Superman (2025) – Review

Superman has long been Hollywood’s toughest nut to crack: the original superhero, yet often labelled “too perfect,” “too square,” or—worst of all—“boring” for modern audiences. Since Richard Donner set the gold standard in 1978, filmmakers have tried to solve the Superman problem by darkening him, complicating him, or basically turning him into Batman. James Gunn, however, flips the script: he embraces the bright, idealistic, sky-high optimism of the character, giving us a Superman who’s unapologetically himself. Let’s take a look and see how he pulled this off.

This movie starts with a rather bold opening. Forget retelling how the rocket landed, James Gunn skips all that Kryptonian baby stuff. Instead, we join Superman (David Corenswet) mid-career… and recovering from a loss! Yep, he’s already taken a walloping off-screen by the mysterious “Hammer of Boravia” before the opening credits, rescued by doggos and guilt (aka Krypto). Soon, we learn the Hammer is actually Ultraman, Lex Luthor’s (Nicholas Hoult) evil clone project. After a tense tête-à-tête with Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan) about whether superheroes even should meddle in global politics, Luthor unleashes a kaiju on Metropolis as a distraction. Lucky for Supes, he doesn’t have to fight this thing alone; the Justice Gang show up, consisting of Mister Terrific (Edi Gathegi), Hawkgirl (Isabela Merced) and Green Lantern Guy Gardner (Nathan Fillion). Though “lucky” may be too strong a word.

 

“Shouldn’t this thing be threatening Japan?”

But what did Luthor need a distraction for? Well, turns out the bald genius had bigger fish to fry. With Superman conveniently tied up, Lex and his goons slip into the Fortress of Solitude like tourists on the worst VIP tour imaginable. What do they find? Not just the usual Kryptonian tech and ice sculptures, but a bombshell hidden message from Krypton itself. The first half is what you’d expect: noble legacy, hope, all that “S-shield means something” kind of stuff. But when Luthor restores the corrupted second half? Suddenly, Jor-El and Lara are less loving parents and more cosmic dictators, basically telling their son to conquer Earth and, well… keep the family line going in the most awkward way possible.

 

“Family can be so embarrassing. Am I right?”

Naturally, the world freaks out. Overnight, Superman goes from symbol of hope to public enemy number one, as governments, talking heads, and even a few of his so-called allies drop him faster than a speeding bullet. “Clark, are you okay?” quickly turns into “Clark, you’re under arrest,” and before long, the Man of Steel finds himself locked up in a bleak little pocket universe—basically, superhero solitary confinement. His unlikely cellmates? Metamorpho (Anthony Carrigan), who can turn himself into kryptonite, does so because Luthor is holding his baby hostage. Back in the real world, Lois refuses to let him go down as history’s greatest alien scam, rallying Mister Terrific and everyone’s favourite cape-wearing canine, Krypto, to pull off a jailbreak with all the energy of a high-stakes heist movie. Together, they crack open the cosmic cage and give Superman one last shot at clearing his name and proving that Krypton’s ghostwriters don’t speak for him.

 

He will be getting some help.

Then Luthor literally tears reality apart. Metropolis is split in two, clones and chaos everywhere. But with teamwork, moral clarity, and a hero dog to boot, Superman beats his clone (into a black hole, no less), Lois and Jimmy clear his name via streaming evidence, and the day is saved. The film closes on a tender, goofy note: Superman recuperates at the Fortress of Solitude, watching heartwarming baby footage of his life on Earth, finally able to exhale. And just when he thinks he can enjoy a quiet moment, his cousin Kara Zor-El (Milana Vayntrub) shows up, utterly hungover, insisting she needs Krypto back—cue the dog’s dramatic side-eye and Superman’s weary but fond sigh. It’s the perfect mix of epic superhero stakes and small, human (and canine) comedy, reminding us that even the Man of Steel needs a little domestic chaos now and then.

 

This is the Woman of Tomorrow?

