That was the exact title as it appeared in our little channel info box at the top of the screen. I kept thinking "King" what? The kids were just annoyed that whatever the title, it was preempting America's Funniest Home Videos. After they went to bed, I flipped back to that channel. I watched long enough this time to realize it was King Kong --the updated version. I was hooked.
You see, I remember the days when like "The Wizard of Oz" certain movies were only aired once or twice a year. King Kong was one of those special airings we were allowed to stay up and watch. Of course, the old black and white version was not nearly as gross as the newer one. Tim is forever traumatized by over sized, head-sucking, grub creatures.
I snuggled up to my sweet hubby and mused, "If I ever become the love object of an unnaturally huge gorilla, will you risk your life to save me?" He assures me he will. He's very good to me.
As the movie ended and the mighty Kong fell from his death perch atop the Empire State Building, I sighed, "At least I didn't cry this time." Tim shot me an incredulous look. It's true. I was a soft-hearted animal lover as a child. I knew that if some genetically altered beast attacked our small suburb, I alone would be capable of soothing the savage beast. I knew Ann Darrow's pain.
20 years later and five kids, I'm afraid to say that a love-sick monster roaming the streets and randomly throwing people to their deaths has less sentimental pull as it once did. I would more likely be one of the B-52 pilots than the ditsy, species-confused blond teetering off the edge of the tower. Call it cynicism, call it realism. Mostly, call it a relief to my husband who still can't believe I ever cried over such a stupid movie.
"How did he get to be so big anyway?" Tim asked.
"I think he was flushed down the toilet as a baby and lived off of radio-active waste in the sewers of New York city. Or maybe that was another stupid movie." =)