I’ve been sick and busy lately (funny how often the two go together, with the former leading to the latter), but I did watch Peter Jackson’s version of King Kong over the weekend. I have to say, it showcases everything great about Jackson, and everything wretched. And here, the wretched outweighs the great. Far outweighs. The only reason I actually watched the whole thing is that (1) I never voluntarily stop watching a movie or reading a book once I start and (2) I didn’t feel much like getting off the couch. I think perhaps Mr. Jackson should just produce giant spectacular movies, and leave the directing to somebody else.
The movie is actually quite boring despite, well actually because of the non-stop action. There is about 15 minutes of plot puffed into three hours of movie (kind of like a three hour porno movie — if anybody was crazy enough to make one that long — and just as believable) and it doesn’t take long before it becomes clear that the criterion was that it didn’t have to make sense, it just had to look good on film. And I’m not saying if you thought about it, it didn’t make sense; it just obviously didn’t make any sense the moment the photons hit your retinas. I don’t mind suspending my disbelief, but I don’t like to be insulted. If more is less, there wasn’t anything at all to this movie, and more is less. I like movies that seek their proper length, whether that is 90 minutes or almost 4 hours, but there is nothing worse for a movie than to be very long and very boring (see The Horse Whisperer).
