King Kong: Revisted

Peter Jackson's King Kong (2005) never fails to move me.  I may never understand how Merian C. Cooper and Edgar Wallace cooked up their original story, but Jackson and his co-writers, Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens, took that story and elevated it, giving Ann Darrow (and the audience) an emotional connection to Kong.  We pitied the poor creature in the original 1933 film, but in 2005 we actually cared about him.

The story begins at the lowest point of the Great Depression in New York City.  In the original movie, the filmmakers hit on the idea of using the Empire State Building only because it had recently completed construction and became the tallest structure in the world.  We get a glimpse of it early in the 2005 film, as the main characters depart NYC on the Venture as they travel to Skull Island.  The pairing of Kong and the Empire State Building was serendipitous, tying the two together from 1933 until the present day.  When you visit the building today you can find plenty of King Kong memorabilia.

Jackson uses the scenes in New York to lay more groundwork than the original film did.  The movie isn't exactly slow, but he's not afraid to take his time, especially in moments that will pay off unexpectedly later in the story.  Before the characters leave the city, we've come to understand just enough about what drives Vaudeville comedienne Ann Darrow (Naomi Watts), film producer Carl Denham (Jack Black), and playwright Jack Driscoll (Adrien Brody).  We even see how Denham's relationship with his assistant Preston (Colin Hanks) functions, even if we don't understand the level of Preston's loyalty (something even he begins to question).

The crew of the Venture are uniformly effective, from Captain Englehorn (Thomas Krestchmann) and first mate Mr. Hayes (Evan Parke) to Lumpy the cook (Andy Serkis, in an amusing dual role) and even Jimmy (Jamie Bell), a teenager who was abandoned and discovered in the hold of the ship four years previously.  Mr. Hayes gives us just enough description of Jimmy's past to intrigue us, but it's never mentioned again.

Once the Venture enters a mysterious fog bank, it's impressive how much the tension ramps up.  The early scenes on the island are eerie and strangely beautiful.  And then the film crew encounter a tribe of natives that come off as terrifying.  More contemporary critics have tried to accuse Jackson of racism, yet his depiction isn't any more racist than the original, and the backstory described in behind-the-scenes interviews makes sense.  But they sure seem like a pretty deranged bunch.  Once Ann's horrified scream prompts a roar from the as-yet-unseen Kong, the natives waste no time in kidnapping her and presenting her as a sacrificial maiden.

The design and presentation of Skull Island is certainly memorable.  Jackson and his team have played true to design of the original film, enhancing things as they go and subtly turning the dial up to eleven.  One of my favorite sequences is the fight between Kong and a family of dinosaurs.  (I love that Jackson wanted dinosaurs not as paleontologists would describe them but more like old-style movie dinosaurs with crocodilian skin—another subtle link to the old film.)  When Kong, Ann, and the dinosaurs tumble into a ravine full of enormous vines, the choreography of the ongoing battle is stunning.  The stakes just go up and up, one danger after another, until we reach Kong's moment of victory.

In the 1933 film, directly after the famous "log sequence," characters were dropped down a ravine into what was called the "spider pit sequence," which was subsequently cut from the movie.  The sequence was allegedly too terrifying for audiences of the time.  Jackson has included the sequence and made it integral to the plot by highlighting the loss of Denham's film and camera (thus inspiring his reckless plan to capture Kong).  It threatens to derail the entire movie, except to demonstrate that Skull Island is a literal hell on Earth.  The ominous descriptions of the place before the characters arrive don't even do justice to the harrowing sights they encounter.

There's something almost obscene (in a well-executed way) about the cut from Skull Island to New York City, where audiences clamor to see Denham's vulgar show where Ann Darrow is offered up to "the beast."  Adrien Brody has a good scene as Jack, watching his own play in a nearby theater, as he realizes what he's given up and leaves the performance to search for Ann.  But he discovers—at the same moment as an emotionally defeated Kong—that Denham is using a double because the real Ann Darrow refused his offers.  This angers Kong, who breaks free and begins to terrorize the citizens of New York in a desperate search for his friend.  Jack cleverly uses a taxi to draw Kong away from crowds, the ape is eventually reunited with Ann, and their journey to inevitable tragedy begins.

