King of Kong Island
Reviewed by Edward Larsen Terkelsen

First off, let’s get a few things straight: King of Kong Island (a.k.a. Kong Island and Eva, la Venere selvaggia, which translates into English as Eve, the Wild Woman) does not feature Skull Island’s most notorious gigantopithecus. In fact, this Italian cheapie doesn’t take place any where near an island (unless you’re so geographically challenged that you think Africa qualifies), let alone one that is ruled by some cockadoodie king. The misleading title was thought by the hucksters at Monarch Releasing Corporation (Kong Island’s American distributor), who figured they could lure bums into seats by associating their cheapjack product with an established classic. (Even the literary world isn’t immune to this sort of chicanery: Leftist blowhard Al Franken wouldn’t have been able to peddle untold copies of the mind-bogglingly worthless Rush Limbaugh is a Big, Fat Idiot if he hadn’t referenced, however unkindly, his ideological arch-nemesis in the book’s very title.) But Monarch didn’t fool anyone; Kong Island sank quicker than a hot air balloon ballasted by Ned Beatty. And for good reason: it’s an utter gyp—a shameful piece of grindhouse refuse that has all the quickness of a Jack Horner production. It’s also atrociously acted, clumsily cut, dreadfully dubbed, and shabbily scored. So, is there anything of value to be had here? Nope, so get off the bus now if you don’t want to take the tour.

King of Kong Island opens somewhere in the Dark Continent as a ragtag group of mercenaries are sticking up a mining company’s jeep for its payroll. One of the mercenaries, Albert Muller (Marc Lawrence), decides he wants the booty all for himself, so he guns down his comrades and makes off with their shares. But one of the fallen, Burt Dawson (played by that muscle-bound bore, Brad Harris), is still alive—and, by gum, he ain’t much for turnin’ the other cheek. Though it’s not much of a selling point, Kong Island is cast from the same mold as Hang ‘Em High or I Spit on Your Grave or Kill Bill; the hero’s devotion to tracking down and fucking up the double-crossing son-of-a-gun that left him for dead is the picture’s through line. But before Burt can get on with his roaring rampage of revenge, the ludicrous script requires him to stop off at a local watering hole and boogie down to some of composer Roberto Pregadio’s soulless (and rather porny) disco beats.

Muller, however, has no time for the Hustle or the Cha-cha-cha; he has his sights set on world domination. Somewhere in a dark, dripping cave, he and a shifty-eyed assistant are suiting up to operate on a guy in a bad gorilla suit. It’s a simple procedure, really, but director Roberto Mauri (Curse of the Blood Ghouls) feels the need to walk us through every damned detail of it: an area behind the ape’s right ear is swabbed with alcohol, a scalpel is sterilized, an incision is made (allowing for a goodly amount of ketchup to ooze out), the blood on the scalpel is wiped off, a clamp is sterilized, a radio the size of a thimble is slipped into the gorilla’s melon, the blood on the clamp is wiped off, and on and on and on. (For a so-called “revenge film,” Kong Island has more padding than the combined braziers of my junior high school’s cheerleading team.) The plan is to turn the gorilla (and, if all goes right, his banana-chomping brethren) into an automaton by transmitting commands to the radio implant, and Muller’s maniacal cackle informs us that the ape’s duties won’t be limited to fetching Muller’s slippers.

While trying to figure out Muller’s whereabouts, Burt bumps into an old pal, Robert (Mark Farran), who is about to go on safari and see if he can’t get a look at something called the “sacred monkey.” According to an old native legend, the “sacred monkey” resides in a hallowed part of the jungle that frowns upon indigenous folks mixing it up with whitey. This doesn’t seem to phase the very Anglo-Saxon Burt; he decides to tag along, hoping he’ll track down his two-timing partner in the process—and maybe get into the panties of his buddy’s kid sister, Diana (Ursula Davis). As the black-hearted white hunters and their yellow-bellied black hands head off for the jungle, we’re treated to some wide shots of elephants lolling about while lions and tigers caper in the brush. (When it comes to taking in the local wildlife, most low-budget affairs like this turn to stock footage, but the luminosity [or lack thereof, depending on which generation of print you’re looking at] and grain of the animal cutaways match up to the rest of the film, so it would appear—and keep in mind that I haven’t received any confirmation on this—that much of Kong Island was actually shot on location.) When our party finally descends into the jungle and edges ever closer to the heart of darkness, we get that obligatory scene where age-old superstitions get the better of the dusky-skinned help and they holler things at the big boss man like “ooga booga,” which roughly translated means, “Is yooz outta yo’ cotton-pickin’ mind, mutha-fucka? We ain’t gotz no bidness goin’ where da debbil be kickin’ it!” So, Robert offers to double their pay and that’s the end of dat—er, that.

When Abbott and Costello went bumbling through Africa in search of the “orangutan gargantuan” in Africa Screams, director Charles Barton could’ve stuck it to his audience by putting something anti-climactic at the end of the trail (and that would’ve been almost justifiable given the ridiculousness of the material), but he rewarded us for sweating through all the dumb stuff by producing an ape that literally dwarfed King Kong. Mauri isn’t so generous: the “sacred monkey” isn’t a monkey at all, but rather a savage girl named Eva (Esmeralda Barros) who prances around the jungle in nothing but a dirty loin cloth. Don’t get too excited, gents: no matter what’s going on, her hair always manages to remain draped over her (ample) funbags. (Of course, any hot-blooded male who has made it this far into the picture will find himself wishing for a wind to come up and blow Eva’s locks aside.) When Diana is kidnapped by Muller’s robo-apes and imprisoned in his subterranean lair of whirring gizmos (which include a huge mechanical brain), Eva joins Burt in a rescue mission that is too incompetently staged to educe much excitement. A sack full of Krugerrands (or even a peek at Barros’s bodacious tatas) wouldn’t be enough incentive for me to revisit this reeking mound of simian shit. 

April 28, 2009

“King of Kong Island” Review. © Copyright 2009 by Edward Larsen Terkelsen. All rights reserved.