Tossing Blondes in Peter Jackson’s King Kong

Abstract

When the mighty Kong breaks loose from those chrome-steel chains, when that giant ape bursts through the façade of the swanky Broadway theater to leap into a crowded Times Square—the beating heart of New York City, go-go capital of the modern world—it’s an undeniable moment of thrilling terror. Now comes the rampage, the wanton destruction. We’ve come to that moment of truth in all monster stories when the mysterious savage runs riot on our dear, familiar civilization. We clutch the armrests of our theater seats in anticipation of the full horrors of the Beast. The original Kong, from Merian Cooper’s 1933 film, does not disappoint. That ape derails an elevated train, bites off a man’s head, and casually drops a woman some 20 stories to her death. Granted, Cooper’s Kong is seeking after his prize, that is, Beauty in the form of Ann Darrow. But his search seems distinctly secondary to his mayhem. In the 1933 King Kong, there’s no doubt that the Beast has come to town. Such is not the case in Peter Jackson’s 2005 King Kong.