I would place King Kong in the category of what Alfred Hitchcock called "pure cinema."  To tell the story in a different medium wouldn't have the same effect.  And, yes, I know about the Broadway musical of King Kong, and the unquestionable power of live theater, but nobody in the theater would be unaware that they're watching a giant puppet.  Peter Jackson's Kong looks and acts like an actual giant gorilla, and there's a dynamic quality to the cinematography and the acting and the music and the design that can't be reduced to another type of storytelling and hope to have the same impact.  I love music, and theater, and books, and art, and photography, and all manner of art forms, but I think the power of well-made movies is almost unmatched.  King Kong is an ideal cinematic story.

I've seen the films in the Legendary Pictures' "Monsterverse," and while I enjoyed the first Godzilla (2014), I thought their version of King Kong was a perversion of the character I love.  The Kong that first appeared in 1933 and was lovingly remade in 2005 was a 25-foot-tall ape from Skull Island that wound up perishing in New York.  The Monsterverse Kong is a hundred feet tall, featured in movies that bear little resemblance to the story I find curiously resonant.

The more I watch Jackson’s film, the more I admire what Naomi Watts and Andy Serkis brought to their roles.  Watts had arguably the most difficult job, spending so much time in distress, screaming and being carried around by a giant gorilla.  But her emotional connection to Kong is undeniable, affecting us in unexpected moments.  My favorite is when Kong sees the sunrise from the top of the Empire State Building, and imitates a gesture made by Ann when they watched a sunset together on Skull Island.

Kong's final ascent is given an almost majestic dimension thanks to the music by James Newton Howard.  The music is big and energetic in scenes of terror and action, and then gentle and emotional in scenes of surprising beauty.  The connection between Ann and Kong is really conveyed by the music.  Thinking back, it's surprising to realize how much of the story is told without dialogue.  It could almost be a silent film.

That emotional connection is the key to the entire story, the element that takes it from a sad-but-quirky story to a rich and thoughtful tale of tragedy.  The filmmakers have imbued the story with more depth and given it a core of empathy.  The 1933 film of King Kong will always be regarded as a classic and a landmark in film history.  But in my opinion, the Peter Jackson version is the definitive Kong film.

West Side Story

I never liked West Side Story (1961) that much, and seeing the stage show reminded me of the power of the songs but didn't make me like it any better.  Roger Ebert described it as "the kind of musical people thought was good for them, a pious expression of admirable but unrealistic liberal sentiments."  I couldn't connect with the story when I was growing up, although I look at it now with many more layers of understanding.

When Steven Spielberg (one of the most successful filmmakers of all time) announced that he would create a new version of West Side Story, it just made sense.  His films have always had a dynamic feel for camera movement and lots of music, with actual song-and-dance routines here and there.  It was the first musical he fell in love with, and he decided that he'd waited long enough—it was time to make a musical.  With the blessings of the Leonard Berstein, Jerome Robbins, and Arthur Laurents estates, and in collaboration with Stephen Sondheim himself, Spielberg set out on an ambitious project: making his first movie musical by adapting a show already regarded as a classic.

The brilliant Tony Kushner was hired to write the screenplay, drawing more from the original stage show and less from the 1961 movie.  His adaptation updates things for a modern audience while leaving out elements that haven't aged so well.  Spielberg's most frequent collaborator, composer John Williams, was brought in as a consultant (he was the piano soloist for the 1961 movie), and he recommended conductor Gustavo Dudamel to handle the music.  The team also included choreographer Justin Peck; Jeanine Tesori as a vocal coach and music supervisor; David Newman as a music arranger; costume designer Paul Tazewell; Spielberg's long-time cinematographer Janusz Kaminski; and another long-time member of the team, editor Michael Kahn, working with Sarah Broshar.  A dream team if there ever was one.

(It's worth mentioning that the film was originally supposed to be released in 2020, but the arrival of COVID-19 created unexpected complications.  The studio decided to release it in 2021 instead, coinciding with the sixtieth anniversary of the original movie.)

