Runtime: 3 hours, 7 minutes. No spoilers in this review.
There's an old joke that goes: Where does a 300 pound gorilla sit when he goes to the movies? Anywhere he wants.
When Peter Jackson goes to the movies, he probably feels much the same way. Jackson's early splatterfest films (Bad Taste, Meet the Feebles) were surreal, amusingly violent low-budget flicks shot in New Zealand in the 80s. Fans from those days will be particularly appreciative of just how far this man has come: after the success of Lord of the Rings, cinematic masterworks from which millions of lifelong Tolkien fans walked away satisfied, Jackson cannot put a foot wrong. In fact, these days he enjoys a directorial privilege surely as rare as it must be liberating: a blank check from Hollywood to do whatever the hell he pleases. And since he has credited the original Kong (1933) as the film which inspired him to pursue a career as a filmmaker, well... bring on the giant gorilla.
As you might expect, the lord of Middle-earth delivers. Not just the gorilla (though Kong is a 25-foot CG masterpiece so real he has to be seen to be believed) but a compelling, violent tale of misfortune so intense its hefty three-hour runtime slips past before you even think to glance at the time. Jackson clearly believes if you're telling a story you should take all the time you need. I think he's right.
Kong himself, enacted by Andy 'Smeagol' Serkis, is quite the leading man. I went in with what I thought were reasonable expectations: many a film has been made with fake gorillas, and the one thing I felt they all had in common was that the subjects never looked like real primates. But New Zealand-based Weta Digital know their stuff inside out - Kong not only looks real, his behaviour and facial expressions bely a near-human sensibility that compels the audience to respond. Such anthropomorphism might be counter-intuitive to the ideal of a 'real' gorilla, but it works for one simple reason: the success of the story rests on the character of Kong. His broad range of human-like emotions (frustration, anger, boredom, amusement, sadness, among others) are clearly discernible. The guy doesn't have a single line, but he speaks volumes. Keanu Reeves, pay attention.
It's the emotionally-charged audience connection with Kong that drives the story. The general plot (arrogant New York filmmakers attempting to exploit the third world for profit) is adequate, even if its most engaging moments are more attributable to flora and fauna rather than story or dialogue. The scenery is gorgeous, dangerous, exotic, the wildlife diverse, tactile to the point of creepiness... it all adds to the experience. But the film is named after Kong because he is the heart of the tale: huge, immensely powerful, worshipped as a god by the natives, but deeply lonely and clearly the last of his kind. His sadness is palpable. Despite being king of the island, his primate intelligence dooms him to a kind of existential wilderness far more forboding than that of his jungle home. This profound sense of identity loss forms the basis for his bond with accidental heroine Ann Darrow, played by the engaging Naomi Watts.
Naomi Watts... dear me. I wish there was a director's cut containing only shots of her. Her sense of melancholy mirrors that of Kong; we may even forgive Jackson his tendency to hold the camera on those swimming-pool eyes a touch too long, if only because Watts is so convincing as a 1930s showgirl-turned-movie starlet. Her lines are fairly limited throughout, but she doesn't need words - the chemistry between her and Kong is perfect, and their relationship is almost entirely non-verbal. "It's in the subtext," the suave but tiresome Jack Driscoll explains poignantly to Darrow in a clumsy attempt at clarifying his own feelings. "It's not about words."
It's certainly not about Driscoll's words. Adrien Brody is capable in his role as the playwright, but the Driscoll character is weak; even in moments of misguided gallantry he smacks of a sense of self-serving heroism that lacks authenticity. He is apparently very lucky, but largely ineffective. Similarly, Jack Black is hardly a veteran character actor by any stretch: I've always thought him to possess a greasy, vacillating quality that varies little from film to film. As Kong progresses, though, it becomes clear why he was a good choice for his role as the arrogant filmmaker Carl Denham. Too bad he didn't throw in a little more flair, but then, it's Jack Black. One has to set reasonable expectations.
Jackson, who is said to have stayed true to the original 1933 story, covers a number of themes: human folly in general, American arrogance in particular, the ill-conceived human drive to control things far outside our sphere of capability and the inevitable destruction of what we can't or won't understand. "The thing you come to love about Carl," explains Driscoll, neatly encapsulating the moral construct of the plot, "is his innate ability to destroy anything he loves." But ethics aside, the core of the film is a sad tale about love and loss between Darrow and Kong, the beauty and the beast - and however absurd that may seem, Jackson makes it work.
That is not to say Kong is by any stretch the most 'artistic' or thought-provoking film this season; if you prefer indie or arthouse cinema, then this film is not for you. On the other hand, if like most you enjoy the guilty pleasure of a high-budget sfx romp now and again, they don't really come any more heavyweight than Kong. That's three hours and seven minutes I don't wish I could get back. In fact, I may just give up another 3:07 to see it again.
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