Public Domain Illustration via Wikipedia
i would use king kong as an object lesson in chimpchumpness
I would call him a prime example of sitting at the lunchcounter
during the food service workers strike
i would make charts and graphs showing how his roar was writing
a check that his ass couldnt cash
Back in the days when television wasn’t as complicated as it is today, you could count on some certainties. In Brooklyn (programming varied regionally), Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942) reruns on Fourth of July weekend were a given. And, if memory serves (and these days there’s no guarantee), Heidi (1937) ran at Christmas, and King Kong (1933) ran on Thanksgiving.
As I grew up, it always struck me that people seem compelled to see King Kong as symbolic of something significant, something more than just fun. I suspect that for the creators in 1933 the only symbol was cash. Talkies were still relatively new and monkey movies had proven to be big box office draws. But, for my friends and me coming of age in the 1950s, there was lots to read into the movie. Some girls said the Empire State Building was phallic, of course. Predictable. Then there was also the argument for civilization and the ability to organize and articulate vs. the primitives’ rugged independence and inability to do anything but make senseless noise. This from our smart-as-a-whip postman’s daughter, Chris S. Then there was big vs. small, as in kids vs. grown-ups. Some kids did really want to topple their parents. Some even had legitimate reasons for wanting to do so. Someone posited the sexual-awakening: there’s that immodest scene where Kong disrobes Ann Darrow (Faye Wray). I didn’t see the movie as symbolic of anything. My strongest reaction was irritation with Darrow who mostly just screamed, despite a feisty comment or two early on which gave a promise of more assertiveness.
I just saw King Kong again at the Standford Theatre for the first time on the big screen. I still don’t see it as symbolic, but I realized why I didn’t like the 1976 remake. It wasn’t set in the Depression and we need that more innocent time to set aside disbelief. I remain irritated with Darrow. Like a character in a Jean Rhys novel, she must be saved by men. She can’t seem to do a thing for herself. The practical side of me kicked in when all the civil resources are brought in to bring Kong down. I wondered how much filmmaker Denham’s selfish pursuit cost the tax payer. Or, did the city charge him for those planes and all the damage.
Hattie Gossett’s reaction, however, is the smartest and funniest of any I’ve ever heard. She’s a spunky jazzpoet – among other things – and the section on Kong in her book length poem is longer and more amusing than the portion quoted above. Getting her book at a second-hand bookstore for $2 was part of my personal celebration of National Poetry Month. She’s a little raw and a lot of right.
Well, now I think I’m done. I’ve seen King Kong for the last time. It’s been fun, but I’m on to other things . . . perhaps a reread of Gossett’s book.
