Few movie monsters have endured like King Kong, the giant ape who has captured audiences for generations. From groundbreaking stop-motion to modern CGI, each version has brought something different to the legend. Let’s compare the three films that introduced us to the Eighth Wonder of the World
Somewhere in the South Pacific, there is an island shrouded in fog, home to King Kong, the Eighth Wonder of the World. It is a place of wonder and terror, one that speaks to the child in all of us. In my mind, there is no greater cinematic monster than Kong. Keep your sparkly vampires and chainsaw-toting psychopaths. None of them can touch the sheer power and majesty of a giant ape standing atop a jungle kingdom. So let’s journey back through the ages and take a look at the three films that gave us a girl, an ape, and one very unfortunate island.
King Kong (1933)
In 1933, Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack created a film that would change cinema forever, pushing fantasy adventure into bold new territory and effectively birthing a genre. There are many iconic images in film history, from the birth of Frankenstein’s monster to Charlton Heston parting the Red Sea, but few match the grandeur of a giant ape atop the Empire State Building, swatting at attacking airplanes. Kong himself was brought to life through the groundbreaking stop-motion animation of Willis H. O’Brien, and it left audiences stunned. It truly felt like witnessing the Eighth Wonder of the World. The only surprising thing about its success is that, after one rather limp sequel, it took so long for anyone to take another crack at it.
King Kong (1976)
Jump ahead to 1976, when director John Guillermin and producer Dino De Laurentiis decided to ditch stop-motion and instead put Rick Baker in an ape suit, placing him and Jessica Lange atop the World Trade Center. It did not quite have the same magic. Then, roughly thirty years later, Hollywood tried again, this time with considerably more success.
King Kong (2005)
Peter Jackson’s version returned Kong to the 1930s, where he belongs, though sadly he does not get to swat any elevated trains. With the help of modern CGI, the filmmakers breathed new life into the story, though arguably they breathed a little too much life into it. Both the original and Jackson’s version are set during the Great Depression, but while Cooper was telling a contemporary story that offered escapism to audiences of the time, Jackson had to choose between updating the story or embracing it as a period piece. Thankfully, he chose wisely.
Kong destroying New York City’s elevated train totally dates the film.
The 1976 remake went in the opposite direction. Dino De Laurentiis wanted a big-budget contemporary spectacle, so we got Kong stomping through 1970s New York City. This decision is a major reason the film struggles. By updating the story, much of the magic is lost. Greedy oil executives replace adventurous filmmakers, and the sense of myth gives way to corporate cynicism. On top of that, it becomes very hard to believe that a modern police force would have much trouble dealing with a giant ape. In 1976, local street gangs probably had enough firepower to handle the situation. Yet at one point, when Kong wades across the Hudson, the military somehow manages to lose track of him.
Note: In fairness, the authorities also lost track of the Rhedosaurus in The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms, so perhaps cities are more confusing than they look.
Paramount should have realized that some stories do not survive modernization without straining credibility. It is easy to accept a biplane pilot getting too close to Kong’s grasp in 1933, but what exactly was the helicopter pilot in 1976 thinking when he drifted within arm’s reach? Hovering safely out of range and unloading would have been the obvious move. Instead, he joins the long list of cinematic pilots whose decision-making skills should be studied as a warning.
“Maybe I should get a little closer.”
Now for a more direct comparison. In the 1933 and 2005 versions, Carl Denham (Robert Armstrong/Jack Black) is a filmmaker who mounts an expedition to Skull Island in search of Kong, initially to make a movie before pivoting to the “bring him back alive” approach. In 1976, with the world in the grip of an oil crisis, Denham is replaced by Fred Wilson (Charles Grodin), a corporate executive chasing rumours of oil. Denham finds exactly what he set out to find. Wilson, on the other hand, discovers the oil is worthless and decides to haul Kong back as a consolation prize. It is not quite the same level of ambition.
