King Kong vs Superman

Everybody criticizes remakes like they’re the easiest thing in the world, but it’s gotta be tough. You’ve got to recall an original enough that those familiar with it start on the same page as you, and you’ve got to branch out enough that you’re justifying the remake, and then you’ve got to keep everything clear enough for people who didn’t see the original in the first place.

The thing is, in the United States we don’t have much in the way of mythology. We don’t have Greek heroes; we don’t have kings or dragons or anything bordering on Shakespearean; we have no Hindu goddesses. What we do have is superheroes and really kickass monsters. And so these are the stories we retell. And yes, I know, we have tall tales of Paul Bunyon and Pecos Bill and so on, but Paul Bunyon doesn’t have heat vision. Try and keep up.

So when Peter Jackson wants to remake King Kong, just let him, okay? Everybody back off and give the man some time (say, three hours) to tell this tale once again, around a huge pop culture campfire. He knows what he’s doing.

Jack Black (surprisingly in his element) stars as Carl Denham, a director with Orson Welles levels of ambition and perhaps sub-Orson Welles levels of talent. He’s racked up a pretty huge movie studio debt, and he’s come in possession of an ancient map to an island that he just knows is going to make the best movie location ever. If anyone asks, he tells them they’re going to Singapore. The crew of his ship is full of scalawags and would-be pirates and stowaways, and the cast and crew of his movie isn’t much different. Chief among them are Jack Driscoll (Adrien Brody), a captive screenwriter; and Ann Darrow, an out-of-work Vaudevillian played by Naomi Watts.

Watts would seem a bit of an odd choice for the damsel in distress. She’s by no means a starlet; in fact Watts seems to thrive off of avoiding glamour completely on screen. And she’s no up-and-comer who could use a big film with a shallow part to launch her to the cover of In Style or whatever. Of course, a damsel in distress has never been directed by Peter Jackson before, and I’m sure that was a draw, and one has never been written as completely and as compellingly as this new Ann Darrow. Naomi Watts has a great part, and does such a stellar job she should start teaching classes on green-screen acting (she’s pretty much doing a one-woman show in roughly seventy-five percent of her scenes. And yes, I know that Andy Serkis plays Kong, but he was likely wearing a green body suit covered in ping-pong balls. I’m sure Watts was glad to have a pair of eyes to look into, but she wasn’t exactly running lines with Richard Burton now was she?) In addition to her performance, Watts is beautiful in King Kong. To find another actor as strikingly lit and framed, you’d have to go back to Naomi’s buddy Nicole Kidman in Eyes Wide Shut. Brody is good as well; a screenwriter isn’t your traditional hero, but his Jack Driscoll is brave and asserts himself well once the gang arrives at Skull Island.

The true star of the show (besides Peter Jackson, of course) is Kong, and it’s far and away the best portrayal of a movie monster I’ve seen. Kong isn’t human in monster drag, like so many outsized aliens and animals in movies past, and he’s not just a mindless beast, either. He’s convincingly emotional and convincingly animal, satisfying both your Henry Thomases and your Sigourney Weavers.

And the ape looks absolutely real up on screen. He’s got heft and weight and is appointed so well into each of his moments that I never not believed he was exactly where Jackson said he was. At times, I admit, when Kong’s holding Ann Darrow and thrashing his arms about, he looks a bit like he’s holding a Barbie Doll, but I contend that that’s probably what Naomi Watts looks like from far away.

And of course, Kong isn’t alone on Skull Island. Besides some truly terrifying natives (hissing and offering up Ann as sacrifice), there are dinosaurs of varying breed, hideous gargoyle-sized bats, and a swarm of every kind of awful bug you’ve ever seen, attacking the ship’s crew in a scene so squeamish it’s comparable only to imagining your least favorite bug all huge and smothering you. Jackson elevates the danger by proving throughout the movie that the cast is expendable; after a few of them drop, I began to wonder if they all might.

King Kong is one of those old-fashioned entertainments we hardly ever get anymore; the Indiana Jones movies achieve a similar seat-of-your pants quality, but little else comes close. It’s the sort of thing the Mummy movies try for, but King Kong is successful at nearly every turn. There’s a dinosaur stampede early on that is so full of effects and technique that it borders on parody, but comes off as homage to every stampede in every jungle in every movie ever, because Jackson won’t let up until every last moviegoer believes. At that point, I was a little put off, but by the time Kong and Ann have bonded (she performs her Vaudeville act for him, and aside from saving her life time and again, he pays her back in New York, as they spin around and around an ice rink, beautifully), I was rooting for them to live on, Ann riding in Kong’s hand and looking like a million bucks, Kong remaining badass and beating up three dinosaurs at a time, or maybe slapping planes from the sky, happily ever after.

The sets are incredible. Skull Island straddles the line between old-time movie jungle and some authentic unseen location; it looks more genuine than any of the islands I’ve seen on Survivor, and they’re real, right? Likewise, Jackson’s version of Depression-era New York is striking in its mix of fantasy, realism and quaint movie-set fakery. It’s a vision to behold, and when Kong takes to the streets, busting up cars in Times Square, he’s sometimes the second most interesting thing on screen.

Like Kong, Superman was a character and a story we had heard again and again. We didn’t know we needed another telling, but it was time, and the one we got was so vibrant and sincere, the effects and story take a bit of a backseat to the actual happening of it all. Like Kong, Superman fills the screen quite like he fills your own head. During Superman, even today, I find myself thinking, how did they get it this right?

I watched Superman again the other day. It’s frustrating watching movies like this with other people, because all anyone wants to talk about is whether the era it was filmed in is unintentionally funny now, or whether the effects have aged. It’s like if they can spot the illusion, the show’s over. Well, kids, let me clear this up for you, so we never have to discuss it again: Superman will never look 100% real, because it’s about Superman. Jeez, it’s not about whether or not Superman’s flying still looks “realistic” (some of it does, some of it doesn’t), or if his costume’s too cartoony (it’s not). It’s whether or not you believe. And I’m telling you, without question, watching Superman the other night by myself, I believed. A man flew. I saw it.

Like Kong, Superman doesn’t actually appear until an hour into his own movie. Once he’s there, it’s hard to imagine that any of the movie exists without him. Christopher Reeve was a really good Superman. There’s something about how calm he is about it, especially with Lois Lane, like a cop showing a kid his gun. He’s got so much power, and he doesn’t want anyone to freak out about it, so he just pretends it’s no big deal. But watch that scene near the end, when Lois is trapped under the rubble. Superman panics as outwardly as Kong facing off against those dinosaurs, and when he cries out in rage and then flies off the screen to fix time, you won’t have a chance to question the validity of the moment, because Superman rules. Can Superman really reverse time? Well he’s doing it, isn’t he?

Superman, like Kong before and after him, doesn’t really have a true movie villain; he’s just out of place, and too strong for his own good, and in love with a funny woman who looks him in the eye. He’s pretty cool, isn’t he?

And soon, we’ll have another Superman. It’s going to be tough for some of you to accept. It’s fine to compare, and it’s fine to play favorites. But please don’t deny us the chance of hearing more of what just might be our only mythological tradition. I’ll bring the marshmallows.

King Kong: A
Superman: A