The Little Mermaid II: Return to the Sea (2000)

photo of the cover to the blu-ray two-movie collection of Little Mermaid II: Return to the Sea and Little Mermaid: Ariel’s Beginning, showing mermaid Ariel on the left and mermaid Melody on the right, both facing the center of the cover; Sebastian the crab is at bottom center; three of Ariel’s sisters are bottom left; Morgana the lesser sea witch is center right
photo of the top half of the back cover to the blu-ray two-movie collection of Little Mermaid II: Return to the Sea and Little Mermaid: Ariel’s Beginning, with one picture from each movie and a list of bonus features

Overall, this is good.

First, they made a smart decision to take the story further in time and focus on Ariel’s  daughter, not create a new situation all about Ariel. They do work in Ariel turning back into a mermaid, but they give her a darn good reason to do it. And to the extent that this plot rehashes the first—daughter longs for other life, rebels against family, bargains with sea witch—it’s done in reverse, showing the opposite side of the coin, and places Ariel to some extent in the role of Triton, making overprotective mistakes even if she’s gentler about it. As a bonus, Melody’s age nearly matches how much actual time passed for the audience between release of the original movie (1989) and release of the sequel (2000). Plus it’s just really enjoyable to see how Ariel’s life developed after the end of the first movie.

Second, they got back most of the original voice cast. Sometimes people are genuinely unavailable (even deceased), but too many sequels either don’t want to pay the original voice actors or don’t have scripts good enough to interest them. But audiences definitely want the real character voices.

Third, on the whole the story makes sense and holds together. The emotional arc rings true and provides a reason for the movie/special to be here. There are no gaping plot holes, glaring inconsistencies, or wild coincidences to keep the action moving or provide resolution.

That’s not to say there aren’t problems.

One, we have to overlook the implausibly long lives of some characters. Others (like Max the dog), if not dead, would be too old to be as active as they’re portrayed. Surely Grimsby would at least be retired.

Two, it’s a bit of a stretch that nobody can find Morgana for twelve years. Possibly the ice cavern is the top of an island/iceberg that floats around, not a stationary target, which would help. And of course Triton isn’t going to be intently searching the entire time—and maybe we’re supposed to think he stopped looking altogether after the wall was put up.

Third, the wall itself is dubious. Is Ariel’s reaction really going to be to wall off the sea entirely? This is hardly the only solution. And even if she did choose the wall, why does that entail cutting off all ties with Triton and keeping her daughter completely ignorant of her heritage? The decision to build a wall can kind of be explained but doesn’t feel convincing.

Worse than any story shortcomings, however, the songs fall short. At one point I wanted to say they would’ve been better off leaving out songs entirely; but music was such an essential part of The Little Mermaid that everyone expects it to have a role in the sequel, and the girl is named Melody! You’ve got to have the characters singing songs. We know Jodi Benson can sing, so I don’t understand why the songs featuring Ariel are so lifeless.

“For One Moment” ought to be the emotional highlight—the moviemakers doubtless meant for it to be, but it doesn’t fully rise to the occasion. It’s like the ingredients are all there but aren’t coming together right, a cake that was mixed poorly or underbaked. Did they need a bigger orchestra holding up the vocals? Did a musical director not spend enough time pulling the best performances out of the two leads? Were people involved, at whatever level, not given enough time to make it right? It isn’t bad, it’s just isn’t great, and suffers inevitably by comparison with everything in the original film. It’s not fair to expect everyone to be on the level of Menken and Ashman, and Disney is hardly going to go out and hire, say, Steven Sondheim for this production, but this one song at least needed extra magic it didn’t get. It frustrates me because I think the song could’ve gotten there, and almost did.

Triton knows exactly what to do to torment that big, bad bully shark.

The appearance of the wall in the time-passing moment is quite effective. The wall is ominous.

There are truths that children need to know about themselves, and when you conceal those truths, disaster results. It’s easy to say “they’re too young, we’ll explain later, when they’re older,” but life shows us that parents tend to be extraordinarily unwilling to ever admit the time has come, and inevitably the child feels cheated or resentful when the truth finally comes out.