The story begins like this: The Jets, a gang led by Riff (Mike Faist), are desperately trying to claim what they deem is "their" territory, even though most of it is getting demolished to make way for the new Lincoln Center.  They are constantly at odds with the Sharks, a gang of Puerto Ricans led by Bernardo (David Alvarez), who wish to claim territory of their own, and if that means a scrape or two with the Jets, so be it.  Kushner's writing makes the racial tension even clearer in this version, which happens to resonate with modern events.

The Jets used to be led by Tony (Ansel Elgort), who just got out of prison on parole.  He works in Doc's General Store, run by Doc's widow Valentina (Rita Moreno).  He wants no part of gang culture anymore, having made up his mind to change his life.  Then he meets Bernardo's little sister Maria (Rachel Zegler, in her first movie) during a dance in the high school gym.  As things have grown to a boil, the Jets and Sharks plan a "rumble," which becomes even more personal for the over-protective Bernardo when he discovers that a Jet (or former Jet) likes his little sister.  And now all the pieces are in place for a classic Romeo and Juliet update.

Although the story is over sixty years old, I'm not going to rehash all of it.  I'm going to operate under the assumption that you're familiar with it and move on to discuss what I think is so great about this movie.

First of all, I think the casting is perfect.  I don't understand why so many critics praised the movie but were negative about Elgort as Tony, saying that he didn't bring the same energy as the other characters.  Well, of course he didn't, because Tony is "in a different place," if you see what I mean.  Having spent time in prison, his eyes are open to new possibilities, and he wants to change the path of his life.  He's as surprised as anybody by his sudden obsession with a Puerto Rican girl.  Elgort's singing voice is smooth and easy, the perfect thing to make a girl fall in love.   This version of Tony gets more to do, singing- and dancing-wise, with the song "Cool" updated to have Tony sing it to Riff and the Jets as an attempt to talk them out of going to the rumble.  And Mike Faist is electric as Riff.  Unable to understand why Tony doesn't rejoin the gang, he takes on the role of a leader, but we can see that he has his own doubts and has a lot of growing up to do.  Faist's take on Riff features a subtle vulnerability that makes this version refreshing.

Rachel Zegler shines as Maria.  Time has given her more confidence and a bigger mouth in the media, which may have hurt the success (or lack thereof) of Disney's live-action Snow White.  But in West Side Story, under the direction of a master filmmaker, she's wonderful.  One of the best decisions the team made was to restore the original order of the song "I Feel Pretty," placing it after "The Rumble," thus restoring the irony and tragedy of Maria's happiest scene before she learns of her brother's murder.

There are other brilliant examples of songs re-staged, including "Gee, Officer Krupke," which now takes place in the police precinct.  Brian d'Arcy James (the great Broadway performer—who doesn't even get to sing or dance in this movie!) plays Krupke, and Corey Stoll plays Lieutenant Schrank.  It says something that well-known actors like this are willing to take small parts in a Spielberg film.

One of the best re-imaginings in the show is during the song "America," moving it from an apartment rooftop to the streets of New York.  Ariana DeBose won an Oscar for playing Anita in this movie, the same role that earned Rita Moreno an Oscar for the original movie.  DeBose is magnificent in the role, bringing all the passion, strength, and emotional power we expect from Anita.  She's one of the only characters who can't be intimidated by Bernardo.  And during "America," she is the joyous center of acceptance and celebration of her new home.  Her most challenging scene, just before the ending, is raw and charged and difficult to watch (even though things don't go as far as we fear they will).  She is a talent worth watching.

Justin Peck's choreography, while paying tribute to the original work of Jerome Robbins, brings things to a whole new level, especially in combination with the virtuoso camera work by Spielberg and Kaminski—nobody moves a camera like they do.  They treat the camera like another dancer, pulling the audience right into the thick of things (see "Dance at the Gym").  It's exhilarating, so say the least.  And I appreciate that they shot "The Rumble" as a real fight, not a choreographed "dance fight."  Looking at the same scene in the original movie is a little silly now.  The story is really a musical fantasy, taking place over only two or three days, but Spielberg brings a lot of realism to the story in a few key scenes.

