My Favorite Movies: King Kong

The climactic battle

The first movie I ever rented (and on VHS, at that) was King Kong.  If you're wondering which version I'm talking about, then you're thinking of the wrong one.  To me, there is only one.

Yesterday, I had the opportunity to buy a newly restored and remastered DVD version (well, new as of 2006), which is certainly much clearer than my old VHS version was.  The main reason I bought it was to revisit a movie that I loved, and that has strong ties to my movie watching days as a child, but the main reason I saw it last night was to make sure that the scene where Kong undresses Ann Darrow (Fay Wray) was kept intact (hey, I like my movies uncut).  It was, but what I also noticed were snatches of dialogue and (because of the better picture) screen images that I hadn't noticed before, or that hit me anew with their power.  In its remastered form, the first appearance of Kong is still one of the scariest and greatest scenes in all of cinema, and it's one of many.  That's one reason why, despite having one of the worst love confession scenes ever (Star Wars: Episode II-Attack of the Clones might have been worse), and acting that isn't anything special (minus Wray's lungs--yep, she was the original scream queen), this film has withstood the test of time.

The plot follows a famous movie director named Carl Denham (Robert Armstrong), who leads an expedition to a mysterious island to make his next picture.  Unfortunately, his leading lady (Wray) is kidnapped by the tribesman as a gift for a mysterious deity that they worship called "Kong."  Many men, including Denham and First Mate Jack Driscoll (Bruce Cabot), who has fallen in love with Ann, trek deep into the island in the hopes of rescuing her.

One could be cynical and say that this movie is all about special effects, and, to a large extent, it is, but it's also about great shots.  Notice how, when Kong first appears, we don't see his face right away, as he's looking down at some trees that he's destroying.  Instead, what we notice is his size.  When we do see his face, it's with teeth bared, and then comes the first closeup shot of his head which, to my surprise, gave me the creeps.  I haven't felt that way about the opening shot since the first time I saw it, and I was much younger then.  Other great scenes (in chronological order) include the log scene, the fight with the T-Rex, the gate scene, the train scene, and--of course--the climactic battle atop the Empire State Building.  That's five excellent scenes, plus his first appearance makes six (and that's not including some great scenes early in the movie, including the boat's approach to the island in the fog).  All done with stop motion animation and puppetry.  Even today, the effects hold up, despite and because of their fakeness, much more so than questionable computer animation will generations hence.

This brings up another point: King Kong was remade twice, once in the seventies with Jeff Bridges and Jessica Lange, and then a true-to-the-original remake with Adrien Brody and Naomi Watts.  All better actors than Cabot and Wray (minus Wray's formidable screaming), and the Peter Jackson version (the newest one) contains the latest special effects.  So why, then, do people still prefer this somewhat clunky version from 1933, myself included?  The answer, I think, would save us from any more special editions or new, computer-generated remakes of great films.

We love movies for two reasons.  The first time we see a movie, we love it because of how it makes us feel.  When we see a movie years later, we love it because we remember how it made us feel that first time, and how it continues to make us feel.  Change part of a film, and you change our relationship with it.  It would be like watching an old movie of yourself, but instead of acting foolish, armed only with the knowledge you had as a child, you act intelligent, armed with the knowledge you have now.  Less embarrassing to watch, perhaps, but you wouldn't want to watch it again and again, because movies are meant to be timeless while evoking a specific period in time.  I want to see Star Wars the way I saw it when I was a child, because the movie carries with it part of my childhood.  The Special Editions may be what Lucas wanted, but they are not what I originally saw.  They are not the same films.  So even though, by all accounts, Peter Jackson made a version of King Kong that was better than the original, it is the original to which I shall return again and again (being over an hour shorter than Jackson's version helps, too).  To be fair, he remade the film as an act of love, but the greater act of love would have been to leave the movie alone, just as we most honor the people we love by accepting them as they are, instead of trying to change them for the better.

Note: I have not seen the Peter Jackson version of King Kong.  Part of the reason why is because I feel no urgent need to see a three-hour version of a movie that I enjoyed so much in its original one hour forty-five minute incarnation.  While I do hope to see the film at some point, I know that even if it's the best movie I've ever seen, it will not replace the area in my heart reserved for the original, for the reasons I've discussed above.

It's a Wonderful Movie

While Citizen Kane is the most critically acclaimed of American movies, It's a Wonderful Life may be the most loved (yes, I hear you, Casablanca fans!).  On Christmas Day, I saw this ultimate "feel-good" movie in a nonprofit movie theater here in Seattle, where its strengths shine through even more clearly than they do on TV.

