“Gee, ain’t we got enough o’ them in
New York?”
During its
relatively short history, RKO Radio Pictures was a film studio that produced
some of the truly classic films of Hollywood’s Golden Age, standing the test of
time against their bigger competitors, such as Citizen Kane, Bringing Up
Baby and Gunga Din. They made an
indelible stamp on the horror genre as well with arguably the greatest version
of The Hunchback of Notre Dame
starring Charles Laughton and possibly their most successful film (judging from
its many lucrative re-releases), King
Kong.
RKO (the
acronym stands for Radio-Keith-Orpheum corporation) began as a British partnership,
Robertson-Cole, between Rufus S Cole and H.F. Robertson that imported and
exported automobiles. After becoming motion picture distributors, they decided
to set up as a self-producing film studio in 1921, buying a 13.5 acre site from
the Hollywood Cemetery Association. Such was their eagerness to start shooting
that they began filming their first property Wonder Man before they had finished building the lot. Paramount
Pictures became literally their next door neighbour studio five years later
after buying the rental company United Studio. During this period,
Robertson-Cole became FBO (Film Booking Offices of America, Inc) after a buy-in
by Americans including Harry M Berman, whose son Pandro went on to be their
most successful producer.
FBO’s output
was simple and crowd-pleasing (often western and melodrama) filler product
rather than the top-billing films that the major studios prided themselves on.
Even after Joseph P Kennedy (father to JFK and Robert) bought out FBO and
installed Paramount’s east coast head of production William LeBaron, the studio
still couldn’t shake off a poor-cousin reputation. The turning point came with
the sound revolution when the president of Radio Corporation of America (RCA),
David Sarnoff, was scoping for a studio whose movies could utilise his
company’s new optical sound invention (recorded directly onto the photographic
film itself) in cinemas. The heavyweight studios had all signed binding
agreements to use Western Electric’s sound technology. RCA invested heavily in FBO
as the perfect partner to showcase RCA’s ‘Photophone’ system.
Despite now
having a seat at the big boys’ table with their cutting-edge tech, FBO was not
safe from the kind of merger mania that suddenly gripped Hollywood studios.
Their major competitors feverishly speculated about potential buy-outs of each
other to attain a monopoly position. This inevitably fostered a paranoia of
vulnerability, particularly for FBO who didn’t have a vast chain of cinemas to
protect their stronghold. To counteract this, they made a deal with the K-A-O
(Keith-Albee-Orpheum) theatre network which immediately gave them access to
700-plus cinemas, albeit not all equipped to handle the new ‘talkies’. At a
stroke, RCA gained a controlling interest in both FBO and K-A-O in October of
1928. What had once been dismissed as a Poverty Row outfit was now a major
player worth $300 million dollars and with a new name – RKO.
As was made
clear from trade journal adverts hyping his new empire - ‘A TITAN IS BORN…ECLIPSING IN ITS STAGGERING MAGNITUDE AND FAR-REACHING
INTERESTS ANY ENTERPRISE IN THE HISTORY OF SHOW-BUSINESS’) - Sarnoff’s
ambition for his studio extended further than film. He wanted RKO to connect
the radio media with the film world. They already owned the NBC network, (now
the oldest major network broadcaster in the USA), and trade-marked the name
‘Radio Pictures’. This is why their fondly-remembered logo is the quaint radio
mast famously signalling ’A Radio Picture’ before each film.
Sarnoff’s
triumphal advertising was not simply hot-air hubris. It heralded immense
physical expansion of the studio, adding more theatre chains, half a million
dollars invested in talking film production and another 500 acres of production
property. He was an avant-garde media visionary who saw a future where film,
radio, theatre and the latest medium of TV could work together long before the
understanding of ‘multi-media’ that is so commonplace today. Unfortunately a
single house style never emerged (as for example with the gritty reality gangster
pictures of Warner Bros or the lush musical make-believe speciality of M-G-M).
In their
superb biography The RKO Story,
Richard B Jewell and Vernon Harbin noted that different film-maker groups and
new managements succeeded each other frequently, and so the studio never gained
a settled identity. It relied on the governing personality of whoever was in
charge, which was prone to regular turbulent change. Though it ultimately was
sold to the unbalanced Howard Hughes in 1948 who offloaded it to General
Teleradio, Inc in 1955 (thereby ceasing its erratic production schedule for
good), during RKO’s heyday there were two periods of interest to horror fans. One
was the cycle of famously distinctive horror films produced by Val Lewton in
the 1940s including The Cat People and The Body Snatcher - low-budget and
titled for sensationalism, they rescued the studio from financial trouble.