Stray Observations:

• A member of Lex Luthor’s Luthorcorp crew is named Otis Berg, a nod to “Otisburg,” the seaside spot pencilled in by Ned Beatty’s character Otis on the map of his boss’s evil waterfront scheme in Superman (1978).
• Lex Luthor’s girlfriend, Eve Teschmacher, is another nod to the Donner Superman film, where actress Valerie Perrine played the villain’s moll.
• Lex Luthor using a strand of Superman’s hair to create a clone of him, as well as Superman’s intervention in global affairs, were ideas that previously appeared in Superman IV: The Quest for Peace (1987).
• Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel got a lot of heat for all of the collateral damage in the fight between Superman and Zod. Here, James Gunn fixes that by having an announced evacuation of Metropolis. Ignoring the fact that the logistics of this kind of quick evacuation would be impossible.
• The Hall of Justice exterior was shot at the Cincinnati Union Terminal, which was used as the model for The Hall of Justice in Super Friends (1973).

 

I hope the Wonder Twins show up in this DC Universe.

Writer/director James Gunn took a radically simple approach for his Superman and the launching of the new DC Universe. It isn’t about subverting or deconstructing the Last Son of Krypton; it’s about embracing him. Gunn has made what is, at heart, a love letter: to the comics, to the iconography, and to the idealism of a character who has always stood tallest when he’s unashamedly himself. In an era of cinematic antiheroes and brooding, morally grey protagonists, Gunn commits to something both retro and radical: letting Superman be Superman.

 

You know, like saving people.

David Corenswet steps into the cape with a performance that balances modesty with myth. He never postures or leans into Christlike imagery; instead, his Superman exudes a steady decency, a warmth that radiates in quiet gestures as much as in grand speeches. He feels human even when he’s flying at Mach speed, which is perhaps the most essential quality of all. Importantly, Corenswet avoids the trap of imitation; he doesn’t play Reeve’s charm or Cavill’s solemnity. He plays Superman as if the character has always been his, and the result is refreshing.

 

How can you not love this guy?

But what about everyone’s favourite Daily Planet reporter? Rachel Brosnahan’s Lois Lane is every bit the equal of Superman, a fearless reporter with sharp wit, iron will, and a heart that cuts through Clark’s occasional self-doubt. Gunn wisely avoids turning Lois into a mere romantic interest. She’s integral to the story, a partner in truth and justice whose tenacity grounds Superman in humanity. Brosnahan sparks instantly with Corenswet, and their chemistry gives the film an emotional core. When Lois calls out Superman for being too idealistic or pushes Clark to trust in humanity, it feels like more than banter—it’s a philosophy of partnership.

 

This is the heart of the movie.

If Superman is the embodiment of hope, Lex Luthor is the counterweight: human ambition curdled into obsession. Nicholas Hoult’s Luthor is neither the campy huckster of Gene Hackman nor the ice-blooded corporate predator of Jesse Eisenberg. He is something more layered—and, arguably, more frightening. Hoult plays him as a man whose genius is undeniable but whose psyche is paper-thin beneath his cultivated confidence. There’s always a gleam of mania in his eye, the sense that he’s orchestrating three different schemes while delivering a smooth soundbite. His hatred for Superman isn’t just rivalry—it’s an existential crisis. To Luthor, Superman’s existence invalidates everything he’s built, every achievement he’s clawed for. That insecurity festers, calcifies, and becomes weaponized intellect. Gunn and Hoult together make Lex less of a caricature and more of a chillingly modern villain: an influencer of minds, a manipulator of power, a man whose genius is matched only by his capacity for malice.

 

Corporate evil personified, and he’s also a tad smug.

But what truly sets Superman apart from its predecessors isn’t just plot or casting, it’s tone. Gunn threads the needle between grandeur and sincerity with remarkable precision. The film has spectacle—plenty of it—but never loses sight of its emotional compass. Truth, justice, and the dream of a better tomorrow aren’t ironic slogans here; they are the narrative’s heart. This is not to say Superman is syrupy or naive. Gunn peppers the script with humour, humanity, and a recognition that the world is messy and complicated. What makes Superman heroic isn’t that he ignores the world’s darkness—it’s that he insists on shining through it. The film respects this balance, never collapsing into cynicism but never blinding itself with rose-coloured glasses either.

 

Even in darkness, we find light.

