“I’m going out to make the greatest picture in the world, something that no one’s ever seen or heard!” When adventure film producer Carl Denim states these lines in Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack’s King Kong (1933), we intuitively know he's referring to the film we are about to watch… and how right he was! Indeed today King Kong stands as a rolled-gold classic, its status remains untarnished and revered, and remarkably, as John McGowan-Hartmann writes, “[as a character, icon and film] is one of the most recognized images in all of cinematic history.”

Even today the popularity of this appropriated beauty and the beast fable remains just as great as when it was originally released almost eighty years ago. For instance, Christopher Tookey’s The Critics Film Guide cites it as having an average critical rating of 9.53 out of 10, the Internet Movie Database has it in its top 250 user-rated films; evidently this film has a tremendous amount of universal appeal.

But the question is how? How does a film, which is so light-on-plot, has dated special effects, and B-grade acting, still remain as one of the film 'greats'?

I believe the answer essentially lies in the spectacle of the film.

Indeed the popularity of the ‘big-on-special-effects’ blockbusters of recent years remains unabated. One only needs to look at Peter Jackson’s billion dollar grossing Lord of the Rings trilogy, to realise people take pleasure in escaping the clenched jaws of reality. Interestingly however, this artform, that is, these big-on-special-effects blockbusters, was built on films like that of King Kong. As Stephen Rowley elaborates:

“Cinema, right from the start, was split between competing artistic sensibilities, neatly embodied by two of its earliest practitioners: the Lumiere brother, who made ‘actuality films’ depicting everyday scenarios… and Georges Melies, who saw film as essentially a giant magic act, and set about using the technology to depict the impossible… it is from the Melies-inspired tradition from which King Kong derives, and it is a reminder that cinema remains an artform particularly suited to grand displays of showmanship.”

These “grand displays of showmanship” lead us to the real star of the film, Willis O’Brien’s special effects. O’Brien’s discovery of stop-motion animation - initially established in The Lost World (1925) - allowed Kong to become, as Rowley describes “a stop motion character, rather than simply a beast.” Indeed the magic of the film lies in the beast’s life-like movements; from the beating of his chest to his remarkable hand gestures, Kong is one astounding creation.



While the affects are somewhat dated now, O’Brien’s work remains impressive; one only needs to look at Kong’s astonishing sense of motion, best illustrated in the famous fight sequence against the Tyrannosaurus - in which O’Brien depicts Kong in a fighter’s stance, pummeling the dinosaur with his fists – to appreciate this.

But more than this, the films dated, vintage ‘feel’ takes on its own aesthetic. Indeed contemporary audiences today revel in King Kong’s archaic quality, recognizing that not only has the film provided groundwork for modern day blockbusters, but enjoy the glimpse of cinematic history the film provides, which ironically, through its vintage feel manages to show us (modern day spectators) something unique, and ‘new’.

On another note, despite Kong’s life-like movements, I felt restrained from feeling any empathy for the beast; he remained distant, only a figure to watch, not feel for. From his constant battles against strange creatures in the jungle, to his killing of innocent people in the city, it is clear Kong’s presence on screen is there only for spectacle.

While there are parts of the narrative which (may) provoke some kind of empathy, I believe they are only by default. More precisely, feeling for the beast, seems only in defiance to the script. For instance, Kong’s love-interest, Ann “Queen of Scream” Darrow is never seen at ease with her beast, on the contrary, she screams or faints any time the beast comes near. Similarly, Carl, Jack and Ann are all seen to (rather cheerfully) endorse Kong’s captivity in the New York Theatre.

Did anybody else feel that the production side intended us to feel emotionally detached from the beast? Especially when compared to Peter Jackson’s 2005 re-make.

It is important to note, that I'm not attempting to argue King Kong is a depthless film; indeed many critics have seen the film as much more than just another ‘big monster movie’ by imbuing depth and complexity to its narrative; revealing connections with race, gender, repressed sexuality and so on to the beast - which perhaps is a greater reflection of why the film is still popular today.

Nevertheless, I maintain that the film’s universal appeal is a result of its “giant magic act”, as it allows us to be thrilled and shown something new (still today), which after all, is what Carl Denim claimed.