for a moment then flings them to the ground. Essentially, Kong is a more accurate - if you can even use 'accurate' in describing a fantastical creature - representation of what a giant ape would be like. That could be fine handled differently, but it presents a few narrative problems. Kong's attraction to Darrow is no more profound than a magpie's attraction to a shiny coin. He is fascinated by her whiteness: all previous sacrifices have been black girls who are apparently only attractive enough to eat (the 1930s were less than racially aware). He wants no more than to hold her in his mighty fist, and never looks at Darrow beyond her whiteness.

Because of this, Darrow shows no emotion towards Kong other than fear. She doesn't interact with him at all - in fact, she says almost nothing for the remainder of the film once taken by Kong, instead she shrieks and shrieks. Well renowned film critic Richard Corliss from Time Magazine says Darrow came to sympathise with the beast. This is simply untrue: there is no evident emotional connection between Darrow and Kong. She says nothing (verbally or physically) to him, and even in the climactic scene atop the Empire State Building her anguish is not for Kong being slowly killed by the biplanes but for being stranded 381 metres above the streets below supported only by an out-of-control beast. Jay Antani, who mounts the most persuasive case against the remake, takes the view that the tragedy of Kong is his role as 'an outcast/schoolyard bully who falls in love with the local beauty–a woman who will never accept him'. How two-dimensional is that? Their entire dynamic can be explained in one scene, with no further development needed: Kong likes woman, woman resists. It doesn't change for the rest of the film. Dull!

There is an empathetic collapse here, and the problems with that are obvious. There is no emotional pull for the audience. In the remake we, channeled though Darrow, slowly come to understand Kong. As a character he is far, far more complex than in the original; the Kong we see in the original is the same Kong that the supporting characters see in the remake - it is through Darrow's interaction and gradually developing empathy for Kong that we come to understand him. This window is lacking in the original.

The second problem with having no connection between Kong, Darrow and the audience is that the action scenes have no emotional weight. The T-Rex fight may be animated with great skill, but without empathy for Kong we don't know whether we should be rooting for him or not. Sure, if the T-Rex wins Darrow will get eaten, but it's not clear whether Kong has dinner plans for Darrow or merely wants to keep her around to do...what, exactly? Manhandle her until she slowly starves? That doesn't sound a whole lot better than getting eaten by a dinosaur.

In contrast, the T-Rex fight in the remake is driven by character. Rather than just being a fight scene in the shallowest sense, it is a way (a really awesome way, I might add) of developing the Darrow/Kong relationship. Kong is enraged that Darrow has escaped, so sets of in pursuit and in doing so winds up having to defeat three T-Rexes while keeping her safe. At this point we are far more invested in both Darrow and Kong than in the original: we see Darrow trying to entertain Kong, we see her gradual understanding, and we understand the simple enjoyment Kong gets out of watching her perform. By making it clear that the audience is on the side of Darrow and Kong, the fight becomes far more engaging: Kong has to viciously fight these enormous creatures while keeping her safe. In comparison with the original, Kong has a far greater task.

Furthermore, once the fight is over, Kong does not simply snatch Darrow up and carry her off again, he gets upset. She has offended him. The contrast between his bravery and power in battle and his sensitivity afterwards is fascinating. Perhaps this was enabled by technology: Kong is as expressive as any human. Would this emotional detail have been possible with the crude methods available to the original? In that film a close up of Kong's face caused ripples of laughter among my coursemates - he looked like a gurning moron. The remade Kong has infinitely more depth. I would argue that this is a rare instance of technology actually being put to use for narrative purposes, instead of just making things looks better.

Lastly, a few other quick points. As neatly articulated by Jay Antani, 'in the original, Driscoll was the ship’s first mate; here, he’s Denham’s screenwriter and, hence, the Denham-Darrow-Driscoll triangulation is made more taut.' Yep. The biplane fight is shot far better than in the original. Kong is shot from further out, emphasising his impotence against the aerial threat. Denham is actually really good, even played by Jack Black. In the original he's stiff and uninteresting, in the remake he's wonderfully flawed. Jack Black is very unheroic and quite ridiculous by nature and it suits this new Denham perfectly. There is also the question of whether Darrow loves Kong. It's not obvious, and I'm not sure of the answer.

There. That was my attempt at doing some serious analysis, Film Crit Hulk style. 

Just a bunch of things

Every now and again I feel the need to write about various things I've been thinking about in recent days, but usually they're not really interesting enough to warrant a full post. I've not done anything serious in a while because of a busy (sleeping) schedule but hopefully I'll be able to put out something about a defence of censorship (really) in a week or so. But in the meantime I'm going to blather about some shit.

King Kong and the length of films.

I've just finished watching King Kong (2005) on ITV and a few thoughts have crossed my mind.

It's been heavily criticised for being too long - it's over three hours - but I find in general accusations of being too long to be such an odd criticism. Films feel long not because they're lengthy, but rather there is a dearth of content. The first hour of King Kong admittedly could do with being put through a vigorous weight-loss programme, but once things get going with the appearance of Kong it does not drag at all. The film is not without its flaws, but merely judging it on the run-time feels just a little bit immature.