Visually, the film pops with colour, rejecting the muted palettes of recent superhero cinema. Metropolis feels alive, vibrant, a city worth protecting. Gunn also leans into the comic book strangeness that defines Superman’s world: alien beings, bizarre science, even a touch of the surreal. Yet he balances this with grounded, emotional storytelling. As for the score, it swells with heroic motifs and undercurrents of tenderness, tying it together. Composers John Murphy and David Fleming allow it to be bombastic when it needs to soar, intimate when it needs to comfort. The cinematography frames Superman not as a god above humanity, but as a beacon among us, a hero who flies not to rule, but to lift. It helps that Gunn, unlike some of his predecessors, understands the tonal elasticity of comic books. He allows for weirdness (aliens, bizarre tech, larger-than-life villains) alongside earnest drama, recognizing that Superman’s mythology thrives best when it embraces both the cosmic and the intimate.

 

Balancing it all with grounded, emotional storytelling.

In conclusion, James Gunn’s Superman succeeds not by reinventing the character, but by restoring him. It’s a reminder that earnestness isn’t a weakness, that idealism isn’t outdated, and that sometimes the bravest cinematic choice is the simplest one: to let Superman stand for something good. Corenswet wears the cape with dignity and warmth, Hoult gives us a Lex for the ages, and Gunn orchestrates it all with a clear affection for the source material. The result is a film that’s as bold as it is heartfelt, a Superman for today that honours the Superman of yesterday.

The Legend of Hercules (2014) – Review

There are bad movies, and then there are movies like The Legend of Hercules, a film so spectacularly generic and joylessly bombastic that it feels less like a retelling of Greek mythology and more like an extended infomercial trapped inside a video game cutscene.

Let’s start with the plot, which is a kind of “Hercules for Dummies” rewrite. This adaptation is an awkward blend of star-crossed love story, chosen-one prophecy, and revenge saga, all glued together with dialogue that sounds like it was generated by mashing up fortune cookie messages and rejected Spartacus monologues.

Sadly, it’s not even that good.

The story kicks off in 1200 BC, when sandals were in and personal boundaries were out. King Amphitryon of Tiryns (Scott Adkins) is on a conquest bender, smashing kingdoms like ancient Greek LEGO in his relentless pursuit of power. His wife, Queen Alcmene (Roxanne McKee), is not impressed. She’s so fed up with his warlord cosplay that she prays to Hera for help. Hera, in true divine fashion, forwards the request to her husband, Zeus, who interprets “guidance” as “romantic home invasion.” He shows up in a flash of light, does his patented ‘seduce-and-vanish’ routine, and voilà! Alcmene is now pregnant with a demigod destined to save Greece. Classic Zeus move.

Amphitryon could join the ‘I was Cuckolded by Zeus’ support group.

King Amphitryon, blissfully unaware that his family tree just got a supernatural branch, names the bouncing baby boy Alcides. But Alcmene, giving side-eye to literally everyone, knows the kid’s true name is Hercules. Fast forward twenty years, and Alcides/Hercules (Kellan Lutz) has grown into a glistening slab of beefcake with dreamy eyes and a thing for Princess Hebe of Crete (Gaia Weiss). Naturally, this makes his jealous older brother, Prince Iphicles (Liam Garrigan), simmer like goat stew in a bronze pot.

“Dude, I’m going to so betray you later in this film.”

During a hunting trip, the boys are attacked by a freakishly strong lion, the kind of lion that lifts weights and chews on boulders. Hercules strangles it with his bare hands like he’s wrangling a fuzzy pool float. Iphicles immediately claims credit at the royal banquet, where everyone’s busy sipping goblets and pretending not to notice the obvious lack of lion-wrangling credentials. Hebe, however, isn’t fooled; she can smell cowardice from across the throne room.

Is it cowardice she smells or simply bad acting?

Then, in true party-pooper fashion, King Amphitryon announces that Hebe will marry Iphicles (surprise engagement: ancient edition), and after a brief attempt at elopement, which fails, Hercules is deployed on a conveniently timed military trip to Egypt. Before he ships out, Alcmene pulls her son aside for a little pre-battle truth bomb: “You’re not Alcides. You’re Hercules. Also, your real dad is Zeus. And yes, that makes family dinners awkward.”

“Hope you packed a lightning bolt, kid—your story’s just getting started.”

