Remakes are a tricky business. If you make a bad one, everyone will hate you, and if you make a good one, the fans of the original film will still hate you. I'm not personally against the good ones, because I was under the impression that movies are not real life and thus aren't going to damage me emotionally with all of their remake sacrilege.
I am against bad filmmaking in general, though. I feel that technological development has given us a lot of chances to improve movies, and when someone squanders it all, we have every right to tell them that they have ruined something. In the case of these six remakes, the filmmakers definitely had the tools to assemble visually inspiring creations. But with great power comes no real responsibility, and these films are examples of what happens when you take years of progress and decide that you'd be better off without them.
6King Kong (1976)
The original King Kong is a masterpiece. It manages to be emotionally provoking, as well as full of dinosaurs, and has earned its place in adventure cinema history. The remake, released in 1976, shits on everything in that last sentence.
Let's all take one last hit of competent filmmaking before we inhale the vapors of Hollywood's jenkem.
The easiest way to get something done right is to know how to do it. That sounds like simple advice, but special effects artist Carlo Rambaldi and the people behind the misfire that was the 1976 King Kong remake decided to create a 40-foot-tall mechanical gorilla. That idea immediately hits the special part of a person's brain that senses when something feels like a plan could, and probably will, go awry. It sounds ludicrous, since that robot would have to match up with Kong actor Rick Baker's man-in-a-suit giant ape, but these guys never took knowing how to do anything correctly into consideration with Kong. It would all be fine.
Nah, those look basically the same.
The film, overall, cost about $24 million, and the mechanical ape, which weighed 3.5 tons and was filled with 4,500 feet of wiring, cost $1.7 million to make. That is one-twelfth of the entire budget dedicated to "Fuck it. We're doing this." That's like if George Lucas had spent half the budget of Star Wars hoping that his set designers would complete a full-size, fully operational Death Star in time for the film's release. It seems like a fool's gamble to even consider thinking of something like that, but if you've ever seen this King Kong, which takes the original Kong's excitement away and replaces it with the dad from Beethoven telling Jessica Lange that Kong wanted to rape her, you won't be able to even consider logic when it comes to this movie.
The mechanical Kong comes into play in the third act as he's about to be showcased to a crowd. After the weird, artsy touch of having Kong arrive covered in what looks like a giant gas pump, he does the usual "get fucking pissed" routine and starts to break loose. During the film's most kinetic scene, the filmmakers thought that it would be the perfect time to bust out the most non-kinetic thing related to the movie. You see, earlier in the film, Kong was a man in a suit, and a human being has the ability to move like he's not filled with 4,500 feet of cable. If Rick Baker had suddenly been pumped full of tons of cords, I could see why it looked so terrible and would start wondering why King Kong wasn't dedicated to the memory of Rick Baker. But it isn't. It's just something that works like the universe was delivering karmic debt that day and had knocked on the door labeled "Impossible Dreams."
Sometimes the answer isn't "build the largest robot you possibly can." That might be the most depressing sentence I've ever typed.
It's only used for a few seconds, and you'll notice its insertion when the film suddenly shifts from an angry, walking Kong to a weird action-figure-looking Kong with a blank stare on its face. At 40 feet tall, it is the largest mechanical creature ever designed for a movie, and by far the one that sucks the most. Take that, Guinness Book.
5The Lost World (1960)
Willis O'Brien was the creator of the special effects in the original King Kong, and he also worked on 1925's The Lost World. Now, this film takes a few liberties with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's original novel. For instance, every part where you might have seen a character moment was replaced with clay dinosaurs hating the shit out of each other. But for every loss of what was on the page, there is a gain with what you see on screen. The Lost World is a special effects landmark, from start to apatosaurus-fucking-up-London finish.
This was the Jurassic Park of the "still dying from polio" generation.
However, stop-motion is a long, expensive process, as you have to slowly adjust the models frame by frame to get the desired movement. In the hands of someone unskilled in it, you might have your fantasy film finished with just enough time left over in your life to remember that you once had a painfully neglected wife and some kids. Willis O'Brien ruled at it, but as time went on, the amount of people good at it decreased, and so did the amount of studios willing to invest the time in it.
Shooting this scene took six and a half years.
So, when you need to remake The Lost World and don't want to hire Ray Harryhausen, what do you do? Well, for starters, you don't spend time attempting to make your dinosaurs look passable. Instead, you hope that your audience is unaware of what baby alligators look like and you just use those. It's the weirdest form of animal cruelty I've ever seen.
Huh. It turns out lizards can feel shame.
A reptile's first instinct when put into limited space with a different reptile is to violently clean out its terrarium. I'm not sure if that's a biological fact, but from The Lost World, you'd assume that reptiles were put on this earth simply to exterminate their own class. The leading cause of death in reptiles is just that.
Glue poisoning is a close #2.
None of the reptiles in The Lost World match up to what they're supposed to represent, so the film becomes an exploitation film where the tyrannosaur is a monitor lizard with very untyrannosaurlike horns and fins. The triceratops is a baby iguana with sort-of-triceratops-like horns and unexplained fins. The only saving grace for paleontology is the giant spider, played by an unassuming tarantula. Otherwise, the modus operandi seems to be guessing wrong about what dinosaurs look like and also hoping that audiences won't notice the ridiculousness of someone cowering in fear from the remnants of a surplus sale at a pet store.
He was crushed by the key grip's foot immediately after this scene.