The Mist (2007)

The King Knows His Crowd

I went to see Steven King’s “The Mist”. Mr. King is aptly named. Over 43 of his creations have been turned into films. I’ve sat through my fair share. Ironically “The Shinning”, which I thought was the strongest, was so repellent to King that he produced is own version of the tale. I didn’t see it but I have a hard time believing he outdid Kubrick. Another of his works that made an impression: “Apt Pupil”. That film really illustrates why King is popular – it’s not us vs. the bogey men – it’s us. Behind every all American teenager lies a Nazi SS Commandant. King seems to speak from the heart in his work. It’s not that he’s a creep; he just knows, deep down, everyone is.

“The Mist” is the equivalent of a good fast food meal: competently crafted, filling and forgettable. I confess I left halfway through due to stomach troubles but I feel confident in saying “I got the picture”. Once again its not the creepy crawlers coming out of the fog – it’s the reactions of a crowd of normal people facing “the end”. King’s motto should be: a normal person is someone you don’t know very well. The good ole people in a good ole state go to the good ole store in the good ole town and come face to face with… themselves.

King lives in Maine. I visited there once and I can vouch for the fact that “fog” in that state is the real deal. Imagine a cold steam room where you stretch out your arm and can’t see your hand. King, once again, playing on the personal, has brought all the Maine-fog anxiety to life: if you can’t see your own hand – what are you to make of the person standing in front of you? It gets really scary when there’s no fog, no abstraction, no opaqueness – just you and your unobstructed view of all the normal people. Once again King seems to have been born to tell these stories. I heard this about his childhood: When he was a toddler his mother left him to play with a friend who lived near a railroad track. The mother of the friend left them playing in the back yard. A few hours latter King was found wandering the streets of the upright, middle class neighborhood. He stood out. A beautiful young boy walking alone, covered in blood. He doesn’t remember what happened. The mother found the playmate on the tracks, dead. He’d been run over by the train. Who knows if this is merely an apocryphal story. King’s life lesson remains: It’s not the monsters in the mist; it’s the monsters in our midst.

The Darjeeling Limited (2007)

Train Kept A’Rollin’


Wes Anderson specializes in the humorous and off-beat. Sometimes he’s funny, i.e. “Rushmore”, and sometimes things seem abit too off the beaten path: “The Life Acquatic”. “The Darjeeling Limited” is a road less traveled but for Anderson and co. – a very familiar path.

The American dysfunctional family is the bread and butter for most members of the Writer’s Guild and even more young novelists. It is a seemingly endless mine of poignant irony and likable anti-heroes. This latest effort by Anderson and co. centers around three brothers and their search for something. Unlike the brothers Karmazov there is no patricide in their spiritual journey. Daddy in this case is dead. Mommie has fled and the two of the brothers are unknowingly being strong-armed into a grand reconciliation quest. The setting is where all contemporary Western spiritual journeys start – from the Fab Four to Steve Jobs – get your tickets ready we’re on a train in India. Anderson is well aware of the irony and he’s clever enough to play on the absurdity of truth seeking tourists. There is some good slap-stick, a strong ensemble cast and a strong script – but it’s a long ride. Brevity really is the soul of wit. Anderson negatively proves the point.

The film had some nice moments. There is a wonderful sequence involving the brothers interacting with some villagers during a funeral: American hipsters bumbling into the Apu Trilogy – it worked. Their dislocation augmented the majesty of the locals. The images spoke. There was also a nice surrealistic sequence showing all the different players magically appearing in compartments on the train. Unfortunately things failed to stay on track. Collaboration is a two edged sword. It’s great to work with friends but how honest can you be? The first 15 minutes of this work is a short loosely connected to the feature in which one of the brothers has an encounter with his nemesis/girlfriend/wife/lover. It didn’t work. It wasn’t funny. Maybe a seasoned borsch belter like Henny Youngman should have walked into the editing room and given the auteurs some advice: Kid ya gotta hook’em from the opening line. Anderson’s unwillingness to leave more on the editing room floor makes me suspect allegiance to individual performers and writers overrode the safeguards for the film as a whole. To put it in terms of another artistic endeavor that was produced post an Indian spiritual Journey: The White Album is good – but it would have been better WITHOUT Revolution #9. One can imagine Paul shrugging and not wanting to challenge John. There might have been a similar dynamic at work behind Anderson making the following choices: Why does t the film have 3 endings? Why does Bill Murray appear? Why find the mother appear and disappear?