Welcome to the Egyptian desert, where Hercules (still going by “Alcides” like he’s in witness protection) joins the noble Captain Sotiris (Liam McIntyre) and a small army unit that’s about as effective as wet parchment. Surprise! They’re ambushed—because apparently King Amphitryon decided “kill your own son” is just good parenting. Everyone dies except Hercules and Sotiris, resulting in a classic “buddy action movie bond” forged in sand and betrayal. If only King Amphitryon had made it clear that there were to be “NO BLOODY SURVIVORS.” Sometimes getting good help is next to impossible, but setting proper goals is just as important. This allows our hero, now going by the name Hercules, to talk his way out of getting murdered.

“Did I mention I’m the son of a god?”

They’re promptly sold into slavery because ancient Greece was basically one big Craigslist ad for gladiators. Enter Lucius, a shady fight promoter who sees profit in turning demigods into pay-per-view entertainment. Hercules hides his royal identity but reveals his gym membership by annihilating six undefeated gladiators like he’s clearing out a protein bar sale at the arena. Word spreads. Amphitryon’s own soldiers start deserting to join Team Hercules. Amphitryon, now mad and short-staffed, hires foreign mercenaries. Because nothing says “secure regime” like outsourcing.

“Go down to Home Depot and pick out some hard workers.”

Meanwhile, back at Tiryns Castle & Spa, Alcmene and Hebe assume Hercules is dead. Alcmene goes to ask Hera for help—bad move. Amphitryon catches her mid-prayer, learns that Zeus is the baby daddy, and reacts with the royal version of “not cool, bro.” He stabs Alcmene with her own dagger and makes it look like a DIY tragedy. What a guy. Iphicles, jealous sibling and full-time human speed bump, threatens Sotiris’ kid to get Hercules’ location and surprises the rebel encampment. He finds his long-lost brother and has him chained up and flogged like it’s an episode of Ancient World’s Got Torture.

A story as old as Cain and Abel.

For bonus trauma, he also makes Hercules watch as Chiron (Rade Šerbedžija), the kingdom’s favourite kindly old advisor, gets murdered like an expendable extra. Pushed to his emotional breaking point (and let’s be honest, probably a few physical ones), Hercules has a divine meltdown. He screams to the sky, accepts Zeus as his dad, and gets struck with a power-up: LIGHTNING MODE ACTIVATED. He breaks his chains like they’re cooked spaghetti, takes down the guards, and begins his thunderous revenge tour. Together with Sotiris and their ragtag army, Hercules storms the palace. The royal guards pull a classic “surprise allegiance switch” and join him. Mercenaries get zapped left and right by Hercules and his newly electrified sword—think Thor, but with better abs and worse dialogue.

He has the power of Grayskull!

It all comes down to a boss battle with Amphitryon. Just as Hercules is about to win, Iphicles plays the “damsel in distress” card and holds Hebe hostage. But Hebe ain’t here for that nonsense. She impales herself just to stab Iphicles through the gut. Bold move, ancient lady. Bold move. Hercules, now properly fired up, uses the same dagger that killed his mom to finally end Amphitryon’s reign—and his life. With the bad guys vanquished, he cradles Hebe as she slips into unconsciousness in the most dramatic post-battle cuddle scene this side of Olympus.

It’s not easy being a love interest to Hercules.

Cut to nearly a year later: the sounds of a baby crying fill the halls. Hercules has a son, a kingdom, a destiny fulfilled, and probably some seriously expensive lightning insurance. The camera pulls back as our hero gazes out over his land like a brooding mythological real estate agent. Roll credits. Cue thunder. Try not to giggle. Because when life gives you mythological daddy issues, gladiator slavery, and lightning swords… you make The Legend of Hercules.

“Do I get to go and fight the Amazons now?”

It’s safe to say that this entry is about as faithful to actual Greek mythology as a Spirit Halloween toga is to ancient fashion. While it borrows names and the very rough concept of Hercules being a demigod, it takes wild creative liberties, cutting, twisting, or outright inventing most of the story. Here’s a breakdown of how it differs from the original myths:

1. Hercules’ Parentage and Birth

In the movie, Alcmene prays to Hera, and Zeus impregnates her as a favour, producing Hercules. Amphitryon is unaware and names the child Alcides, which is pretty much the opposite in the mythology. Alcmene prays to Zeus, who disguises himself as her husband, Amphitryon, and seduces her (Greek gods: yikes). Hera hates Hercules because he’s Zeus’s illegitimate son and tries to kill him multiple times from birth onward.

