Kong: Skull Island

I went into the opening of Kong: Skull Island with something of a prediction in mind. Given that the most vociferous public complaints about Gareth Edwards’ 2014 take on Godzilla were … well, the dearth of GODZILLA scenes, it seemed only natural that Legendary’s reaction would be to get the whole King Kong reveal out of the way almost immediately in this film. And yep—that was exactly right. The audience meets Kong quickly, and often. There are avenues to criticize Kong: Skull Island, but “lack of Kong” is not going to be one of them.
This is the second film is Legendary’s “MonsterVerse,” which began with Godzilla and is slated to continue with at least two more films: Godzilla: King of the Monsters in 2019 and Godzilla vs. Kong in 2020. It is of course another film studio’s attempt to tap into the seemingly endless money engine of successful “cinematic universes,” as Marvel Studios can attest to. However, the corresponding films from DC have proven that this is much easier said than done.
Kong: Skull Island is not a complex film, and it doesn’t really deserve “complex analysis.” It’s a calculated popcorn action movie and a would-be blockbuster, and one that is intensely uneven tonally by design. One minute, it’s bombarding you with comic ultraviolence and gore that would not be out of place in The Evil Dead or Cannibal Holocaust, and the next it’s legitimately very funny. That Cannibal Holocaust comparison is no hyperbole, by the way, at least in terms of the disgusting fate that befalls one character.
John Goodman plays Bill Randa, a government official searching for giant monsters with the help of a crew that contains scientists, soldiers, activists and mercenaries. Among them: Tom Hiddleston as the Doc Savage-style white jungle adventurer, Brie Larson as the morally conscientious photojournalist/Kong bait, and Samuel L. Jackson as the army colonel expedition leader who goes full Ahab and becomes obsessed with gaining some form of vengeance on Kong. This is the last we’ll be talking about any of them with the exception of Jackson, given that he’s the only character of any real plot significance, even if he does spend time regurgitating Jurassic Park in-jokes like “Hold on to your butts” and posing in front of Budweiser product placement. The others are more or less underutilized, especially Hiddleston, who just gets lost in the flow. Larson, meanwhile, is less integral than a female lead has ever been in any other King Kong movie.
And that’s where this film differs from previous iterations of the Kong story—it is a pure action movie without any significant attempt at characterization for Kong himself, nor room for subtlety. It’s filled with cliched 1970s period rock music, the kind of feature-length soundtrack that Forrest Gump would have had if he spent the entire film in Vietnam rather than 20 minutes. This is not Peter Jackson’s three-hour epic, which wanted to deliver absolutely everything: Action, drama, suspense, prestige. Larson is never captured by the beast, and she spends almost no time in his presence, and thus doesn’t develop anything like the slow rapport that Naomi Watts’ character has with the ape in Jackson’s film. Indeed, it’s not entirely clear why Kong eventually cares about Larson’s character at all, except for the fact that the film casts him as generally benevolent toward humans in general unless provoked. He has none of that spark of intelligence in his face, or the degree of emotionality possessed by Andy Serkis in a mo-cap suit. He has not been anthropomorphized, any more than Godzilla was in 2014.