Owen Wilson brings an unintended poignancy to the film. His character is the anchor that assumes the role of the absent parents and tragicomically brings everyone together while tearing them apart. It is revealed in the closing of the film that the spark for the family reunion is his failed suicide. Wilson’s real-life brush with self-destruction makes for uneasy reflections about the painfulness of quiet desperation. The tabloids put the finger for his troubles on an unscrupulous druggie “friend”. Funny thing about “friends” – sometimes they don’t bring out the best in you. Let’s hope Anderson’s next feature, which is being co-written by his buddy Noah Baumbach, hits the mark. My gut tells me he needs to find some new collaborators. Sometimes the best work comes from the acrimony - ask John and Paul about their Indian adventure.

Beowulf (2007)

Out of the Dark Ages


One doesn’t usually turn to old English epic sagas from the dark ages as material for main-stream American feature films. “Beowulf” is an exception. Studio execs went out on limb and it paid off – and not just financially. My decision to see this film was based on default – not desire. I live in a rural town and I’d seen everything else. The first few minutes were rough going. Not only was I sitting through a Hollywood version of an ancient poem – IT WAS ANIMATED. I was wondering if an early exit was in order – if I left now – the local restaurants would still be serving dinner. I withstood the “bust’em up”, “blood and gore” of the opening sequence. It reminded me of a television spot that ran a few years ago for the Marines in which a dragon is slain. But the film settled down… and so did I.

Certainly the director has the younger set in mind in terms of pyrotechnics of the animation. Video games are having an effect on features – in this case it worked. “Beowulf” is in many respects a comic book from the last millennium. The issue of “realness” fades and many of the fine performers’ work pushes through the advanced graphics. But what makes things click is the writer’s clever adaptation of the story. The cornerstone of the work, the monster and his mother, are given an extra dimension in terms of their relationships with the protagonists. This in turn makes the story more than simply a testosterone-fest of bad-guy-killing. These heroes are flawed AND they are linked to the forces of doom.

This alteration to the storyline opens up this work to both the fans of “Grand Theft Auto” and “The Seventh Seal”. Let the kids marvel as bodies fly and the camera swoons. There is room for adults, who have weathered generational changes, to muse about the real conflicts afflicting Beowulf and the other nobles. Kudos should also be given to the filmmakers for presenting these characters’ ambivalence about the rise of monotheism and the Christian sensibility. This is not a stab at any faith but a recognition that not everyone at that time fell in line with the Church’s ascent. I understand this is very much a part of the original text. Many make noise about the current American films being immoral – well praise should be given when a film examines the nature of morality in an intelligent way that is approachable to many different audiences. Unfortunately many of these critics will focus on the debauchery and violence – those are only a few of the notes in this surprisingly edifying rendering of a literary classic. This film is not for the faint of heart; but those who throw stones should remember their bible. The last book certainly would merit more than a PG-13.

Lions for Lams (2007)

Lions for Lambs by Bores


Here’s a joke for you. “How do you get a turkey in a projector?”. Answer: ”Ask Robert Redford to direct it”. Attention: all those paying victims of the “Milagro Beanfield War” – the general is on the march again! Protect your hard earned admission fee and wait until it turns up on very very very late night television – you’ll have the opportunity to turn the channel. If you want to have the experience without actually viewing “Lions for Lambs” here are some instructions: round up a group of well meaning precocious 5th graders and have them write down their thoughts on Iraq, Afghanistan, Peanut Butter and life in general.