The cherry on top, of course, is the inclusion of the legendary Rita Moreno.  She gets more to do as Valentina than Doc did in the original, and she almost steals the movie.  She brings as much force with her as she did while playing Anita in the 1961 version, yet she uses it in a different way.  She was eighty-eight years old during filming, and she sparkles on the screen, displaying a depth of character that's not only appropriate for the story, but beyond the lived experience of the rest of the cast.  Bringing her into this movie was a masterstroke.  And she gets to sing the best of all the songs ("Somewhere") in a gentle, bittersweet rendition that gives it new layers, making it less about the budding romance of Tony and Maria and more about a lifetime of shared romantic dreams.

The filmmakers decided not to subtitle any of the Spanish spoken in the movie.  Some people took that as an opportunity to trash it before it was even released and declare it a "woke" product.  While the movie is full of "liberal sentiments" as mentioned earlier, and many things released from Hollywood nowadays have tended to lean that way, I think the argument is unfair.  The most unfair part of that kind of criticism is that it seems to have been made by folks who haven't even seen the movie and have a grudge against the people who made it.  While they're entitled to their opinions, that doesn't make them right.  After hearing Mr. Spielberg's thoughts on why the subtitles were omitted, I thought it was a decision made with genuine sensitivity, and once you've seen and understood the story, it makes complete sense.  He and Tony Kushner decided to trust audiences to be intelligent enough to understand what is happening in a scene based on context and acting.  I would argue that they succeeded.

Now a few words about the ending.  I have always thought that if Messrs. Laurents, Robbins, Bernstein, and Sondheim were going to base (a large) part of their ideas on The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, then they should go all the way.  Maybe they thought having both romantic leads die wouldn't sit well with Broadway audiences.  Maybe they were trying to include a little bit of hope at the end of the story.  I've never been satisfied with how the show ends, and wish the filmmakers had found a way to fix it.  It's always struck me as some sort of half-hearted compromise.  Not a deal-breaker, just a minor disappointment.

Notwithstanding my feelings about the ending, Spielberg and his team have created a supreme movie musical that deepens the emotions, doubles the excitement, and actually got me to care.  Many filmmakers have failed at taking a stage musical and turning it into a full-fledged movie that doesn't depend so much on the stagey-ness of the original production.  I think Mr. Spielberg has shown us how it's done, making something that feels organic and free of theatrical restrictions.  Just the way he and Mr. Kaminski frame the choreography showcases it in a superior way to any other recent movie I've seen.  For a movie musical, that alone is noteworthy (pun intended).

West Side Story (2021) features a lot of struggle and divisiveness, anger and misplaced fear, but also an abundance of life and color, energy and romance, and a healthy dose of humanity.  I didn't expect to write an entire essay gushing about it, and never thought I'd say I like West Side Story, but here we are.

Logan Lucky

Director Steven Soderbergh, known for such films as Sex, Lies, and Videotape, Erin Brockovich, Out of Sight, and Magic Mike, decided to "retire" from directing in 2013, although he never really stopped working.  He officially came out of retirement in 2016 to direct Logan Lucky (2017) and has remained busy ever since.  The most relevant titles in his catalog would be Ocean's Eleven and its sequels, since Logan Lucky is another comedic heist story, albeit one told with a slightly different tone and sense of pacing.

Although it's not quite as star-studded as the Ocean's movies, Logan Lucky features a cast with a few big names and several outstanding up-and-comers.  Every actor gets a chance to shine, getting laughs through their total commitment to playing the story straight and avoiding the urge to act silly.  The entire film is written with a dry, tongue-in-cheek sense of humor, and you can tell the actors are having a blast, especially Daniel Craig, who seems to relish his role in between James Bond projects.

Channing Tatum stars as Jimmy Logan, who has just been laid off from work because of some ridiculous insurance concern.  As a divorced father struggling to balance his parenting duties with his job, the timing of the layoff is bad.  He goes to the Duck Tape bar run by his brother Clyde (Adam Driver, excellent) to drown his sorrows and gather his thoughts.  In walks Max Chilblain (Seth McFarlane), an obnoxious British NASCAR team owner, who proceeds to disrespect Clyde, who lost an arm in Iraq and wears a prosthetic.  Jimmy starts a fight with Max and his goons, which ends with Chilblain's vehicle on fire.  As Jimmy walks away, he shouts to his brother: "Cauliflower!"  (This is the most amusing code word I've ever encountered.)