Morgana knows where Melody is, and we might wonder why she hasn’t done anything to the girl in all this time. But Morgana hasn’t spent twelve years plotting to destroy Melody, she’s spent twelve years plotting to get the trident. Melody was never more than a tool on the way to that goal, and the wall is apparently enough to keep her looking for different tools (at least until Melody touching the magic pendant draws Morgana’s attention back to her). So to that extent the wall did work.

If this sea witch wants the same object as the last one did, she is explicitly trying to outdo her sister, so there’s a reason for the repetition. Note that the actual motivation is different—Ursula had a personal score to settle on top of wanting power. (Morgana does too, but it’s not with Triton.) Is Morgana not as scary or as competent as Ursula? Well, the story makes clear Morgana was always considered second-best.

Most of what Morgana tells Melody in the seduction sequence is quite true. “Triton stole my trident” is obviously baloney, but “Your mother kept this from you” and “You’re not just some human” are spot-on, and even the part about the mermaid transformation being temporary turns out to be accurate.

With some reflection, Melody might ask herself, “If Morgana can’t get the trident back by herself what makes me think I can get it?” Melody might be old enough to ask this, but the answer is that the thief knows Morgana and guards will be on the alert for her, but no one will be suspicious of innocent young mermaid Melody.

Sharks grow new teeth constantly. Knocking out Undertow’s teeth isn’t a long-term solution, although we can hope that without Morgana he won’t be chasing down Triton’s family to cause them more trouble. He’ll probably remain a bully, but maybe he’s practical enough to decide that being big again is good enough and he’s better off keeping clear of the Sea King instead of trying to settle the score by himself.

I am going to assume that Melody goes and stays with her grandfather underwater for a month or two every summer, and he makes her a mermaid for that time, and whether she wants to live as human or merfolk in the end is something she can decide when she’s older. For now she can experience both lives and learn who she really is.

Maybe Melody is the ancestor of the type of mermaid seen in Splash, able to have legs on land and a tail in the sea, because Triton someday magically changes her to be that way and she happens to pass this trait on to her children. (Did you know Splash was the first movie produced by Disney’s live-action studio Touchstone Pictures?)

In this story I truly appreciate the idea of claiming your uniqueness and taking hold of what makes you different from everyone else. You don’t need to give away what makes you special and become something ordinary.

Also see:
The Little Mermaid
The Little Mermaid: Ariel’s Beginning

Reflections: The Little Mermaid (1989)

photo of the cover of the “Anniversary Edition” blu-ray of Disney’s animated film The Little Mermaid, showing Ariel looking up to the top left corner with Flounder on one side and Sebastian on the other, and Ursula grinning in the lower distance
Every time I see this cover I start to whistle “Under the Sea.”

It’s mentioned a lot in DVD extras and the like, but casual post–Gen X viewers may not realize how revolutionary The Little Mermaid was in U.S. animation when it came out.* In the 1980s animated movies were still being made—Secret of NIMH, Last Unicorn, American Tail, Disney’s own Oliver and Company—but they weren’t huge, and Disney was more engaged with making live-action films and rereleasing past glories than with creating new animation.

The idea of “the Disney princess” did not exist. Snow White, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty were around, but they weren’t viewed as a collective franchise or thought of as a group beyond the general fact that all three were in Disney movies. Now, after a long spell of modest efforts, Disney went back to the formula of fairy tale + songs, and The Little Mermaid became an enormous success, effectively launching all the princess films that followed, from Beauty and the Beast to Pocahontas on through Moana. Animation from other studios came hurrying after in the wake.

Disney animated movies had always had songs, but this time the songs took on a new dimension. Howard Ashman and Alan Menken brought in more of the sensibility of musical theatre, and transformed what the animated musical looked like. Oliver and Company—its production overlapped with that of Little Mermaid—was also a musical, but something about it didn’t catch. Little Mermaid got into the country’s heart.