The first
though was the earlier regime that gave birth to cinema’s most-loved monster – King Kong. David O Selznick, the genius
producer who later went on to mastermind the Oscar winners Gone With the Wind (1939) and Rebecca (1940) replaced William LeBaron
as production and single-handedly ushered in a more highbrow roster of movies.
Before his desire for ungranted full creative control caused him to leave RKO,
he brought in Merian C Cooper, his protégé who replaced him in early 1933.
Cooper was a
documentary-maker, explorer and aviation fanatic, a remarkable man who had
willed himself from a timid child-hood and small stature into keen physical
fitness and a confident personality that exemplified life-long bravery and
derring-do. His motto was to pursue anything adventurous that was ‘distant,
difficult and dangerous’. In World War One, he chose to become a bomber pilot
for the French effort, resulting in a remarkable near-death experience piloting
his bullet-riddled, flaming ‘plane to the ground without the use of his burned
hands, using only his knees and elbows. (His family had received official
notice that he had been killed in action). He spent the rest of the war in a
German POW camp and for the rest of his life would maintain close active links
with aerial military duty. His passion for telling astounding human stories was
partly inspired by flying for the courageous Polish freedom fighters in over 70
missions against the Bolsheviks.
Cooper had a
feeling for spectacle and showbiz that surely inspired the central character of
showman Carl Denham in King Kong. Whilst Selznick was still overseeing him.
Cooper was given free reign to develop his passion for adventure films. Gorillas
had fascinated the adventure-seeking Cooper since his childhood reading the
book Adventures In Equatorial Africa.
He had filmed baboons whilst on movie location work, and after reading W.
Douglas Burden's The Dragon Lizards of
Komodo, he conjured up an early screenplay idea containing some of the key
elements he would later use in Kong:
a gorilla fighting a lizard, a female heroine and settings that shifted from an
exotic island to modern New York City. Paramount studio was offered it, but
baulked at the cost of remote location work (this was right at the start of
America’s ruinous Great Depression). Enter Selznick, who allowed Cooper to
develop his own projects at RKO whilst being his executve assistant.
Cooper soon
forged creative relationships that would create components for King Kong. He conceived The Most Dangerous Game (see my review
of 30/3) whose evil big-game hunter of humans protagonist took his explorer
theme and tinged it with horror. He enlisted actors Robert Armstrong and Fay
Wray who would star in King Kong. Ernest
P. Schoedsack was enlisted to direct, his partner from their documentary
company who co-directed their renowned ‘natural drama’ projects Chang and Grass. Schoedsack was a crucial influence on Cooper and in our
story, teaching him the basics of film technique and forging a globe-trotting
partnership recording and creating real-life tales of valour over hardship. He
also inspired Cooper’s creation of Driscoll in King Kong, the ship’s first mate, who finds women a nuisance on
adventure travel but begrudgingly accepts then falls in love with Ann.
Whilst The Most Dangerous Game was in safe
hands, Cooper could transfer his attention to the soaring budget on Creation, a dinosaur island film whose
special effects designer was Willis O’Brien. Though he would head one of the
most vital creative talent teams of Cooper’s future blockbuster, O’Brien’s boss
was not impressed by his stop-motion work here. (O’Brien had previously
realised dinosaur effects such as a brontosaurus terrorising London in 1925’s The Lost World). However it was enough to convince Cooper to
junk his original dragon-centric concept, focusing instead on a single enormous
gorilla, cannibalise the jungle sets and with O’Brien’s model effects, assemble
a cast for a presentation including actors Robert Armstrong and Fay Wray from Game. The studio backed him. The name of
the epic horror-adventure film changed during production from The Eighth Wonder, The Beast and Kong
until settling on its regal title. Cooper collaborated with Ernest P.
Schoedsack in directing and producing duties and brought in James Ashmore
Creelman and then Ruth Rose, Schoedsack’s wife, to complete the screenplay he
had started with Edgar Wallace. It was Rose who managed to incIude all the
crucial plot points and buIld tension before Kong’s first unforgettable
appearance. The movie began shooting in August 1932 but wasn’t ready for
release until March 1933.