“Do you think that giant gorilla is hiding our oil?“
Their leading ladies arrive under equally different circumstances. Ann Darrow (Fay Wray) is hired for a film role, while Dwan (Jessica Lange) is conveniently found floating in a life raft. Right away, the 1976 version feels like it is leaning on coincidence rather than letting the story unfold naturally.
Once the expedition reaches Skull Island, the differences become even more apparent. In 1933, Denham discovers a massive wall, originally built for the 1927 film The King of Kings, separating the villagers from the dangers beyond. The 1976 version also features a wall, though it looks like something borrowed from a theme resort rather than an ancient structure. Jackson’s film presents a far more convincing ruin, steeped in history. Still, all three versions raise the same question: if the goal is to keep out giant monsters, why include a giant door?
“Cecil B. DeMille wants his wall back.“
Jackson offers a bit of backstory suggesting a time of coexistence, but requiring homework outside the film feels like cheating, so no one gets a pass here. None of the films, however, deserve any credit for their portrayal of the island’s inhabitants, which range from uncomfortable to outright embarrassing.
Once Ann or Dwan is sacrificed to Kong, the films follow a similar structure, except for one glaring omission in 1976: the dinosaurs have apparently taken the day off.
“Hey, get out of my movie!“
Let’s talk monsters for a while. The 1933 original features a menagerie of prehistoric creatures, including a Stegosaurus, Brontosaurus, Tyrannosaurus Rex, Elasmosaurus, and Pteranodon. By contrast, the 1976 version offers a single oversized snake, and not a particularly convincing one. The jungle trek in the original, while impressive, is not without its quirks. One sailor proudly points out a broken branch as if he is tracking a subtle trail, despite the fact that Kong is the size of a house and has been flattening trees in his path. It does raise the question of how often these sacrifices occur if there are still trees left standing. Do the trees that Kong tramples belong to some peculiar strain of fast-growing plant?
If not, he really should have a path pretty well beaten down by now.
Paleontologist Note: A couple of the dinosaurs are portrayed in a manner that may confuse today’s more educated audiences. Both the Stegosaurus and Brontosaurus (more correctly labeled today as an apatosaurus) display behaviour one wouldn’t expect from an herbivore.
This sailor was nice enough to climb up to the biting level.
Even so, the 1933 film easily outclasses watching a man in an ape suit wrestle a rubber snake. Jackson’s version certainly does not skimp on dinosaurs, especially in the extended cut, but the infamous stampede sequence leans too heavily into excess, with action that borders on the absurd and CGI that struggles to convince.
This CGI Jungle Fun is on par with Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.
It becomes clear that most of the visual effects budget went into Kong himself, leaving the rest of Skull Island feeling less polished. The original’s battle between Kong and the T-Rex remains a masterclass in tension and animation. Jackson attempts to top it by adding two more T-Rexes and staging the fight while dangling from vines in a sequence that feels like a child smashing action figures together. It is over-the-top, though the final moments of the fight still deliver.
Once again, certainly better than a guy in an ape suit fighting a lame rubber snake puppet.
As for Kong’s motivations, the original and 1976 films offer little explanation for his fascination with human women. The idea of romance never quite lands. A more plausible theory is that Ann is simply bait. As the dominant force on the island, Kong may use her to lure in other creatures for a fight. After all, once the other animals learn to avoid him, entertainment becomes scarce. Picking up a human and leaving her exposed could be an effective way to draw in an unsuspecting opponent.
Dinosaurs are notoriously grabby.
That said, the 2005 version handles the relationship far more effectively. Ann begins terrified but gradually comes to understand Kong’s loneliness, creating a bond that feels genuine. Their interactions, particularly the quiet moments, add a layer of emotional depth missing from the earlier films.
“I like my men tall, dark and hairy, so sue me.”