The movie starts with shots of Bedford Falls and voiceovers, praying for George Bailey (Jimmy Stewart), including one from George himself.  We then travel to the heavens, where God and Joseph call in Clarence (Henry Travers), an angel who hasn't gotten his wings.  They tell him that an hour from then, George Bailey will commit suicide.  To help prepare him to save George, they show him (and us) important moments in George's life.  And then, soon after Clarence goes down to earth to save George from committing suicide, we are treated to the best use of deux ex machina on film, as George discovers what life would be like if he had never been born.

Since the focus of this movie tends to be on the brilliant, tear-jerking ending (this movie, and Saving Private Ryan, consistently make me cry), I wonder how many people notice the brilliant build-up to that ending, and the life lessons that Frank Capra, the director, wants to impart to us, the audience, through this film.  Remember, this movie was released in 1947, right after the ravages of WWII.  Stewart, in fact, wasn't sure if he still had his acting chops intact, but, as one excellent scene between him and Mary (Donna Reed) on the telephone prove, he needn't have worried.  In fact, one cannot imagine this movie without Jimmy Stewart in it as George, and even less so without Lionel Barrymore as the crusty, greedy Mr. Potter, one of the great villains in cinema history.  The struggle between Potter and George's father, and then between Potter and George himself, form the crux of the movie.

So, how are these two characters portrayed?  Mr. Potter is all about money and control, which leads to power.  He doesn't care about his tenants, who live in his slum houses, or anyone else in the town.  Human dignity, the dignity of owning a home, means nothing to him, since it doesn't translate into dollars and cents for himself.

George is different.  Like his father, he cares about the people he deals with.  He doesn't give them loans so that he can make money; he gives them loans so that they can afford a house for themselves and their families, for he understands that giving a man a house will allow him to ascend the ranks of society, which will benefit both society and the man.  While Potter is looking for short-term gain and long-term control,  George is looking for long-term gain and short-term control.  Mr. Potter invests in money; George Bailey invests in people.  And herein lies the difference in their characters.  At many points in the movie, George could have taken off and seen the world, or gone to college, or gone on his honeymoon, or taken a lucrative job working for Potter.  He doesn't do any of these things because then Potter would control the community, and all the people that George cares about, including himself, would be under Potter's oppressive thumb, drained of their human dignity.  Since there is an angel in the movie, one could very well believe that Potter is Capra's version of the devil.  The fact that George stands up to Potter, and that the community stands with George, prevents Potter from getting complete control of the town.  In fact, many of Potter's former tenants live in homes they can afford only due to loans made available to them by Bailey's Savings and Loans.

The problem nowadays is that we have too many Mr. Potters and too few George Baileys--too many willing to squeeze as much money as they can out of others, too many looking to line their pockets with money at the expense of others, rather then allow others to become profitable so that they can profit the whole community.  And that highlights another problem.  The few George Baileys that we have need communities to support them.  I don't doubt that this happens, on occasion, but when community members become as selfish about their possessions as Potter does his, they tend to abandon their George Baileys.  Even the original George Bailey has to quell the crowds when there's a run on the bank, sacrificing his honeymoon money to do so.

But, the title of this blog is "It's a Wonderful Movie," so why is this movie so wonderful?  I already mentioned the great use of deux ex machina, but there's more to it than that.  Certainly Mr. Potter is a cunning foe, a real life monster scarier than any to be found in horror movies.  On the opposite extreme, George Bailey is such a good person, always sacrificing for others, always on the verge of leaving Bedford Falls, but never succeeding, because he feels that he has a duty to protect the town from Potter's clutches.  If Atticus Finch is the pinnacle of human dignity on film, then George Bailey is a very close second.

To add to the movie's riches, we have a great supporting cast.  The film wouldn't have worked narly as well with lesser actors and actresses filling the roles of Mary, Clarence, Uncle Billy, and the rest.  And, unlike so many movies today, the dialog is funny, witty, and at times, profound (such as when Clarence says to George, "Strange, isn't it?  Each man's life touches so many other lives.  When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?").  Oh, and did I mention the ending?  As has happened on so many other occasions where I have had the privilege to watch this film, I cried multiple times, none bigger than when, at the end of the movie [WARNING: SPOILER TO FOLLOW], when all of the townspeople whom George has helped come out to help him, his brother Harry raises a glass and says, "A toast.  To my big brother George.  The richest man in town" (I am tearing up even as I write this).  Yes, Harry might be talking about the money that George has just received.  But that's not why I cry.  I cry because what Harry says is not just true at the end of the film.  It has been true for the entire movie.  Mr. Potter may have more money, but George Bailey has always been the richest man in Bedford Falls.