This is a wonderful, moving film, combining dynamic animation, beautiful music, and characters with depth and complexity, a film that went light years beyond the things that had come before it in this country. It soared off the screen in a way we weren’t prepared for.

* I specify U.S. animation, because despite Battle of the Planets, Star Blazers, and Robotech, general U.S. culture wasn’t paying attention to the animation coming out of Japan.

I had a problem the first time I saw Little Mermaid, though: I knew how the story was supposed to end, and I felt betrayed because they changed the beauty of the original story’s conclusion. After all, it’s only logical that if you’re to choose a tragedy, you must be okay with a heartbreaking ending. Keeping the unhappy ending seems unthinkable now, but at the time it actually felt possible to me—naive perhaps, but also a sign that the movie existed at a truly transitional moment, with the old Disney fairy-tales long past, and the modern stream not yet imagined. I knew this film was a new thing, although it wasn’t quite as groundbreaking as that would have been.

Ariel is an active princess who goes out and pursues her desires. She has choices, and she makes them herself, good and bad. The entire plot moves because she is chasing her dreams and fantasies, and if she had been a passive, obedient daughter, the story would consist of a successful debut concert and Eric’s ship sinking, which she would not care about even if she knew of it, because it would be just another shipwreck she had no connection to.

I think one of the main reasons this film had such an impact is that as an audience we care deeply about Ariel, something that might be traced largely to a single song. “Part of Your World” brings together lyrics, instruments, vocal performance, and animation into a sequence of almost tangible longing. From the careful, steady pacing to the breathiness of certain lines to the size of her eyes and the way she literally reaches upward to the world she can’t have, it all brings you into her yearning so you can feel what she feels (and oh-so-naturally slips in a phrase you might not notice at the time or think about even after you know what happens later: “What would I give—?”).

Ariel’s father Triton does harsh things that hurt her but immediately regrets losing his temper and second-guesses his impulsive actions. He doesn’t rage over nothing, but he overreacts, then sees that he overreacted and blames himself. He acts like he has all the answers, but when he has time to think, he realizes he doesn’t. His negative actions drive Ariel forward in the plot, but he isn’t a villain. And when the moment comes to save Ariel, he takes her place just as impulsively and without concern for anything but her.

Ursula the sea witch is intelligent, devious, and crafty. More than that, she’s formidable. She thinks several steps ahead and has an old feud with Triton that the storyline only skims but must have been festering for years. You might suspect that all the merfolk she’s cheated over this time have in some way been jabs to get back at Triton, taking his people away from him whenever she can. The movie’s main character is only a pawn in Ursula’s own tale; she uses Ariel as a tool to achieve something else and near the end directly tells her, “It’s not you I’m after.” Ursula’s grievance and resentment has made her keen and meticulous instead of impulsive and reckless; in temperament she is the exact opposite of Triton. Which is probably why she finally gets the better of him. (Note that Triton has no hand in defeating her.)

We should not overlook the sheer daring of deciding to make a musical, establishing within the story that the main character has a beautiful singing voice, and then making that character voiceless for half the movie.

The first time I saw a picture of what actual flounders look like, I was first disgusted and second confused, because there was no way Flounder was a flounder, no matter how much you prettify an ugly fish for animation. But of course, he isn’t a flounder, it’s just his name, inexplicably. This is a lot like naming your horse Moose, or calling your dog Hyena. But did Ariel name him or did his mother or did he name himself? I think we should know that.

I wonder, was this the last Disney fairy-tale where the villain was deliberately killed by one of the good guys? Usually they fall by accident or some natural disaster overtakes them.

scan of the cover of issue 11 of Comics Scene magazine (Feb. 1990), featuring Ariel and Flounder from The Little Mermaid, with a headshot of Ursula, along with pictures related to other articles on Superman and Fighting American, and a top line reading “Artist Bill Sienkiewicz speaks!”
Comics Scene magazine, issue 11 (Feb. 1990)

I recently read an article from an issue of Comics Scene—which, as you can see, covered animation as well as comics—about The Little Mermaid. The cover date is Feb 1990, but it would’ve been published a little earlier; this would’ve been on sale while the movie was in theaters, and the article written before that. The people being interviewed couldn’t be sure how successful the movie would be, and it’s funny to see the co-director feeling a need to clarify that Ariel is the name of the main character.