2. Hercules’ Trials

In the movie, he slays the Nemean Lion, fights in gladiator matches, overthrows a tyrant king, and uses a lightning sword to defeat mercenaries. Of course, Hercules in the myth is known for his Twelve Labours, a series of penance quests imposed on him after Hera drives him into a madness that causes him to kill his wife and children. Of these trials, none include lightning swords or gladiator promos.

3. Love Story is New

In the movie, Hebe is mortal and the love of Hercules’ life, complete with forbidden romance, dramatic separations, and sword-through-the-shoulder self-stabbing heroics. In the myth, Hercules marries several women over his lifetime, including Megara (the first), Deianira (the most tragic), and Hebe, the goddess of youth, whom Hercules marries after he dies and ascends to Olympus.

4. Amphitryon and Iphicles

The movie depicts Amphitryon as a cartoonish villain, and Iphicles is an evil, jealous brother. In the myth, Amphitryon is actually a decent guy and helps raise Hercules. Iphicles is Hercules’ mortal half-brother (same mom, different dads), but he’s not a villain—just a normal dude trying not to get trampled by divine drama.

5. Hercules’ Powers

In the movie, he only gets superpowers when he accepts Zeus as his father, gets struck by lightning, and goes full-on demigod Hulk, but in the myth, Hercules is super-strong from the get-go. As a baby, he strangles snakes sent by Hera to kill him in his crib. No lightning sword needed.

This 2014 movie may have been inspired by Greek mythology, but it’s more in the same way that fast food is “inspired” by fine cuisine. It drops most of the complexity, tragedy, and divine intrigue in favour of shirtless brawling, romantic angst, a boilerplate “chosen one” action plot with swordfights and CGI lightning swords. Greek mythology is tragic, weird, and epic. The Legend of Hercules is more like Gladiator Lite: “Now With 90% Less Myth!”

“Are you not entertained?”

Stray Observations:

• This was Kellan Lutz’s second Greek mythology movie; he portrayed Hercules’ uncle, Poseidon, in Tarsem Singh’s Immortals.
• Hebe, in Greek mythology, is the Goddess of Eternal Youth and the daughter of Zeus and Hera. Considering that Hercules is the son of Zeus, that would actually make the two love birds half-siblings. Yikes!
• When Hercules and Hebe try to elope, he tells her that they’ll be safe from the King’s men if they can cross the river that marks the border of their land. I’m not sure ancient Greeks were all that hung up on landmarks.
• The Ancient Greeks held athletic contests, but not gladiatorial games. Gladiators originated on the Italian peninsula around 700 years after the setting for this movie.
• When Hercules fights the six undefeated gladiators, he calls all of them but the single woman gladiator, simply pinning her in her own net. Is that honourable or sexist?
• In the final battle, Hercules is wearing the cloak made from the hide of the Nemean lion. This cloak was last seen in the possession of Iphicles, and there is no scene explaining how Hercules got it.

Did the gods slip it to him?

Directed by Renny Harlin, The Legend of Hercules is a movie that dares to take one of the most enduring legends of ancient mythology and strip it of everything that made it epic, fun, or even remotely memorable. It’s like watching someone tell the story of the Trojan War using sock puppets, only less imaginative. Harlin clearly wanted his movie to be 300—slow motion, desaturated colours, and CGI blood everywhere—but it lacks the stylistic flair, budget, or choreography to pull it off.

“Is this not Sparta!”

Kellan Lutz, while undeniably muscular, delivers his lines with the emotional depth of a marble statue. He looks the part, sure, but his version of Hercules has all the charisma of a damp sponge. He spends most of the movie with the same two expressions: confused determination and confused confusion. The supporting cast doesn’t fare much better. His love interest, Hebe, mostly exists to pine and gasp, while the action sequences aim for 300-style slow-motion spectacle but instead resemble a video game with lag issues. On the bright side, Liam McIntyre and Scott Adkins try to inject some gruff energy into the proceedings, but they’re just buried under heaps of exposition and melodramatic grunting.