There are some unsettling mysteries surrounding this film; particularly Merly Streep’s active participation. It is difficult to know if she was a victim of some sort of extraordinary rendition – she’s not talking. I guess she figures let sleeping lions and lambs lie. Maybe there was an exchange of an extraordinary amount of money which might explain the production values or lack thereof. Tom Cruise strikes me as the kind of person who might have actually believed this was an interesting, important script. But doesn’t he have an army of handlers? There isn’t one member of the posse who could have spoken truth to power and muttered: “Tom, ah, this project is, ah, pretty fucking stupid”

The movie has three plotlines: Tom Cruise, a venal ambitious young Republican booster has a plan about a new surge strategy to win the war in Afghanistan and ultimately secure his bid for the Presidency. Tom must convince a skeptical seasoned Washington lefty reporter, Merly, that he is sincere and knows his stuff. Neither is true and she knows it but she’s getting long in the tooth and TV News ain’t what it used to be. Robert Redford himself appears as a tired old humanities prof who’s guilt ridden about inadvertently sending two minority students off to “fight the good fight”. Redford throws all his effort into convincing a brilliant rich white kid that its bad to be cynical. Then there’s the tragic story of the minority kids themselves. Have we gotten your adrenaline flowing? Just imagine all these amazing tales mixed together. Meryl’s “frustration” seems genuine as does Redford’s “old and tired”. Tom’s performance really suffers from the lack of windows to break and furniture to smash – but maybe they’ll be an Mission Impossible IV. The saint-like African American and Hispanic do there best but it’s hard to be that good and not be boring. In the end the mirror image of Step’n’Fetchit can be equally stifling creatively. It’s unfortunate that the writers created caricatures and not characters.

Redford has a few lines in here throwing barbs at the rich white kid for not getting involved. I think the student should have responded: “How could you put us in this movie! We’ll never get hired again!!! You and Tom and Meryl can afford to waste your careers on this dreck – YOU'RE ESTABLISHED! What about us! How come you didn’t hire good writers!? Don’t you run a fucking institute for young talent?! Why did you try to direct again!? You think Rumsfeld is arrogant – what about you!? Didn’t you learn anything from Milago!? How many more young actors are you going to sacrifice!?”

Dartmouth College 2007 Production of HAIR

Back to the Future


Imagine if Rip Van Winkle woke up and discovered his teenage children re-enacting his parents’ youth. My guess is that he’d want to go back to sleep. I had a similar experience returning to my alma mater and watching the drama department’s production of the seminal musical “Hair”. The twilight zone feeling started when the student usher told me her father was in a class a couple of years before mine. I waited in vain for re-assurance that I appeared much, much younger than Dad. Truth be told I remember THE ORIGINAL production of “Hair”. In fact my parents saw it staged prior to it being launched officially and my mother begged my father to financially back the production. My father wasn’t a prude but being a prudent businessman – he declined. The rest is…. I remember a very serious conversation with my best friend about the nude finale. I’d say the lack of clothes was more interesting than all the politics and drugs for the pre-tween crowd – we were 9 years old. I mentioned to the usher that Diane Keaton was in the original production and jokingly said she was a crowd pleaser in the final seen. She’d never heard of Diane Keaton. The joke, however, was really on me as this production lacked bare bodies – except for one very tightly choreographed, dimly lit scene. Staging this play without nudity is akin to mounting Macbeth with no violence. But I understand the director’s choice. This is 2007 not 1969 – this is Dartmouth College not the Public Theater – this is Iraq with a volunteer army not Vietnam with a draft. The overall effect was a disconcerting view of the past and the present.

Technically the production was strong. By and large the students dance and sang their hearts out – certainly solos should have been re-assigned, staging was off in parts… but lets not quibble – for a student production it was an “A”. But this is “Hair” and the whole point of the play is getting a good grade doesn’t matter. It’s a strange undertaking to resurrect the zeitgeist of the recent past. The students will have a much easier time with next term’s production of “Julius Caesar” – their parents didn’t actually live through the fall of Rome so they’ll be plenty of confidence with which to use their newly minted artistic licenses. The main problem with their efforts was a sense of strain. Every performer on that stage is a young person saddled with student loans, worried about AIDS and terrorized by environmental catastrophe – not to mention the two overseas wars… the struggles in “Hair” failed to measure to today’s economic and social challenges. This is not to say that the 60s youth had a walk in the park but the non-singing portion of this show has the sort boy/girl drama that would barely register with your average 7th grader. “Hair” is a reaction against the 1950s and ironically it has its roots in a fairly conventional American original – the Musical Comedy. Today’s young people don’t line up for musicals unless they happen to be in New York with their parents. Is it any wonder that these performers failed to muster an authentic sense of revolution and rage? I can only imagine the back-stage talk: so did they have health insurance back then? They’d probably have an easier time relating to a more recent youth oriented smash musical. I’m sure you’d hear some genuine cries during a rendition of: “How we gonna pay! How we gonna pay! How we gonna pay! THIS MONTH’S RENT!!!!!”