What Happens in Between Sunrise and Sunset

 Edvard Munch, Separation (1900), Oil on Canvas

I have seen Before Sunrise more than any other movie, save Amadeus (about nine times for Before Sunrise, about fifteen times for Amadeus).  In fact, it was at one time my favorite movie, before Lost in Translation came along and knocked it from its pedestal.  Still, it remains one of my favorites.

In this film, Jesse (Ethan Hawke), an American man, meets Celine (Julie Delpy), a French woman, on a train. Due to a argumentative couple, Celine moves to a seat opposite Jesse.  They strike up a conversation.  He invites her to the cafe car.  They talk some more.  When they reach Vienna (Jesse's stop), he has a crazy idea: since he was just going to wander around the city until his flight left the next morning (having no money for a hotel), why doesn't she join him?  She agrees, and the rest of the movie chronicles their conversations and encounters with Viennese locals, and their growing attachment to each other.  But, they also know that, when the morning comes...

In its own way, Before Sunrise is a perfect movie.  The conversations are interesting, the characters are likeable and well-drawn, the scenery is gorgeous (Vienna!), the music complements the mood, and the movie accomplishes its purpose as an ode to young, idyllic love, a love that is made perfect by its brevity.  This type of love, however, cannot endure.  Or can it?

Enter Before Sunset.  When I first heard that Richard Linklater was filming a sequel to Before Sunrise, I cringed.  How could they make a sequel to such a great film, especially since part of that greatness concerned an ending ambiguous enough that the audience could decide for themselves the future fate of Jesse and Celine?  And yet, Before Sunset complements Before Sunrise perfectly.  While the earlier film takes place mostly at night (hence the title), Before Sunset takes place during the day.  While the first film takes place in Vienna, the second film takes place in Paris, where Celine lives.  While the first film celebrates young love in all its innocence--in its images, in Jesse and Celine's conversations, in their naive belief that they can keep the relationship going--the second movie deals with its effects.  How would such a love affair affect the rest of someone's life?  Would other relationships measure up?  And, if these characters were given a second chance, would things turn out differently?

The same types of philosophical conversations are spoken in both movies, but in Before Sunset, they seem like shadows of the first movie's conversations, much like the characters have become shadows of their former selves (both characters appear gaunter in this film, with faces that have become lined with the responsibilities of everyday life).  Perhaps the characters, in their conversations, are trying to pretend that everything is the same as it was the last time they walked through a European city together.  But it isn't.  Jesse is married now and has a kid.  Celine is still single, but that is because she has never met a man to measure up to Jesse.  At one point, she tells him that their one night spent in Vienna "ruined" all future relationships for her.

Here is stark reality, the movie even occurring in real time.  Unlike Before Sunrise, there are no fringe theater actors, no fortune tellers, no poets by the water, no man playing harpsichord in the basement of his house nor wine drunk in a park from filched glasses and a bottle received on the promise of future payment.  In fact, there are no people to disturb this revelry, but none to add to the magic, either.  Any people that Celine and Jesse address--outside of each other--are either off camera or in the background, and they are addressed briefly.  The longest interaction that either character has with someone else is when Jesse responds to reporters' questions at the beginning of the film (he is on a book promotion tour, having written a novel based on his experience in Vienna).

What both movies have in common is that they are dialogue-intensive, yet both characters say the most about themselves when they aren't speaking.  Celine hesitates before getting off the train with Jesse in Before Sunrise.  In Before Sunset, she reaches out a hand to comfort him, then withdraws it.  With Jesse, notice how he acts in the record booth in the first movie.  Or when he asks Celine for a kiss.  In the second movie, notice how his eyes react to Celine at the end of the movie.  Another similarity between both films is that Jesse is operating on a schedule.  He has to catch a flight from Vienna in the first film.  He has to catch a flight from Paris in the second film.

Though Before Sunset is much shorter than the first film (eighty minutes compared to one hundred and five), it digs deeper into its characters' souls.  In Before Sunrise, Jesse and Celine were carefree twenty-somethings; now, they carry the baggage of being adults with responsibilities.  Before Sunrise is the more crowd-pleasing of the two, because it projects what we wish real relationships (and life) were like.  Before Sunset is less likable not because it is a lesser film, but because it disappoints us in the way that sequels (in life and in movies) often do.  And yet, unlike most sequels, Before Sunset does not disappoint due to lack of quality.  If the first movie is a projection of what our lives should be like, the second movie is a projection of what our lives are like.

And yet, as I said, these films complement each other.  Even the endings (and no, I won't spoil the endings for you here).  I will only say this: both characters are older and wiser in Before Sunset than they are in Before Sunrise.  So, being older and wiser, will Jesse allow Celine to drift out of his life again?  Will Celine allow Jesse to leave hers?  Will reality allow the fairy tale to continue?