I think my favorite part of the article is this little gem about Ursula:

“Inky, slinky Ursula is voiced by Pat Carroll, who envisions the character as part Shakespearean actress, with all the requisite theatricality, and part used car saleswoman.”
detail of page 38 of Comics Scene issue 11 (Feb. 1990), showing an animation still of Ursula from Disnely’s Little Mermaid overlaid with the following text: “Inky, slinky Ursula is voiced by Pat Carroll, who envisions the character as part Shakespearean actress, with all the requisite theatricality, and part used car saleswoman.”
“inky, slinky Ursula”
detail of page 38 of Comics Scene issue 11 (Feb. 1990), with a photo of Ruben Aquino drawing beside a sculpted maquette of Ursula; the photo caption reads “Born and raised in Okinawa, Ruben Aquino supervised a staff of four animators assigned to Ursula.”; some text of the Little Mermaid article is to the right of the photo
Ruben Aquino at work
Also see:
The Little Mermaid II: Return to the Sea
The Little Mermaid: Ariel’s Beginning

Reflections: Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989)

photo of the cover of the GKids blu-ray release of the animated film Kiki's Delivery Service, showing Kiki smiling as she flies towards the left on her broom, with Jiji the black cat perching on her shoulderbag and birds flying by
Kiki, Jiji, and a radio

It is so strange to see Kiki in more colorful clothes at the start of the movie. I completely forgot this was in the film.

Kiki meets another witch who seems like a snob but nevertheless takes time to answer her questions; she might be showing off and acting fancy, but she isn’t mean or rude. Jiji says the cat is stuck-up, but later he says the same thing about a different cat and learns otherwise.

I notice this other witch’s dress isn’t actually black.

With all the other times characters act like snobs, is Kiki guilty of this too, in her early treatment of Tombo?

Osono: the warmth and comfort of being welcomed by a stranger into her kitchen to share a hot drink—not as a daughter but also not quite as a friend, seen as still a child but able to make your own decisions, given extra kindness and understanding but not indulgence. Later Ursula the painter does much the same, though as less of a stranger by then.

A silent baker shamelessly showing off—for the cat.

An artist in the woods, independent and following her own path; and, we learn, she has previously had to break from her old practice of copying other painters.

This aged dog is an artistic ancestor of Heen in Howl’s Moving Castle.

Kiki, you need to say thank you to that dog.

Kiki tells Osono she can’t make deliveries now, and seems genuinely afraid she’ll be asked to leave the bakery attic. She ought to know Osono wouldn’t throw her out, but she is still thirteen years old, not as grown-up internally as she often seems.

Someone you care for is in mortal danger, and there is no hope for him but you, and yet the one special thing that makes you able to help is the thing that isn’t working at that moment.

A dirigible captain who knows his priorities: speak to the boy to give him instructions and reassurance, not to the crew, who know their jobs and signed on for this task knowing the risks.

“There are still times I feel sad . . .”

By the end of the movie, Kiki still doesn’t have a special skill or focus. She flies . . . which is the basic thing that all witches do. This always leaves me dissatisfied; but perhaps the point is her acceptance that right now, being able to fly on a broom (and talk to a cat) is enough.

Miyazaki elements: of course the flying machines, and flight in general; the need to find a balance between the old ways and the new ways; expressive faces as always; and a girl with grim determination as invisible power courses around her, making her hair rise up.