There is much talk these days about the lack of activism amongst young people and general criticism of the 1960s. “Hair” holds an interesting lens in which to view both those questions. This play originated in a landscape probably closer to present day Iran. Homosexuality was an illegal disease. Many rape laws of that period were based on the Common Law notion of woman as property. The ability of people of color to gain unrestricted access to public transportation and accommodation was a new concept. New York City and other municipalities revoked “cabaret cards” (a license to work) to many performers on the grounds of obscenity or prior narcotics convictions. Given this reality one can better feel the resonance of songs about drug-use, love and equality sung by a scantily clad multi-racial cast. It might seem quaint to a modern eye but this was cutting edge. Tom Brokaw has recently released a book about the generation after his “Greatest Generation”. In “Boomers” one of the leaders of the Columbia student uprisings talks about how “the other side won”. Certainly the rise of Ronald Reagan and new religious right has given support for this notion. It is important to point out, however, that Ronald Reagan was the first divorced President. The fact that this was a complete non-issue can be directly attributed the liberalization of mainstream notions of acceptability. It is also interesting to note that many mega-churches take their cues from 60s era music happenings rather than standard church fair of the early 20th century. The whole notion of casual dress for dining or travel is something the current generation takes for granted. It would not have been unheard of for a gentleman flying in a commercial airplane prior to 1960s to be refused a boarding pass for failing to wear a jacket and tie – there is no question such a person would be refused entry to any urban restaurant or nightclub. The effects of the “Hair” era are more than cosmetic – ask the last three Secretaries of State. Certainly the ideals of racial harmony, sexual equality, progressive attitudes about the underclass… have all fallen woefully short. But make no mistake we live in a world born of the 60s not the 50s.

The sour notes sounded by the former radical leader and others stems from a sense that our society, despite our economic and technical prowess, has regressed. There is a fondness for a simpler time. Even monsters such as Manson seem re-assuringly crazy compared to Harris & Kleilbold. The carping about “the kids” is nothing new. To people who remember a world without answering machines young people seem callow and distracted. There is no doubt all the “advances” have made for a more the over-extended, hypercompetitive America, but not dumber. Verbal and communications skills have been negatively affected but today’s 9 year old has mastered more gadgets than their predecessors – they can do more than re-program a VCR. We can bemoan their deficits but remember there are plenty who reminisce about the days when people would dress up to eat out. There is a reason our government is nervous about calling a draft. Today’s youth might not march on Washington – they’d shut down the economy via a modem from their living room. Janis, Jimi and Jim OD’ed but Kurt blew his head off. There’s a difference. Don’t mess with these kids – they won’t be dancing and singing “Let the Sunshine In”. It’s the dawning of a new age and its not Aquarius.

American Gangster (2007)

All in the Family Values

When you think of 1970s black New York drug dealers the word that comes to mind is “Superfly”. Curtis Mayfield’s composition trumps Gordon Parks’ direction in conveying the angst of “tryin’ to get over”. To quote the song: “The aim of his role was to move a lot of blow; ask him his dream – what does it mean? He wouldn’t know – ‘Can’t be like the rest’ is the most he’ll confess but the time’s running out and there’s no happiness”. Ridley Scott re-visits the mean streets of New York in the age of marshmallow shoes, wa-wa guitars, view-blocking afros and real-life home grown (not Colombian) drug dealers who would be known even to the most sheltered of Upper East side white kids. Scott’s “American Gangster” doesn’t give us “Superfly” and that is the film’s strength as well as its weakness.

All New Yorkers in the 1970s feared Nicky Barnes – the flamboyant Harlem heroin trafficker whose "Mr. Untouchable" image loomed in the tabloids in the same way "the teflon don" John Gotti would during the 1980s. Only the insiders knew of Frank Lucas. Scott’s film reveals why – Mr. Lucas was in business while Nicky was in show business. Lucas combined a Puritan work-ethic, his version of family values with street smarts and Machiavellian ruthlessness. The two kingpins cross paths in “American Gangster”. There is a workplace collegiality but Mr. Lucas makes clear that his organization is more interested in heartland values rather than “bling”. Scott paints a portrait of Lucas as a solid apprentice who carefully studied the master. Bumpy Johnson was the strong arm for the traditional mafia in Harlem and ruled the roost. Lucas learned how things were done and, more importantly, how it could be done better. He craved his mentor’s success but questioned why Bumpy needed the mob.