Why they didn’t cast Scott Adkins as Hercules is beyond me.

What really sinks The Legend of Hercules is its complete lack of identity. It’s not mythological enough to embrace fantasy, not gritty enough to be taken seriously, and not fun enough to qualify as camp. It wants to be Gladiator, 300, and Clash of the Titans all at once, but ends up being none of them. And while the film borrows many elements from those other films, it fails on almost every one.

“Do you think anyone will release a Kraken?”

In conclusion, if you’re looking for a faithful or exciting take on Hercules, skip this myth-mash mess and try the 1958 Steve Reeves classic, or even the other 2014 Hercules movie with Dwayne Johnson. At least that one has a personality. This version is less a legend and more a forgettable footnote in the annals of bad sword-and-sandals cinema.

The Mighty Kong (1998) – Reviews

Once upon a time, someone had the wild idea: “What if King Kong… but for kids… and with songs?” Thus, 1998’s The Mighty Kong was born, a direct-to-video animated musical that dares to retell the classic 1933 monster story through toe-tapping tunes and awkward animation. And by “daring,” I mean it swings from the Empire State Building straight into a pit of questionable decisions.

The basic story remains intact: The film opens in the 1930s, where ambitious and slightly eccentric filmmaker C.B Denham (Dudley Moore) is cooking up his next big cinematic adventure. He’s convinced he’s found the perfect location for his mysterious new movie—an uncharted, fog-shrouded place called Skull Island. All he needs is a leading lady… and he conveniently stumbles upon Ann Darrow (Jodi Benson), a down-on-her-luck chorus girl with dreams as big as a Broadway marquee. She agrees to join his seafaring film crew aboard the ship Venture, unaware she’s about to star in a monster movie for real.

 

“You’ll be a big star or a big appetizer.”

The crew sets sail, and we’re treated to the first of several toe-tapping musical numbers. Yes, this version of King Kong throws in spontaneous Broadway-style songs that range from peppy to downright peculiar. We get a peppy cabin boy named Ricky (Jason Gray-Stanford) and a singing chimp named Chips who acts as even more comic relief, because what every monster movie needs is a wisecracking monkey in a vest. When the ship finally reaches Skull Island, it’s not exactly a tropical paradise. Think dark jungles, ancient ruins, and locals who are a bit too eager to stage an impromptu casting call…for Ann, the “golden-haired beauty” foretold in legend.

 

Enter our ethnically questionable natives.

As expected, Ann is kidnapped by the Skull Island natives and is offered up as a sacrifice to the island’s most famous resident, a 50-foot-tall gorilla with a soft spot for blondes. But instead of chomping on her like a jungle snack, Kong gently scoops her up and takes her on a vine-swinging tour of his prehistoric home. So, it’s up to Seaman Jack Driscoll (Randy Hamilton) to set forth into danger to rescue his possible love interest. But Skull Island isn’t all banana smoothies and lullabies. The jungle is crawling with dinosaurs, giant snakes, and other beasties who think Ann would make a nice appetizer. Kong fends them off in cartoonish battles that are more Scooby-Doo than savage, complete with dramatic roars and goofy sound effects. The classic battle between Kong and a Tyrannosaurus Rex is also reduced to a ten-second fight in this version.

 

Taken out by a bonk to the head.

Meanwhile, Denham and his clumsy cameraman (William Sage) race through the jungle, doing their best to avoid the big gorilla, but Kong isn’t the only danger as the island’s volcano decides to erupt. That said, a few well-tossed gas bombs bring the ape down, and a conscientious Denham convinces Captain Englehorn (Richard Newman) to save Kong before Skull Island is completely destroyed. And before you can say “Eighth Wonder of the World,” Kong stands in chains, looking sad and bewildered before a New York City Crowd. When flashing cameras and chaos break out, Kong goes full King Kong™, breaking free, grabbing Ann, and rampaging through the city in search of a tall perch to climb. 

 

Kong’s big break on Broadway.