There is no single trigger for Kiki’s crisis of confidence. We see her repeatedly regret the way she must dress while other girls get to look nice. She encounters the other witch who has a speciality, while she does not. She’s learned that the town has rules and habits that don’t make allowances for witches. Staring in boredom out a window, she looks up with interest at the sight of a young man, only to watch him leave with a cheerful young woman in a light-colored dress. We can imagine, though it’s never hinted at in anything she says, that Kiki second-guesses her decision to leave home before preparing herself better and maybe learning some of those potions her mother wanted to teach her. Possibly she asks herself if she gets along better with adults than people her own age because she’s old-fashioned and behind the times. She admits that she doesn’t find flying fun. She ends up wet and bedraggled face-to-face with a well-to-do birthday girl in her party dress, who treats Kiki like an unimportant laborer—treatment in keeping with being a deliveryperson. Then she gets upset that Tombo is friends with this girl.

It isn’t as simple as Kiki wanting to be like the birthday girl, though, because it seems clear Kiki considers her rude and ungrateful, someone who speaks dismissively of a good and thoughtful grandmother. Kiki may want what the richer girl has, but she wouldn’t want to be her. Is it possible to have it both ways, being fashionable and glamorous but at the same time pure in heart and respectful and kind? Does being the second mean she’ll never be the first?

I imagine this conversation as Kiki returns the broom at the end of the movie:

Kiki (bowing): Thank you so much for letting me borrow this!
Street sweeper: Oh, not at all! I’m glad it was useful!
Kiki: It’s a good broom. Please continue to take good care of it.
Street sweeper: Oh! Well, if you like it so much—you could have it!
Kiki: Oh, no! I couldn’t! It belongs with you. It wouldn’t like to be given away.
Street sweeper (looking with puzzlement at broom-head): Is that so . . . ?

My Neighbor Totoro (1988)

photo of the cover of the GKids blu-ray release of My Neighbor Totoro, showing a girl holding an umbrella waiting at a bus stop in the rain beside a large fluffy blue-grey whiskered creature staring straight ahead; he has a leaf on his head
In Miyazaki’s original version of the story, there was only one girl, not a pair of sisters.

Totoro in a few words and phrases: joyful, playful, beaming with wonder, rich in emotion.

Miyazaki trademarks offered here: nature coexisting with humans and vice versa, touches of a not-hostile supernatural, flying in strong wind, active girls looking out for their family or community, facial expressions that communicate so much.

Both girls, but especially Mei, show absolute delight and eagerness when they encounter creatures and situations that would be scary if allowed to be. The girls boldly leap at things that are strange and new.

You can be good, kind, and respectful but still behave like a kid.

Satsuki is working so hard to fill the place her mother would: preparing bento boxes, tending the kitchen fire, fixing her little sister’s hair, reminding her father of things.

At the start you see the truck packed with belongings, and Miyazaki doesn’t forget to include, without drawing any special attention to them, a pair of umbrellas sticking out the top.

I wonder if Totoro’s breath smells like leaves and fresh grass. It must not smell bad, and is likely even pleasant, because Mei and Satsuki aren’t the least bit fazed when he exhales a gale on either of them.

I will always and forever love the catbus.

When your dog seems to be barking at nothing at all, it might not be a ghost—it might be a catbus.

Reflections: King Kong (1933)

photo of the cover of the Warner Archive Collection blu-ray edition of the original King Kong film

I’ve seen the original, the 1976 version, and Peter Jackson’s 2005 remake. The best special effects are in Jackson’s version, not surprisingly, but in most other ways the original King Kong is superior to its later imitators.

And in fact the original’s special effects are far better than what you should expect from 1933. Willis O’Brien not only made supposedly impossible shots possible, he turned a monster into a character.

The Premise

In all the versions I’ve seen, the King Kong story has at its center a preposterous notion: that a gigantic gorilla has any interest in a human woman except perhaps as something to chew and swallow. 

One of the many remarkable things about the film is that it doesn’t simply ask you to believe that an ape is interested in a woman, it shows you that Kong cares about her, and you believe it.