Lucas’s foil, Detective Richie Roberts, equally ambitious and matches Lucas’ ability to morally compartmentalize his life. Whereas Lucas makes family the bedrock of his career, Roberts loses his to neglect and philandering. Ironically both men share an inhuman devotion to their amoral “code of honor” which eventually renders the same result. Roberts’ wife, son and best friend are sacrificed on the alter of “being the best crime-fighter in the world” while Lucas does the same by “being the best drug dealer in Harlem”. Scott deserves praise for reviving the gritty New York of Abe Beame, "Shaft" and "The French Connection". It all looked right. The script, although suffering from over-exposition of Roberts material woes, was strong. The secondary casting was excellent… as was lighting, set direction, costumes… So why did the film feel, to use the words of Lucas’ mentor: “that there’s no heart in it”?

The primary problem lies in the choice of the two stars – Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe. These are excellent actors who have been miscast. Crowe failed to master the accent – a startling error for someone who is usually technically flawless. More to the point – he was not convincing as the Jewish gadfly. Compare Crowe to Sean Penn in “Carlito’s Way” or Meryl Streep in “Prime”: these goyem are believable as Jewish New Yorkers. Crowe, despite heartfelt moments, failed to deliver the goods. The performance had a forced professionalism – an unspoken: “I’m doing this to establish the fact that…” Contrast this with some of the secondary players – Carla Gugino WAS the forlorn neglected wife; Ruby Dee WAS the kingpin’s mother. Crowe is merely good – it isn’t enough.

Washington’s Lucas had a subtle but equally damning defect: the hardness was flawless. No doubt there was a great deal at stake in choosing to portray a real gangster who is currently being glorified in Rap songs. One can hear activists from all sides questioning the decision of the leading African American movie star to portray an unmistakable, real-life, bad-guy who preyed on members of the community. Washington’s chooses a stony un-repentance that flattens the character. It might shield him from criticism of making Lucas out to be a weak black man – but for dramatic effect vulnerability is preferable – think of his rendition of the crooked cop in “Training Day” – that sociopath had resonance. Lucas has some of the dreariness of a monomaniacal entrepreneur. You might want to buy stock in Apple or Microsoft but how many people really enjoyed: “Pirates of Silicon Valley”? – the dramatization of Gates’ and Jobs’ rise to the top. In other words the mechanics of Washington’s steely creation of an organization that produced the best dope at the cheapest price fails to be as dramatically compelling as the story of an insecure country bumpkin who made it to the top of New York City’s drug world. In Washington’s portrayal there is anger but no real fear. There is rage but no compassion. The denouement is the scene in which Ruby Dee pleads with her son to realize “you don’t kill cops”. He is respectful but firm. She then slaps him. Here is the moment in which the mask should have fallen. This should have been the mortal blow. Here was Washington’s opportunity to give Lucas the hint of a soul. Unfortunately he let it pass and the stone-cold Lucas lived on until the closing credits.

It is interesting to note that New York Magazine ran an interview with the real life Lucas prior to the release of the film. He prattled on about “best product at the best price”. In this piece he was paired with his old nemesis/friend Nicky Barnes. Predictable, given our criminal justice system, both these murderous sociopaths are free after giving up all their compatriots. Meeting real life gangsters has the same effect of witnessing a bar-fight or watching pornography - the initial thrill quickly morphs into repulsion built on boredom. Lucas and Barnes are your typical depraved “businessmen” – with a bit of education either would have been a captain of industry making excuses about hiring child-workers, poisoning local villages, painting toys with lead, building orphanages on nuclear waste sites, making cars that explode, hiring thugs to kill union workers, turning over clients to oppressive goverments….. In this case they’re stuck with justifying a more obvious, less acceptable form of gangsterism – the street drug trade. At the heart of every successful gangster is a bore who sees violence as another strategy in the corporate tool-box. Master Lucas reveals in the interview:

“In our business, you get paid by fear. When the fear factor comes in, that’s when you start to make money. Violence is part of it. You ain’t gonna sweet talk no motherfucker”