The unfolding of Jimmy's "cauliflower plans," as Clyde describes them, is part of the pleasure of watching the movie.  Jimmy has decided to rob the vault of the Charlotte Motor Speedway, possibly as retaliation against the insurance company responsible for his firing, and his distaste for people like Max Chilblain.  Not only do the brothers include their little sister Mellie (Riley Keough, granddaughter of Elvis Presley) in their scheme, they decide they can't do it without explosives expert Joe Bang (Daniel Craig), who in turn says he can't do it without his brothers, Sam (Brian Gleeson) and Fish (Jack Quaid).  There's one small hitch: They'll have to break Joe out of prison so he can assist with the robbery.

For anyone who hasn't seen the film, I'm going to leave out the rest of the plot to preserve the enjoyment of watching it for the first time.  The story pulls in all kinds of other characters, including Dwight Yoakam as the prison warden; Katie Holmes as Jimmy's ex-wife; Sebastian Stan as Dayton White, the NASCAR driver sponsored by Max; and Hilary Swank as an FBI agent brought in to investigate the alleged crime (hardly anyone has mentioned this, but I'd swear she's doing an imitation of Clint Eastwood).  And, like the Ocean's trilogy, there's a multitude of memorable characters who play unwitting roles in the heist.

We spend a fair amount of time wondering if most of these characters are too stupid to accomplish any of their elaborate plans.  This isn't the slick team of veteran con artists gathered by Danny Ocean that operates (most of the time) like a well-oiled machine.  This is, essentially, a bunch of rednecks who only hustle when they have to.  You'd be surprised at what they can do.

The dialogue is a straight-faced riot of ridiculousness.  The more I watch it, the more I laugh.  The characters say things like, "I looked it up on the Google."  Daniel Craig comes up with the most amusing way to say "incarcerated" that I've ever heard.  (There's something about Craig explaining the science of explosives with a Southern accent that I find hysterical.)  And Brian Gleeson, playing Sam Bang, gets to say one of the greatest, most ludicrous words in the movie, which I won't spoil, except to mention that he tends to get his words mixed up.

One of the funniest scenes takes place during a prison riot, with Warden Burns (Yoakam) having an argument with the inmates.  It's not what he's saying that's particularly amusing as much as the context of the entire situation.  The story tends to move at what I call "a Southern pace," which doesn't mean it's slow, per se, but that it takes time for scenes like this, allowing the humor to accumulate before moving on.

My favorite dialogue exchange in the whole movie occurs when the Logan brothers visit Joe in prison.  When they ask him how it's going, he says, "Well, I'm on this side of the table wearing a onesie.  How d'you think it's going?"  Funny all by itself, until Clyde says, "Well, you look good."  How many times have we caught ourselves saying something like that during an awkward encounter?

The movie is absolutely poking a little fun at the region and culture, but you can tell that Soderbergh and his collaborators enjoy these characters.  No one condescends to the material because this isn't a mean-spirited satire.  And there's a recognition of real life as well (especially in scenes like the one where Katherine Waterston shows up, not to mention the entire NASCAR event).  Look at the use of the John Denver song "Take Me Home, Country Roads."  In the instant we think it's going to be used for a laugh, it turns into something sort of moving.

The story is a brilliant labyrinth of details that must work together like clockwork as we follow a team of misfits who must not only pull off a robbery, but also break a man out of prison, break him back in to prison, and somehow get Jimmy to his daughter's beauty pageant on time.  And just when we think the story has reached its unexpected conclusion, we discover that Soderbergh has more up his sleeve, much like he did when he announced his retirement and comeback.  He has never been stuck making only one kind of movie, with fun movies like this mixed in with more "serious" fare.  Logan Lucky is like a glorious stop along a highway where being a tourist was never more entertaining.