And yet you can’t justify Kong’s interest in any natural way. Yes, for a moment or two maybe Kong would be curious about this odd creature, bleached white unlike all the other humans he’s seen, puzzled enough to pause and poke at her before deciding what to do—but the answer, reasonably, would have to be either “eat” or “throw away as too risky to eat.” But you don’t have much of a movie that way, so you simply have to go with the idea or give up.

Unless we invent a story nowhere hinted at in the film that as a baby, Kong was cared for by a human woman—it would not be a white woman, but an islander—after his own gorilla mother was killed (presumably by a dinosaur). If infant Kong was nurtured by a human woman, up to the point where he could fend for himself in the wild, or maybe when that woman was herself killed somehow, then he could indeed have some obsessive (completely non-sexual) desire to possess and be around a human woman. The fact that Ann is white would be little more than a temporary distraction—him thinking, Okay, she looks a little weird, but, all right, no, this is basically the same as the mother-creature. Carrying Ann back to his lair and setting her up on a ledge would then be the same thing he’s done with all the “sacrificed” women over the years. He brings them home and dimly expects that they will fill the niche his foster mother once did, satisfying a garbled psychological need.

(Just think—that kid at the orphanage in Cider House Rules might’ve been on to something.)

Each woman would last a while but eventually expire—maybe he fails to feed her properly or she accidentally falls off the ledge or he picks her up too roughly or she fails to meet his expectation somehow so he gets mad and smashes her. The only thing unique about Ann’s case is that this time people come after her, armed with guns, gas bombs, and little concern for consequences.

Racism

Viewers today ought to be prepared to face head-on the issue of racism in King Kong.

Most immediately evident are the islanders, presented in stereotypical ways with appearance, customs, and actions probably chosen to signal “primitive.”

But it’s fair to note that many of the condescending and bigoted things the movie tells us about the islanders (like the idea that they’ve been degraded and lost the civilization that the wall-builders possessed) come out of the mouths of white men thoroughly ignorant of their history and culture, and we can easily suppose that what we’re hearing is the result of these men’s own biases, arrogance, and sense of cultural superiority, not anything remotely like an accurate assessment of the islanders.

In other words, we can often pin the racism not on the movie itself but on the characters, and observe that they are being people of their time, idiotically spouting things they don’t know because it suits their hyper-inflated ideas about white culture. Instead of pointing at the islanders and saying, “Wow, they’re savage!” we can point to Denham and the sailors and say, “Wow, they’re clueless and prejudiced!” if we choose to.

Logically the people of the island ought to be Pacific Islanders, or conceivably Indigenous South Americans, and not Africans, but the movie seems to have relied largely on African American actors to play these parts (and maybe a few white men painted to look black). In some shots the filmmakers have apparently made a special effort to emphasize people’s hair and facial expressions in ways that are brief but cringeworthy.

On the other hand, note that the islanders are entirely ready to throw spears at Kong and fight him, hopeless or not. They are not trapped in any superstition about the sanctity of an “ape god” as we might expect to find in a movie of this era. They know very well Kong is a threat and that he is not so sacred they must be passive before him.

Also some of the shots of islanders facing Kong have clear parallels in the shots of New Yorkers facing him. Kong reaches into a two-story hut to pull out a nameless victim; Kong reaches into a hotel window to pull out a nameless victim. Kong throws a hut wall that lands on islanders in the foreground; Kong throws an awning that lands on New Yorkers in the foreground. Kong puts an islander in his mouth; Kong puts a businessman in his mouth. The island defenders hurl spears; the city defenders fire pistols. There’s no difference in bravery or panic or commotion, only a difference in technology.

Charlie the Chinese cook speaks in stereotypical language, and his role on ship is subservient, but in his actions and behavior he’s never a caricature or a joke. In fact when he finds a pivotal clue he immediately knows what to do and correctly takes the initiative without hesitation or doubt, setting in motion the next portion of the plot. He’s a capable, intelligent individual, not just a servant to white people.