For those
who haven’t seen it, the story goes that film-making entrepreneur Carl Denham
(the role of a lifetime for Robert Armstrong) persuades down-on-her-luck young
beauty Ann Darrow (an equally signature career role for Fay Wray) to join his
voyage to a far-off island to film something exciting he will not disclose. The
promise of money and adventure lures her and she signs on, falling in love with
Bruce Cabot’s lacklustre first mate Driscoll as they make their way to the
uncharted Skull Island. There they
encounter natives before an enormous gate about to offer a maiden to the mighty
‘Kong’ that they worship. The tribal leader decides that Ann and her unusual
(to them) blonde hair will make a perfect sacrificial offering to their gorilla
master and kidnap her from Denham’s ship to do so.
The
spectacular sacrificial scene reveals Kong, an incredible 50-foot gorilla that
surpasses even Denham’s wildest dreams for a film subject. He is enamoured by
Ann and carries her away into the jungle. In tracking her, the crew discover
the unimagined bonus of other giant-size creatures and dinosaur inhabitants
too. They are attacked by a Stegosaurus and a Brontosaurus. Kong finds himself
in the heat of battle as well with a T-Rex, a Pteranodon (a diversion allowing
Driscoll’s men to rescue Ann from both of them) and an Elasmosaurus. In his
rage, Kong attacks the crew-men, shaking some of them off a log to their deaths
in the ravine below.
Rather than relishing
their narrow escape, Denham seizes the chance to capture Kong as the ultimate
show-piece for paying audiences back home. He drugs him with gas bombs and
ships him back to New York City as the Eighth Wonder of the World. Paraded on a
theatre stage in steel shackles, Kong is docile until his temper is ignited at
seeing Driscoll with his arm around Ann and by the harsh flash-bulbs of the
photographers. He breaks free from captivity and runs amok, plucking Ann from
the hotel room where she hides, wrecking a train and scaling the Empire State
Building with her. Atop the building, he is subjected to aerial bombardment by
military biplanes until he plummets to his death. As Denham surveys the
once-phenomenal creature’s body, a police officer satisfies himself that the
‘planes got him. Denham disagrees with a trace of mournful respect “It was beauty killed the beast”.
The theme of
beauty versus beastliness is made evident through the film, yet the accepted
definition of what is civilised and what is primitive, and where it is found,
is not as simple as we might think. We may be led to lazy racism dismissing the
tribe that worship a giant gorilla as ignorant idolatrous savages who also
cannot be trusted – (our innocent white women will inevitably be kidnapped by
them) - yet are the westerners here more principled people? Leaving aside the
indiscriminate shooting of the Stegosaurus which arguably could have been left
alone, Denham’s people are not guests of the islanders. They turn up uninvited
and expect to pillage it of its most important indigenous living creature like
common thieves (or slave-traders if you want to draw a heavy comparison from
history). No wonder Kong goes ape-shit. He didn’t sign up for drugged abduction
from his homeland to a frightening metropolis that even a hayseed human would
find intimidating. Also, in those soulful eyes that O’Brien’s team gave him and
the tender moves he puts on Ann, he is less of a rough creature than you might
expect. When Kong is shot down by the navy airplanes, that is no mercy killing.
I would have enjoyed even more of Kong trampling New York as revenge. His death
is execution dressed up as some kind of heroism, but despite the faux-nobility
of Denham’s tribute at the end, (let’s not forget this is the guy who tells the
theatre punters that Kong is ‘merely a
show to gratify your curiosity’), the captivity and undignified parading of
a beautiful wild animal solely for money is not our finest hour.
For all the
competition we could give him in (liberal) chest-beating, it is drowned out by
the awesome spectacle of the set pieces of King
Kong, splintering any soap-boxes along with tribal huts, trains and much
more in his breathtakingly-staged path. The scale and poignancy of Kong’s
stunning realisation excited audiences rather than the humans, and still do to
this day. Remember, he was the first major star of a film to be solely a visual
effect creation. No-one ends the film gabbling to each other about the
relationships between Denham, Darrow and Driscoll. They are assembled with functional
speed and humour to move the plot to the real thrills. (Denham’s “Great!” that ends his whirlwind pitch
to Ann is funny in his presumption of her acceptance, matched only by the pace
of Driscoll’s later sudden confession that he loves her).
