King Kong, coronavirus and me
Sunday, I went to the Malco Paradiso to see a movie. I did not know that before the end of the week theaters in Memphis and across the nation would be closed, but I had a feeling.
More than a feeling: I wondered if I was being socially irresponsible by pursuing one of my favorite activities, moviegoing.
To enforce a rudimentary version of “social distancing” in response to the threat of the coronavirus, Malco already had announced that no more than 50% of the seats in any auditorium would be sold for any specific screening. But every-other-seat spacing in a movie theater still puts you in proximity to a lot of folks.
The movie on this Sunday was not just any movie. It was the 1933 “King Kong,” presented by Turner Classic Movies, which once a month “hosts” a so-called classic — or, in this case, an undeniable classic — in cinemas across the country.
Attendance at the Paradiso that day was sparse, but, to my surprise — a surprise that I would have characterized as very gratifying, in less fraught times — “King Kong” had drawn the biggest crowd of the day, according to the ticket seller.
In other words, people were staying away from Sonic the Hedgehog and Vin Diesel, but they had made a point of emerging from whatever form of selfquarantine they were practicing to renew their acquaintance with the 87year-old giant gorilla who remains one of pop culture's most recognizable icons and most potent symbols of the deadly consequences of human hubris.
The racially diverse crowd — I'd estimate about a third of the seats were filled — did not appear to consist mainly of old movie buffs or what might be called “film nerds,” yet the action onscreen never was interrupted by the inappropriate or superior laughter that audiences so often bring to old films. Instead, the crowd remained rapt throughout the 100-minute running time of the black-and-white action, from the foreboding voyage to Skull Island to the monster's capture of Fay Wray to the confrontation atop the Empire State Building to the final epitaph delivered by Carl Denham (Robert Armstrong): “It was beauty killed the beast.”
When the movie ended, the audience applauded.
In other words, this was an ideal moviegoing experience. Except. Except ...
I've seen “King Kong” more times than I can count, including in revival at the drive-in and the Orpheum. It was a pleasure to experience it again on a screen large enough to showcase the film's ambitions and broad enough to shoulder its freight of meaning.
Yet when the movie was over, the feeling of melancholy in the air could not be attributed entirely to the thrilling yet sad story the audience had just witnessed, a story of injustice perpetrated by greedy humans against an innocent animal.
“King Kong” was a huge hit in 1933, in part because it was presented to an audience desperate for an escape from the hardships of the Depression. But in our current “depression,” the escape of theatrical movies is now denied, along with those of concerts, restaurants, bars, museums and organized sports.
Even the Empire State Building's observation decks are now closed to visitors. Beauty may have killed the beast, but this time, what we need is a vaccine.