There you have it – and if he gone to Harvard business school he might be using the phrases “skill-set”, “thinking outside the box”, “pushing the envelope”… Ironically “American Gangster” is peppered with talks about customer satisfaction, knowing your clients, building a brand, loyalty to the organization…. Kudos for Ridley Scott for taking the time to understand the heart of the beast – but dramatically speaking audiences prefer the type of thugs in “Goodfellas”, “Scarface” and “The Godfather”…. In fact it should be noted that Pablo Escobar was known for endlessly watching Marlo Brando in action. One of his prized possessions was a box set of Coppola’s masterpiece (Godfather I, II & III) – discovered in his private prison after his ignoble end. (He also had a photograph of himself dressed as Pancho Villa) Pablo died alone running on a roof-top recalling his early police escapes when he was a grave stone robber – this time he didn’t make it. He was a desperate egotist who fell into crime – a successful business genius but at heart your run-of-the-mill car thief, burglar, bank robber….. Crime is about people who lack empathy and possess an unattractive desperation – this is a major dramatic challenge. Even the most successful drug dealer of all time knew he could never compete with Hollywood’s reality. The dream-factory knows how to create bad guys who CHOOSE to be gangsters. Hollywood crime villains make their own rules without hints of being governed by the petty forces of careerism and practicality.

Which brings me back to “Superfly”. Show business is about myth – about a shaped reality that delivers escape. “Superfly” rules the 70s New York drug world because he was what Nicky Barnes wanted to be: the noble, flashy anti-hero – aware of his desperation and vulnerability. Frank Lucas really wanted to be head of a Fortune 500 company – the film even has him quip about the lack of opportunity on Wall Street – its tongue and cheek BUT.... This might be “real” but that’s not the kind of gangster audiences pay to see. Flashy romantic desperados are the real ticket – remember the song: “‘Can’t be like the rest’ is the most he’ll confess but the time’s running out and there’s no happiness”. Its impossible to imagine Denzel “trying to get over” – his thought it all through and made calculated choices based on the highest return. It might make for good business – but not good show business. Everyone feels the heavy hand of corporate rule - we wish to believe our gangsters are immune.

King Kong (2007)

The Kong Show

I am old enough to remember the last attempt. Mr. DeLaurentis, the larger-than-life producer, took advertisements out in the NY tabloids asking people to come down to the World Trade Center for a reaction shot of Kong’s death. I recall there was a hullabaloo about him breaking up the concrete at the base of one of the Trade Towers where they placed Kong’s body. Jessica Lang, the new Hollywood ingénue, played Faye Ray’s part. Aside of Ms. Lange and trying to see my friends in the closing sequence (none appeared) the 1970s “updated” Kong was forgettable. Mr. Jackson seems to have shared my reaction. This “Kong” is a homage to the original 1933 production.

It is interesting that Jackson marks this work as a primary influence. Being close to Jackson’s age I remember my first viewing of the original Kong left me cold. Sure it was exciting to watch the iconic ape in action but the scratchy dialogue and stop-action stuttering made the film difficult for 70s New York kid to fully appreciate. We were children of Star Wars and the black & white monsters from the Depression era seemed hokey. Yet Jackson saw something profound beneath the musty scenery. One can imagine this young New Zealander hunched before a pre-color TV or riveted to a fold out chair in a school gym watching a 16mm print of the giant ape battle the forces of modernity in pre-VHS Kiwiland.

What sparked Mr. Jackson’s worship of this weatherworn classic? Why did the man who could choose anything decide to remake this particular beast? Given Mr. Jackson’s beginnings as a low-budget horror film creator the idea of tackling the granddaddy of cinematic monsters is natural. But a look at Jackson’s roots reveals that “the plays the thing” rather than the beast itself. The story of King Kong revolves around a self-created meglomananical filmmaker. In fact Jack Black, the film’s rakish villain, might consider Jackson a benevolent fellow-traveller. Jackson, a small town film-buff working in a camera shop, marshaled armies of friends and neighbors over weekends to create his first feature (titled Bad Taste) which revolved around aliens abducting a small town to be the main course in their inter-stellar fast food chain. This was followed by Braindead in which a mother turns into a cannibal that even George Romero might consider “over the top”. Jackson might not share Jack Black’s lack of morals but they are certainly kindred spirits whose beginnings lurk in the neitherworld of showbusiness.