The sacrifice of a woman to a giant ape seems to be a ritual – which both sides seem to have forgotten the original purpose of – and so when Kong hears the drums and sees the lit fires, he heads over to the wall to grab the offering, and it is likely all out of habit more than anything else. Anne is most likely a dead duck – as we see that there is a passel of skeletons just outside the wall belonging to previous sacrifices – but Anne fights back. This intrigues Kong, and so she gets a reprieve. What follows is a beautiful, but tragic, relationship between a smart and empathetic woman and a beast that has been alone for a very, very long time. Jackson wins this one.
“It really is a nice view from up here.”
In the 1933 film, Kong breaks through the gates and rampages through the village – killing all who would stand in his way – until he’s dropped by gas bombs thrown by Denham, while in the 1976 movie, he busts through the door and then immediately falls for the old pit trap trick, where he quickly succumbs to the gas placed inside. On the other hand, Peter Jackson has his Kong being gassed while sailors try to snare him with grappling hooks, kind of a blend of the new and old, but as fun as this action scene is with Kong tossing sailors around like toys, I didn’t buy for a moment that they ever had a chance at restraining a creature as large and as strong as Kong. I have to go with the original on this one.
“Here’s the plan…you tackle the giant ape, and I’ll supervise from over here.“
Transporting Kong to New York is another issue all three films conveniently sidestep. The logistics of moving such a creature onto a ship are never addressed. The 1976 film at least shows him confined in a tanker, while the original leaves one wondering how he was managed aboard the Venture, and what exactly they planned to feed him along the way.
I’d certainly pay $10 Bucks to see that.
Once in New York, each version presents its own questionable business model. The 1933 film offers little detail beyond Kong being displayed on stage. Jackson adds a lavish theatrical production, though it is debatable whether the spectacle would justify the cost of admission. The 1976 version ties Kong to an oil company promotion, which somehow feels both more practical and more absurd at the same time.
“Put a gorilla in your tank!”
I’m not sure how this campaign would have worked in the long run; the cost of feeding and housing Kong would be enormous, not to mention the cost of fighting off animal rights groups, but it does seem more plausible than people sitting down in a theatre to just stare up at a big ape. It does seem that Kong would have been more suitable for a zoo attraction rather than a Broadway show, and the big guy certainly wasn’t as talented as his smaller cousin, Mighty Joe Young.
The modern setting continues to hurt the 1976 film during Kong’s rampage. Unlike Godzilla, Kong is not invulnerable, and it is hard to believe he would last long against modern weaponry. In contrast, the earlier setting allows for more suspension of disbelief, especially in Jackson’s version, where Kong is depicted as faster and more agile.
Kong shown here disobeying all traffic laws.
The attempt to make Kong more sympathetic in 1976 is admirable but clumsy. The original already conveys that he is a wild animal out of his element. De Laurentiis, however, pushed for a more overt emotional response, resulting in scenes that feel forced. Jackson strikes the right balance, building a believable connection between Ann and Kong that pays off beautifully, particularly in their quiet moments together.
Together, these two are magical.
Finally, the special effects highlight the strengths and weaknesses of each film. Willis O’Brien’s stop-motion work remains remarkable, full of personality and charm. The 1976 film relies heavily on Rick Baker’s suit, which, while impressive for its time, cannot fully capture the illusion. The animatronic Kong is barely used, likely because it looked less convincing than intended. Jackson’s film benefits from modern technology, with Andy Serkis delivering a motion-capture performance that brings Kong to life in a way previously unimaginable.
This is pure cinematic sadness.
This CGI renders you speechless.
In the end, the 1933 King Kong remains the definitive version, the film that ignited a lifelong love of cinema. The 2005 remake is an ambitious and often brilliant retelling, even if it could have used a firmer editorial hand. The 1976 version, while not without its moments, ultimately falls short, weighed down by questionable decisions and uneven execution. Both the 1933 and 1976 films produced sequels, though neither matched the original, with Son of Kong easily outclassing the misguided King Kong Lives. Until someone finally gives us a proper follow-up worthy of the original, this will have to do.
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