From the archives: The Times' 1933 review of King Kong: The 8th Wonder Of The World

Recently, I revisited Peter Jackson's 2005 film King Kong, one of those glorious follies that makes me love the movies. While watching it, I realized that its period perfect depiction of 1930s New York extended to a love of old-school Broadway, right up to the film's climax, featuring Kong himself chained up onstage. Naturally, I found myself wondering what exactly the New York Times' drama critic would have made of this. Fortunately, I was able to use my well-established connection to the multiverse to fetch this review from another world. I present it to you in full! It ran on page A15 on December 19, 1933. –ESJ

ON BROADWAY: Carl Denham's New Ape Spectacular KING KONG Goes Up, Up, Up – Straight To The Sky!

by Frankfort Whitaker

NEW YORK CITY – "Eek!" was the cry heard most frequently at the premiere of producer Carl Denham's new spectacular musical revue King Kong: The 8th Wonder Of The World, now onstage at the Alhambra. Was that an "Eek!" of fear or delight? It depended on whether the production's star was still held in chains upon the stage or rampaging through the theater. Your critic found much to admire throughout, though the production ultimately lost a step thanks to the death and maiming of many audience members.

What's boffo about this new production is the level of stagecraft Denham and his team of behind-the-scenes wizards have concocted. Start with art director Mary Morrigan, whose sets suggest the wilds of the most shadowy corners of our planet and whose reinforced steel chains gleamed with terrible precision until they were torn asunder. Costumes by Jack "Dash" Oliver – whose work on No, No, Nanette and Somebody Call Papa Before The Haberdasher Dies remains legendary in the theater community – outdoes himself again. Leading man Bruce Baxter's "on safari" outfit is a gleaming white, and Mr. Oliver offers just a dash of exoticism in the almost certainly authentic costumes for the many dancing girls who cavort about the main attraction.

Just a few words on Mr. Baxter, who last appeared on stages here in New York in Bish-Bosh Bang-A-Rang, Clifford Odets's ill-fated attempt at writing a musical spectacular. Where he seemed ill at ease in that production, obviously unwilling to play the brash egotist Mr. Odets had written for him and incapable of singing a high tenor, Mr. Baxter is much more in his element here, playing a hunter who ventures into the darkest jungles to return with strange specimens of creature. Producer Mr. Denham, who appears onstage as master-of-ceremonies throughout, says that Baxter's performance simply recaptures what he actually went through on an ill-fated expedition with Mr. Denham. The two attempted to film a motion picture on a remote South Pacific island, only to find themselves thwarted at every opportunity. Yet thanks to Mr. Denham's cunning and Mr. Baxter's bravery, many of the expedition members survived to tell the tale in this thrilling stage spectacular.

One of those survivors is young Ann Darrow, a buxom blonde chorus girl plucked from obscurity to join the expedition for reasons unknown to her at the time. All this beautiful creature knew was that she was headed into the vast uncharted territories of this treacherous world, where a young woman such as herself can't help but be seen as prey to villains both human and animal. Soon, however, Miss Darrow fell into the clutches of a primordial beast, the likes of which have rarely been seen, and that is the tale King Kong attempts to tell.

I have small complaints with the production. The story, as it is, is thin, mostly an excuse for dancing girls and macho exploits from Mr. Baxter. The music is derivative of other, better jungle-themed entertainments currently playing all around this great country of ours. Mr. Denham serves as a fine master of ceremonies on the whole, but when the production turned in an unexpected direction, he was not very quick with audience-friendly japes. And while I cannot say this for certain, I do believe in, say, 100 years' time, it will become all the more difficult to ignore the racial subtext of the entire production. As my readers know, I sometimes peer into the many plausible futures of our great nation, and I suspect there is at least one where the symbolism of this whole production is written at in great length in various academic journals and film publications.

Astute readers of the front page of this newspaper will note that I have not talked about the main attraction himself, King Kong, who is a 25-foot-tall gorilla, purported to be the last of his kind. Mr. Kong has dominated the headlines today for the destructive rampage he ran through midtown Manhattan, culminating in his climb to the top of the Empire State Building, where he was finally brought down by enterprising biplane gunners. While this critic weeps for the many who have lost their lives to this creature, including the very nice older woman who sat next to me and offered me a hard candy, I have to admit that in bringing a giant ape to New York, just to turn it loose on the city, Mr. Denham has created a one-of-a-kind entertainment.

This critic managed to stay clear of Mr. Kong's initial rampage by ducking behind the counter at which fans could purchase monkey merchandise. Once the monkey was out of the barrel and free to go bananas, I followed him out into the streets of the city, where he tossed cars, tore apart storefronts, and bit the heads off passersby. He gave a taxicab a merry chase through the streets. Throughout this perilous promenade, I found myself both quaking with fear and excited at the prospect of not knowing what would happen next. In a world full of formulaic entertainment, Mr. Denham has come up with the one show in which I never knew what to expect.

Indeed, my favorite portion of the production was not one of the more destructive scenes but one of the more melancholy encounters. Mr. Kong and Miss Darrow offered a lovely, moonlit ice-skating demonstration, which this critic was lucky enough to see by crouching in a couple of snow-covered bushes. In watching the show, I was reminded of a Christmas in my childhood when my Uncle Billy was good enough to bring a taxidermized family of squirrels, adorned in a variety of festive outfits and snow gear, to the old home place. Would that these squirrels had been able to gaze upon Mr. Kong with their vacant, dead eyes!

The production ended as it had to: the world's largest ape climbing the world's tallest building. It was as I watched Mr. Kong's ascent that I began to suspect Mr. Denham had planned the whole thing, that this was a new form of theater. Call it "immersive." I so gladly believed that this enormous monkey man had rampaged through the city that I forgot to check for the stagecraft inherent in biting off an actor's head, then flinging him aside. Did the actor rise again shortly thereafter? Such trickery has never been seen before on this scale! Perhaps I shall find myself seated in the back row of the Alhambra tonight, hoping against hope that the show might resume amid the theater's ruins.

Yet even if it was all real, even if Mr. Denham failed to account for the majestic terror of this mighty beast, I applaud his ingenuity. As Mr. Kong stood atop the Empire State Building, thumping his mighty chest, this critic found himself wondering if the ape might not be the victor in the end. Yes, I saw his mighty body plummet. Yes, I witnessed the great crater he left in the street. Yet there was something so elemental and pure in his tragic fall that I could not help but applaud through my tears. Mr. Denham, you have my full admission fee for your next production. I hear there is a monstrous iguana lying dormant beneath the waves off the coast of Japan.

A Good Song

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