In the
casting, actors Robert Armstong and particularly Fay Wray were pulling
double-duty, split between King Kong
and The Most Dangerous Game shooting
simultaneously. The effects work was so time-consuming on Kong that she was only needed for around ten weeks of its eight
month production schedule. Wray had been enticed, Denham-like, by Cooper’s
pitch that she would have the ‘tallest, darkest leading-man in Hollywood’
before revealing his simian identity. She in fact performed in 11 films that
year, notably Mystery of the Wax Museum
– (reviewed 23/4). Bruce Cabot had originally been spotted working as a waiter
before being put under contract by RKO and leading to Cooper’s epic.
Willis
O’Brien had worked through a myriad of jobs as a jockey, boxer, farm-hand and
cowboy amongst others. Experimenting with cameras, he invented stop-motion
photography (filming one frame at a time to create the illusion of continuous
movement) almost by accident. For The
Lost World, based on Conan Doyle’s novel, he created a wealth of dinosaurs
that wowed audiences, yet the time he worked on Creation, he was struggling to convince studios to bankroll the
enormous cost of the laborious work it took to film in stop-motion. Cooper
realised that he had already spent $100,000 on ongoing effects work for this
film at a time when an entire standard Hollywood film could be shot for just
$200,000. He was forced to cancel Creation.
To offset the crushing blow, O’Brien’s team was moved to what would become his
most celebrated show-case of cutting-edge talent using some of the abandoned
project’s ideas including virtually all the prehistoric creatures. (The
feature-packed American Bluray of King
Kong contains test footage and a narrated animatic of what Creation would have looked like)
Although
David O. Selznick’s involvement in King Kong was minor, he and fellow producer
B.B. Kahane shaved enough expenses from other planned films to provide £300,000
over the original budget to support the enormity of the vision for King Kong.
Marcel
Delgado and his unit under O’Brien created the various animated versions of Kong.
The brilliant mechanical puppets with intricate articulated skeletons were realised
in fabulous detail down to the separately-hinged phalanges of each finger, then
padded out with cotton dental dam for the musculature, a layer of rubber and
coated in rabbit fur for his hide. For the early jungle scenes, 18-inch models
of Kong were suitable, but when juxtaposed against the scale of the urban New
York sets a more domineering 24-inch version had to be constructed. There were
noticeably two different-looking visages for Kong, one called the ‘long face’
(seen when he fights the T-Rex) and one known as the ‘short face’. Studio insiders initially criticised the
hard-to-avoid rippling of the fur caused by the endless re-positions of his
body during the shots. They soon changed their tune when audience feedback
noted the ‘realism’ of his hair seeming to stand up on his body.
The finished
models were then ready for O’Brien and his assistant Buzz Dixon to animate in a
hugely labour-intensive process. He had spent almost twenty years pioneering
this incredibly patient and painstaking technique, which incidentally has
hardly changed at all in the decades since. It would require 1,440 separate
frames of filmed movement for each minute of film. Even at a good working pace of
say 10 frames per hour it can take 150 hours to generate that single minute on
screen. Seven weeks were spent just to create Kong’s heavyweight title fight
with the T-rex. What makes this work-load even more impressive is the time
found for those delicate, playful gestures that imbue Kong with so much
personality - his smelling of a flower while the Elasmosaurus sneaks up on Ann,
his child-like curiosity tweaking the dead T-Rex’s jaw and the mischievous way
he tickles the scantily-clad Ann, for example. O’Brien’s second wife fondly
recalled that she saw a lot of of her husband in Kong’s character.
(Technical blooper
fans might like to note that almost imperceptibly there is a frame of Kong
footage on a jungle ledge where the measuring surface gauge was left in the
shot).
The
stop-motion effects were often combined with live-action in multiple techniques
sometimes so sophisticated that even modern artists can’t always spot how they
were done. One system was to film the actors in front of rear-projected footage
of the creatures which helped performance authenticity by having them react to
its actual presence rather than their imagination. (I can recall numerous
interviews from films where embarrassed actors remember emoting their hearts
out in fear of an unrealised monster and then discover the later superimposed
beast was woefully unworthy of their efforts). Another was to shoot actors
‘in-camera’ and then merge those scenes with pre-filmed effects shots using the
Dunning Process of blue and yellow lights to produce composite images. The
Williams process was similar but allowed for using an optical printer without
the colours, instead of having to mix the images ‘live’. Kong’s shaking of the
men off the jungle log and his appearance through the marvellous giant gate
were filmed this way. Matte paintings on glass in front of the camera added
extra depth of perspective to the jungle sequences, crafted by a team featuring
Byron Crabbe, Henry Hillinck and Mario Larrinaga. The giant animated arm that
lifts Ann out of her hotel room was made of rubber so the enormous fingers
could safely wrap around Wray’s body as it moved.