Naturally, he ends up on the Empire State Building, clutching Ann in one hand and swatting at biplanes with the other in a kid-friendly version of the iconic scene. But one wouldn’t want to scar the little kiddies, so in this version, when the planes fail to bring Kong down, Denham comes up with a plan to capture Kong alive, which consists of two blimps with a cargo net strung between them. Kong is captured in the net, but his weight causes it to tear apart, and he falls to the streets far below. Carl then gives his iconic line about Beauty killing the Beast, but Chips discovers that Kong is alive.

 

“I’m not dead yet.”

Stray Observations:

• This version of Carl Denham produces live Broadway musicals to promote his “Animal Follies” films, which doesn’t make a lick of sense.
• Denham pitches to the crew that they are looking for a “Land that Time Forgot,” but clearly not the one penned by Edgar Rice Burroughs.
• As this is a kid-friendly version, not only does  Kong live, but there are no deaths at all. None of the sailors are killed trailing after Kong, no natives are stomped or eaten, and the biplane pilots have parachutes.
• It takes 42 minutes for Kong to appear in this 73-minute film, which gives Peter Jackson’s version a run for its money on wasted screen time.
• This remake has one direct reference to the 1976 version, where Kong takes Ann to a waterfall to wash off some mud and then blows her dry with his breath.

 

Insert “Blow Job” joke here.

Let’s get this out of the way: The Mighty Kong is not a hidden gem. It’s a curious, well-meaning but largely ineffective attempt to take the grim, iconic tragedy of King Kong and retrofit it into a G-rated, toe-tapping cartoon musical. It’s as if someone asked, “What if we took one of the most dramatic finales in film history… and added songs?” It features a 1930s Broadway vibe, animal sidekicks, and a musical score that ranges from forgettable to “please make it stop.” The songs—by the usually competent duo of the Sherman Brothers (yes, Mary Poppins Sherman Brothers!)—feel oddly recycled, and no amount of jazzy enthusiasm can save what are fairly contrived lyrics. They’re bouncy and upbeat, but they don’t do much to elevate the narrative or linger in the memory.

 

“Now with catchy tunes and cartoon jungle hijinks!”

As for this film’s animation? Think 90s TV commercial meets off-brand Disney. The characters move with the stiffness of cardboard cutouts, and poor Kong often looks like a knock-off plush toy rather than a towering force of nature. Ann Darrow, our starlet-turned-scream-queen, is now a plucky singer whose dream is to perform on Broadway, and Jack Driscoll is downgraded from rugged sailor to… sort of just there. And yes, Kong is still kidnapped and brought to New York, but instead of a tragic commentary on exploitation, we get a tacked-on happy ending that feels unnatural and cheap.

 

This idea was suggested by the character Jack Prescott in the 1976 remake.

Which leads to the film’s key problem. Tonally, it’s a strange beast. The original King Kong was a thrilling adventure tragedy, while this version turns that classic tale into a quirky jungle romp. Now, this might work for kids under 10, but it strips the tale of its emotional weight and will leave older viewers out in the cold. As mentioned, the film’s awkward clash between the classic tragic ending and the movie’s relentlessly chipper vibe will rub most fans of the original the wrong way, and it’s hard to feel the grandeur or heartbreak of Kong’s fall when everything else feels like a Saturday morning adventure. 

 

Everything is better with monkeys.

It’s not all a disaster. Dudley Moore, as Carl Denham, in his final performances, brings a hint of charm to the chaotic mess, while Jodi Benson, best known as the voice of Ariel in The Little Mermaid, voices Ann Darrow and delivers her songs with the usual warmth and sparkle. The voice cast is competent, but the material they’re working with rarely gives them a chance to shine. Kids under six might enjoy the bright colours and silly animal side characters, but anyone familiar with the original King Kong—or even The Lion King—will likely be left scratching their heads or dozing off mid-ballad. Worst of all, Kong barely counts as a character in this movie; not only does he have a middling amount of screen time, but what we do get is weak and uninspired.

 

Kong demands better writers!

In conclusion, The Mighty Kong takes a cinematic masterpiece and reduces it to a clunky, watered-down sing-along. It’s a curiosity, sure—but mostly for the wrong reasons. If you’re looking for a King Kong experience with heart, style, or emotion, this isn’t it. It’s not quite mighty, and certainly not monumental, but an odd little curiosity for animation completists or die-hard Kong fans.