I like films to be able to compete with books, and no one would for one second think to complain about the length of a book. Is three hours really such a long time? Perhaps the nature of film is more fatiguing on the eyes than reading, but in my experience a boring book feels just as tedious as a boring film, and I've become accustomed to both (cheers uni). At least the boring bit in Broken Blossoms only lasted an hour and a half - the boring bit in Sense and Sensibility lasted about fourteen...

Similarly, why is 90 minutes the golden length for a film? That is extremely restrictive, and extremely arbitrary. The only important thing is for the run-time to suit the narrative: even 90 minutes can feel like an age if it's packing an underdeveloped script. Perhaps the best case for this is the Ridley Scott film Kingdom of Heaven. Ripped apart upon release, the DVD version contained the director's cut which restored 45-minutes of footage to push it up to a massive 194 minutes, turning a bad film into one of the best of the year. Often, director's cuts are over-indulgent but that was not the case here. Why the initial studio-imposed cut? Because it was too long. And too political. Despite being so much longer, the extended version feels so much shorter, because it is more engaging.


Radiohead

Let's stop prevaricating, Radiohead are one of the all-time greats. The established pantheon of The Beatles,  Stones, Dylan, Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and Jimi Hendrix etc. has been unchanged for decades; probably the last act to break into it is (debatably) U2. Put Radiohead toe-to-toe with the aformentioned musicians and they can hold their own.

There seems to be, broadly, four boxes that need to be ticked in order to be considered one of the best. These are:

An all-time great album:  The likely candidate album is OK Computer, widely seen as one of the best ever. Kid A and The Bends are also in with a shout, which brings me to the second point.

Consistency and longevity: The heavy-weight bands all enjoyed a period where they could do little wrong, and every release was met with acclaim. Pablo Honey aside, Radiohead haven't released a bad album. Even the one seen as the weakest, Hail to the Thief, is fantastic.

Popularity: Usually quality begets popularity, so it is unsurprising that Radiohead are popular. They sell out every venue they play, they draw thousands to festivals across the world, they sell huge numbers of albums, which keep selling beyond initial release.

Trend-setting:  Kid A changed music (moreso than OK Computer, which although outstanding, has spawned few imitators). Soft and sparse yet complex and dynamic has been a hallmark of American bands, such as Animal Collective, for several years now, which attempt to follow the Radiohead template.

A Pre-emptive strike against my mates attack on Dan le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip

My mate is currently writing an attack on Dan le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip, but is really slow and I can't be bothered waiting for him to finish so that I can write this. He really doesn't like That Shalt Always Kill, saying that the lyrics are superficial and condescending. He's wrong.

I was gonna post all the lyrics but it's really long and most of it won't be discussed. So watch the video.

Thou Shalt Always Kill does seem superficial and condescending initially. Who is this guy to tell me what to think? The fact that I agree largely with what he says is irrelevant - he is trying to shape society in the same way that Moses shaped Christian society, and with the same authority.

This is a simplistic reading. There are some obvious clues. Firstly, this is a personal list; "Thou shalt not go into the wood with your boyfriend's best friend, take drugs, and cheat on him"; "Thou shalt not return to the same club or bar week in, week out just 'cause you once saw a girl there that you fancied but you're never gonna fucking talk to." It is pretty plain to see that these relate to Pip personally; by including these it becomes clear that these are not commandments for the wider population, rather just things he thinks.

The more important message comes right at the end, with the couplet, "Thou Shalt think for yourself/ And thou shalt always...thou shalt always...kill." Both these lines essentially say the same thing, in different ways. "Thou shalt think for yourself" is the ultimate message of the song, showing the Pip is fully aware that his word is not to be taken as gospel, but rather we should look more closely at the world, ignoring what others may think - their opinion is of no greater value than your own - and form a set of opinions or morals individual to each person. The lyrics to the song are just Pips opinions, and he is aware of this.

"Thou shalt always kill" has the same effect. It's a subtle trick; he sucks you in with comments on Steven Fry and the NME with which the majority of his audience would agree, then he twists the most famous of the Ten Commandments "Thou Shalt Not Kill" into a distorted opposite. It's not simply "thou shalt kill": the 'always' makes it into a horrifying never-ending bloodbath. He's checking that you're listening and not merely going along with his spiel. In fact, one review I've read even refers to it hilariously as 'Thou Shalt Not Kill' - way to miss the point there, reviewer. 

Lastly, it's also a song about religion. It hardly needs to be said that the song is a riff on the Ten Commandments, but the theme of self-awareness outlined above is turned against the domineering nature of Christianity (specifically, but religion in general is also relevant). Religious imagery is used in a modern context, "Thou shalt not take the names of Johnny Cash etc. in vain," (interestingly he only uses musicians that share an initial with the big J-Dog, and also Desmond Dekker who sang 'Israelites'. And Syd Barrett (?)) and "Thou shalt not worship pop idols or follow lost prophets (Lostprophets)." There is a conflict in interpretation here, by using "in vain" is he elevating Johnny Cash et al to alongside Jesus, or is he bringing Jesus down alongside Johnny Cash? I'm more inclined to go with the latter, tying in as it does with the Jesus Christ Superstar image of recent decades. Bringing religion into the mix is another facet of the 'think for yourself' motto - they have no more worth than a set of values that you work out for yourself.