Kong’s
superbly effective climb of the Empire State building was realised in
miniature, but using full-sized navy issue New York-based biplanes for the
dogfight. ‘We made ‘im. We should kill the son of a bitch ourselves’ stated
Cooper, earmarking cockpit cameos for himself and Schoedsack as the ‘plane duo
that brings down Kong. They did not fly the actual plane yet Cooper’s
experience as a WWI bomber ace could certainly have handled the real
stunt-work.
Willis
O’Brien’s ground-breaking artistry gained him a special technical patent. He
did not receive a richly-deserved Academy Award for King Kong sadly because at that time there was no precedent for FX
awards. This was later redressed somewhat with a special statuette when RKO won
an Oscar for Mighty Joe Young (1949)
for which he had been credited as Technical Creator. His more profound legacy
was to inspire generations of film-makers such as his famous protégé Ray
Harryhausen and Peter Jackson who made his own remake homage to King Kong in 2005.
Cooper’s
film wasn’t just a landmark in terms of the visuals. Thanks to Murray Spivack,
it also pushed the envelope of what was possible in cinema sound design as an
art form. Housed in the inauspicious environs of a small building formerly used
for Tom Mix’s horse, he experimented, recording human sounds and animals from
the local zoo, layering and combining. Kong’s full-blooded roar was a mix
between that of a tiger played backward at half-speed and a lion’s growl played
forward.
Spivack’s
sound effects, like the rest of King Kong, worked in harmony with the beautiful
score written by Max Steiner, possibly the first composer to construct a
soundtrack of specific cues and themes in a film such as lyrical strings for
Ann and an ominous three-note leitmotif for Kong himself. He is also an
important factor in building tension and touching our heartstrings with Kong’s
plight in the climax.
The
climactic Broadway show was achieved by filming in front of a full-house of
extras at the old Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles and later inserting a scene
of Kong himself as a matte screen effect. The bravura elevated train sequence,
where Kong gives us the vicarious pleasure of pulverising the vehicle and its
occupants, was an after-thought – Cooper discovered that the original cut of King Kong would have been a bad-luck
thirteen reels in length, so superstitiously added this highlight scene to
extend the running time. Later, with the aid of expert editing by Ted Cheesman,
he truncated the flagging pace of this version down to 11 reels (100 minutes).
When King Kong opened, it was an immediate
sensation, a massive box-office hit even though it came out at the height of the
Great Depression.
The
aforementioned re-releases, as successful as they were, each time suffered from
draconian censorship demands after the Production Code came to power in the
mid-1930s. Moments such as Kong biting the head off a New Yorker or stomping a
crew-man into the jungle earth were excised and presumed lost for decades until
it emerged in the 60s that the censor who cut them had taken the banned clips
home and sold them. For many years, the only way to see a full print was a
version with these 16mm edits crudely merged with a 35mm censored edition.
The almost fully
intact version on the Bluray comes from a restored British 35mm nitrate print
that mercifully had none of the 29 deletions made. However, there is a
legendary missing scene known to fans as ‘the spider- pit sequence’. It comes
after Kong shakes off the sailors into the chasm and just before Driscoll’s
attack by the Komodo dragon, where the crew-men are besieged by a crab-like
monster, an octopus, a two-legged lizard and a huge scuttling spider. O’Brien agreed
it slowed the plot down despite feeling it was some of his best work. He burned
the footage, something he commonly did to prevent unauthorised use by others,
and yet many years later Famous Monsters
of Filmland magazine printed a tantalising still frame showing the infamous
arachnid. This obsessed superfan Peter Jackson to the point of enlisting his
Weta team, Frank Darabont and Rick Baker to film a fans’ recreation of what the
scene could have resembled using armature models, Weta staff as actors and Ruth
Rose’s script, which handily was handily written like a shot-list blueprint.
During filming they were surprised to find clues to an additional missing
sequence where the sailors are pursued by a Styrachosaurus on the other side of
the log, so they sourced O’Brien’s original armature as an aid and FX from the
sequel Son of Kong as a reference. In
post-production they even had access to twenty minutes of out-takes from Max
Steiner’s score.
Peter
Jackson and his friends’ finished labour of love is a fitting tribute to the powerful
longevity of the awesome King Kong –
truly the Eighth Wonder of the World.
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