After recently rewatching King Kong '76, I was able to reconnect with why this movie haunts me to this day. True, I do LOVE both versions, being a bit of a MONSTER JONES, but it's Kong '76 that pushes buttons for me that other monster movies don't. It's something that goes beyond awkwardly dated special effects and trespassing upon classic cinema. By God, it IS Rick Baker in that ape suit, lumbering along to John Barry's emotionally moving music. Kong is more of an oversized, misunderstood pet, than a marauding monster. He is loyal to the death to the one who fulfills his emotional need, Jessica Lange. We like her because she looks and sounds like a Marilyn Monroe clone. He likes her because she tries to talk to him and doesn't try to hurt him. Kong is not really the source of the fear, though he does some terrible things. What really scares you is the almost overwhelming power and destructive force of the movie's true monster: modern civilization. No matter how loud Kong roars, the machine guns of three helicopter gunships are louder. Kong transformed from classic movie monster to symbol for nature and the environment in this movie, and that didn't set well with critics. Lange's Dwan, Jeff Bridges' Prescott, me and anyone else who watches events unfold in this movie with an open mind is rooting for Kong, but ultimately there's that stomach turning feeling deep in our gut that reminds us that despite our best efforts and intentions, it's not to be. The Powers That Be have decried that Kong is too big to live, it's too much trouble to capture him, he's gone too far and has to be "put down." To view Kong '76 as a MONSTER MOVIE is something of a mistake by everyone concerned. True Kong is a monster, in that he is monstrous, but like Mary Shelley's "Creature" in Frankenstein, Kong is that freak that nobody wants and everybody fears: He is the truth. The authorities knew that Kong had no place in a bustling city like New York, but instead of trying to right the wrong of their own exploitive nature, they cut the Big Guy down in a hail of bullets and make him fall to his death. Kong's death in '76 was even more pointless than in '33. In '33 it was like trying to escape a wild Grizzly bear. In '76 it was like watching your beloved pet get run over. It's a helpless sadness that transcends tears, cuts deep and somehow stays with you awhile. I sometimes stop the video of Kong '76 just as the Big Fella turns to face the choppers. So I can remember him large and in charge, on top of one of the majestic World Trade towers and giving the proverbial finger to the modern civilization that screwed him over. I let myself wonder if, had I let the movie roll this time, would the helicopters have those damn nets and would they get him back to the island. But movie memories take over and I remember exactly what happens and know that it will happen again and again. King Kong '76 is a hopelessly sad movie even for a monster flick. But, for some bizarre reason, it's always a pleasure to let Kong make me sad for a little bit...and for me, not a guilty pleasure. Sorry, naysayers. Like Dwan and Jack Prescott, I'll stand behind Kong '76 to the bitter end.
