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CINEMA SEEN - "Not Monkeying Around!" By William Margold This column isn't going to monkey around! It was during the summer of 1956, and my over three-month stay in Unit W of Central Juvenile Hall (on Eastlake Ave. slightly north of downtown Los Angeles), that I was introduced to the 1933 version of KING KONG. Herded into an auditorium for our regular Saturday afternoon movie watching "treat", I had already been told that we were going to be seeing a film about a "big ape." At a very gangly 12 years old, burdened with extremely nerdy "coke-bottle-bottom" glasses, I was anything but "cool"---but I had earned the nickname of "Professor" among my peers, so such a statement did very little to excite my "incorrigible" (the offense that caused me to be placed in The Hall) imagination. And even by that time, already restless with the desire to be a "movie critic"---I was extolling the virtues---or lack of same---of each film we watched. And because my associates were literally a "captive audience"---they sort of paid attention to what I said, as I expounded endlessly during the meal that followed the movie. And on previous Saturdays, I had been thrilled to the likes of GUNGA DIN---still the best action-adventure film that I've ever seen---and THE CRIMSON PIRATE---Burt Lancaster's swashbuckling antics had me nimbly gesticulating my way through my unit, truly expecting my young adversaries to grimace and fall to the floor as I delivered the fatal thrust after fatal thrust after fatal thrust, until perhaps, but rarely, I found myself on the losing end of a more dexterous pantomiming swordsman than me. However, any escape from the oppressive heat was better than none, so I took my place in the front row---the position assigned to those "juvies" who had attained the status of "Unit Messengers"---and got ready for the "big ape." It was truly an unnerving experience. As the mesmerizing black-and-white tale unfolded, I felt myself becoming overwhelmed by what can only and quite justifiably be called "Movie Magic." No longer was I sitting in a makeshift theatre surrounding by imprisoned youngsters. I was on Skull Island. I was running away from a fearsome beast. I was experiencing more terror and genuine pulse-pounding tension than I had ever known in my life! I really believed that KING KONG existed! And you know what? I still do! ALL of the perilizing pleasure of that first viewing of the Merian C. Cooper/Ernest B. Schoedsack-directed KING KONG came rushing back a few Saturdays ago, when I decided to purchase the two-disc DVD special edition of the masterpiece. Such an expenditure was not only done as an extended (almost 50 years!) gratitude toward that magnificent film, but also as a tribute to last year's Peter ("Lord of the Rings") Jackson-directed version, because included in the package were a couple of masterfully constructed "behind the scenes" mini-productions about the making of BOTH productions. I caught up with Jackson's KING KONG at The Cinerama Dome early this year---on its final day at that venue. And I was the only one in the tremendous theater. But I certainly wasn't alone. With the memories of the 1933 version of Fay Wray and HER gorilla-guy perpetually indelible, I still managed to get pretty caught up in the relationship between Naomi Watts and HER massive monkey. And their final resolution atop The Empire State Building, unashamedly caused my lachrymal floodgates to open, and torrents of tears flowed warmly and richly down my cheeks. About 14 months ago, in the single most depressing moment of my life, I had to put my beloved Siamese cat Pogo (who rests with consummate grace on me at the top of this page) to sleep. And the _expression in his eyes, wherein the realization of death was that acutely painfully perfect combination of sadness and relief, is captured with disturbing accuracy within the eyes of KING KONG. And so…I bawled openly---in the womblike surroundings of The Cinerama Dome---comforted at the same time by the knowledge that in fact, the end of sharing a loved one's life is in reality the birth of memories about being with that creature…no matter what size…forever! end NOTE: Originally published in LA Xpress, May 25, 2006, issue. |