Jackson found his “Kong” in the film adaptation of C.S. Lewis’ fairytale masterpiece. Kudos to the film executive who recognized in Jackson’s early work an ability to create fantasy “by any means necessary”. C.S. Lewis can worry about highbrow elements of story and references to history and ages past – Mr. Jackson was there to put on a show. His abounding spirit combined with heretofore unlimited resources produced the block-buster of blockbusters. Jack Black, on the other hand, never found a way to tame his monster-hit and created a real-life blockbuster. This monster not only destroyed New York City but Mr. Black’s new found respectability.

In a sense Jackson’s King Kong is two separate films: one is a pyrotechnical display of Jackson’s ability as a horror/action-adventure filmmaker; the other film is a meditation on the blinding price of success. As an action film Jackson certainly delivers the goods. The director has taken fight scenes to a new plane – literally. Whereas traditional protagonists battle back and forth – Jackson’s fight up and down as well. This has become a popular device in kung fu movies and although Jackson might not be the first to employ this technique – he certainly knows how to use it. Kong is literally all over the place - slaying scores of never-ending monsters from ALL DIRECTIONS. The backdrops are always breathtaking and sublime – whether at the pinnacles of the mountains or the nadir of the valley. The natives, however, were a problem – not that they weren’t restless. They were too restless. As a New Zealander Mr. Jackson probably shares a European sensibility regarding race relations. Its not that people across the pond are more racist but they consider American’s to be hysterical with regards to cultural differences. Call me over-sensitive but the group of black-as-night, spear-throwing, bone-threw-the-nose savages were too reminiscent of vile stereo-types of native cultures. I’m surprised that there hasn’t been more discussion of this depiction. It probably lies in the fact that Jackson genuinely meant no harm and the root of this portrayal lies in a hyped-up version of the original. Given the fact that this was the age of Stepinfechit I think Mr. Jackson should have come up with a different approach. This, however, does not take away from the over-all success in portraying a fantasy world of natural monster demons. Even before arriving on the Island itself the “sturm and drang” of the boat against the rocks showed Jackson the director fully in control of his game.

The meditative sections of the film are in a sense the heart of the matter. We know Jackson can juggle and spit-fire but how does he tackle heart-felt drama without C.S. Lewis’ breadth of knowledge regarding the human condition? Is Jackson merely a technician/showman or can he make us think? The key test lies in the feelings towards the monster. Were the bullets flying out of the fighter planes striking something more than Kong? I found myself thinking about human’s relationship with animals and felt genuine sorrow at the death of Ann Darrow’s companion. Jackson’s Kong, more than the ancient original (certainly more than DeLaurentis’) rose above being an icon of terror and became a tragic love-struck anti-hero. This Kong didn’t merely exist – he lived, loved and died. The re-creation of Depression-era New York was flawless. The human actors were all strong. So when the giant ape hits the pavement all is in place for Jack Black to deliver his famous camp line: “Twas beauty killed the beast”.

The message struck a cord because you know in your heart of hearts Jack is lying. The beast wasn’t a beast and beauty certainly wasn’t the cause of his demise. Jackson is pointing at – Jack Black/himself. It is ironic that the character Jack Driscoll, the writer, played by a very talented Adrien Brody, disappears into the scenery. This is not a film about writers and this really isn’t, despite the many action sequences, a film for children. This is a film about doers. The kind of people who come out of nowhere from some down-under part of the world and make their mark in the big city. This is Jack Black’s movie. This is a man at the top of his game looking at the world and realizing that fulfilling your dreams without regard to an understanding of the more fundamental laws (of nature, of God…) is pure folly. Business is business but business is NOT everything.

The word is that the film is not living up to the monumental financial expectations. But I’m sure Jackson isn’t really thinking about the other entertainment moguls and money men. He made a labor of love and I’m sure he’s more concerned with the natives on his small island and his wife – whom has co-wrote all of his films. It’s a wonderful thing to create a monster – it’s more important to know how to control him. If Jack Black only knew. I get the sense that the man who made this film still stays in touch with the people next door who carried the scenery for his first feature. That is surely something Jack Black would never do.