In addition to all that is Kong himself. Yes, he’s a gorilla, not a human being, but the racist comparison of Africans and African Americans to apes has a long history, and this is an ape with an obsession for a white woman, and such obsession is another old racist trope. You can watch and enjoy the movie on its surface terms without getting the idea that Kong symbolizes black men or a black man, but when you’re aware of racist slurs and imagery it’s hard to believe the filmmakers weren’t playing with this notion on some level, though it would be more as a way to heighten white viewers’ anxiety than as any kind of direct allegory or analogy. (There’s no reactionary social message here like you can find in Pierre Boule’s Planet of the Apes novel or the movie[s] made from it.)

King Kong doesn’t try to tell us what the islanders are thinking when they go out of their way to sacrifice Ann. Viewers may assume—and may have been expected to assume—that it’s because her whiteness makes her a “superior” sacrifice, but this is hardly a necessary conclusion. It may simply be that since the outsiders ruined the first ceremony, one of the outsiders should become the replacement sacrifice. Maybe the islanders also thought that although this woman looked bizarre to them, Kong might like a little variety, and it meant no one from their own community needed to die.

On the other hand, we do not actually know that this is a human sacrifice meant to appease the giant ape; for all we know, the local woman who was nearly delivered to Kong was being punished for some terrible deed, and that gong they rang to summon him was sounded only when they happened to have a capital punishment to mete out.

In any case we ought to marvel at and respect the resilience, ingenuity, and intelligence of the islanders and their ancestors for creating a viable human community in such an intensely inhospitable place.

Natural History

It is hard to imagine any natural history that would allow giant gorillas to develop on an island populated by dinosaurs, even if we accept giant gorillas as biologically possible. (There was, at least, gigantopithecus, apparently a massive prehistoric orangutan.) I would propose that the dinosaurs, reptiles, and insects are native to the island but gorillas are not. Giant gorillas, let us imagine, are native to some other island (or mainland) and were brought to Skull Island by the humans who journeyed there—possibly as a necessary condition for settlement. It may be that without giant gorillas protecting them they would not have been able to establish a community in this hostile place. Suppose that these humans had tamed giant gorillas in their previous home, and brought several along as breeding stock, but at some point in intervening history the gorillas became feral and mostly died out, leaving Kong as probably the last survivor.

Miscellaneous

You’d think the path to the captive sacrifice would already be clear of trees, unless it has been a LONG time since the last one.

Most of the time when you use a dummy for a human body it looks silly, as when the brontosaur-type lake creature grabs people in its mouth. But when Kong shakes the men off the log and the “bodies” land on the rocks below, the limp, flailing limbs kind of work, uncomfortably.

Kong has brute strength, but he doesn’t defeat a tyrannosaur with that. He wins by using intelligence and skill, able to outfight his deadly opponent with dodges and wrestling moves.

Ann screams too much (with provocation, yes), and you can see that some of this has been added to the soundtrack when Fay Wray is not mouthing any screams.

Kong’s scale is inconsistent. How big IS he compared to a human being? His size shifts around even on the island.

I’m pretty sure that instead of skirting around Kong and climbing down a cliffside on a vine, I would go back the way I came, on foot.

It’s not really clear how Kong locates Ann in the city. How does he know what building to look in? Was he able to track Driscoll-taking-Ann just as Driscoll tracked Kong-taking-Ann?

In 1933 I’m not sure I would expect a police chief to think of airplanes without prompting from a civilian.

Kong is tough. It takes repeated passes of those planes shooting him before he starts wobbling even a little.

Notice there is not the slightest hint in this film that Ann feels any sympathy for Kong or is sorry for him being killed. There are, though, displays of Kong’s tenderness towards her and maybe even a recognition—at the end when he picks her up the last time—that he should set her down so she won’t be harmed, regardless of what happens to him. And even if Ann is terrified or traumatized, we the audience sympathize with Kong. We have seen him as a feeling, living being with yearning and regrets and anger and posturing and curiosity, and we can be sorry that things turn out the way they do.