Supposing ...

... I'd enjoyed King Kong second time round

Last night I saw Peter Jackson's remake of King Kong for the second time. This makes me an idiot. Partly because it's three hours long, and partly because it's rubbish, but mainly because even though I'd already seen it, I'd been in such a state of denial about it being three hours long and rubbish that, on being invited to see it again, I cheerfully accepted.

  1. King Kong
  2. Production year: 2005
  4. Cert (UK): 12A
  5. Runtime: 187 mins
  6. Directors: Peter Jackson
  8. More on this film

Ten minutes in to my second viewing, I suddenly realised I'd made a terrible, baffling mistake. And now not only was I going to have to sit through the whole thing again, but I'd somehow have to explain to my two companions (who spent the duration yawning, writhing and fouling themselves with disgust) just why I'd been prepared to waste six hours of my life watching such a mammoth fountain of toss.

There simply isn't space to list everything wrong with it; its most glaring flaw is being 16 times more overblown and histrionic than necessary. For instance, Kong doesn't just fight one T-Rex, as per the original. No, he fights a whole bunch of them, while entangled in vines, dangling above a ravine, and tossing Naomi Watts from paw to paw like a Hacky Sack - for ages.

If there'd been a scene in which Kong went to the toilet, it would've run like this: 1) Kong unfurls his 10km penis and piddles into an erupting volcano for 45 minutes; 2) Kong turns around and passes a stool the size of a blue whale, in slow motion, to the strains of a 20,000-strong choir, while Naomi Watts stares at him, her eyes brimming with love; 3) his bowels emptied, Kong plucks the planet Jupiter out of the sky and swallows it for no reason, while fighting 15 giant crocodiles. And a robot. And a pig.

What's more, the cast are just plain weird to look at. Jack Black looks like he's playing the lead in Young Prescott, Adrien Brody resembles a cross between Ross from Friends and a disappointed sundial, and Naomi Watts spends the entire film gawping, sobbing, screaming or turning into Nicole Kidman in your head. Until the final scene, when she does all three at once. In slow motion. Atop the Empire State Building. In 3D.

As a film, it's the fattest, most swaggering, numb-headed and pointless assault on the senses it's possible to imagine. What I can't understand is why I enjoyed it first time round.

I suspect it was something to do with my state of mind at the time. I'd been Christmas shopping in a particularly miserable shopping mall -one of those modern ones consisting entirely of shiny floors and echoes, JD Sports and Nando's Chickenland. I was thoroughly sick of it, and by extension, of life itself.

At which point I was faced with a choice. I could drop to my knees and headbutt the floor until my skull split open in front of thousands of horrified shoppers. Or I could go and see King Kong, which I figured would probably be far too long and not very good. My expectations thus lowered, I actively enjoyed it. I'd adjusted my filter beforehand.

It's all about adjusting your filter. Just don't try adjusting it twice.

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