Vina Fay Wray,
15th September, 1907.
There are two things about the movie King Kong that stand out, not counting the massive angry monkey which was actually an 18-inch puppet. It’s racist. It was pretty racist in 1933 and its pretty racist now. It’s also very sexist, again then as now. But there’s something in the way it approaches these two subjects, perhaps quite accidentally, that means the movie still has something to say about those two subjects. It’s not just a racist and sexist movie. There’s a payoff against those two things.
In the movie, Carl Denham, played by Robert Armstrong, who leads the expedition to Skull Island, succinctly sums up the plot: "Miss Darrow's the story. If it hadn't been for her, we couldn't have gotten near Kong. He followed her back to the village ... Beauty and the beast. Kong could have stayed safe where he was, but he couldn't stay away from beauty."
The movie tries again and again to drive home the ‘beauty and the beast’ narrative and in all innocence, that was the plot. That the ‘beast’ in the movie and the depiction of Skull Island natives was patronizing, stereotypical and racist is unavoidable. It’s full-on oooga-booga, bones-through-the-nose, monster-worshipping depiction of black people is glaring, and the depiction of Kong himself as an extension of the Skull Islanders as a black character is also racist.
But the movie also manages to portray Kong as a victim and Denham and his band of dubious adventurers as pirates and colonial pillagers, ripping Kong away from his home and destroying the natives’ way of life. The moral of the story - that beauty killed the beast - could just as easily have been a warning against ignorant colonial interference. Beauty might have killed the beast, but you could just as easily say that white people messing in things they shouldn’t have been messing with killed Kong.
Who’s the bad guy here? However you look at it, it’s not really Kong.
The sexism is another thing. King Kong hums with an undercurrent of eroticism bordering on rape. Fay Wray is there for one purpose - to look stunning and scream. It’s something horror movies have relied on ever since - the scantily dressed girl who runs around screaming, but in King Kong that message is spelled out, again by Denham. Asked why there’s a woman involved, he replies:
"Because the public, bless 'em, must have a pretty face to look at.”
You can read the movie as knowing exactly what it’s doing, even while trying to make you look at it another way. They needed a woman for the film, especially for what comes later. There is a very famous scene where Kong slowly peels away Darrow's dress, then holds it up to his nose and sniffs it. The film makers later explained that this is supposed to represent Kong peeling petals from a rose, but they’re working at a time when everything had to be explained behind a veneer of innocence and the sexual charge the scene carries is, well, kind of obvious when you think about it. The savage native beast reduced to his most base instincts in the presence of a beautiful white woman.
The whole landscape of King Kong is ultimately about sex. Skull Island is heady and exotic, Fay Wray is incredibly sexy and what exactly is he planning to do with her? He’s not taking her shopping, is he?
In all probability, the film makers had much more innocent intents when making Kong and that’s why it’s still a great movie to watch. You can read so many messages into it via the prism of history. It might have been made with good intent, but it hums with misogyny and racism, and hope and excitement - the themes of 1930s America.
King Kong is ultimately about how white America viewed itself and the, still very raw, immediate racial history. It’s an allegory about the ‘modern’ world attempting to civilise the ‘old’ and in doing so, corrupting it. White men go to Africa, bring back black man and kill him. Although the film was never expressly about that, it’s hard to not see it. And because I suspect that they genuinely didn’t mean it, it is simply a byproduct of the time in which it was made, the movie works as stark warning against colonialism, racism and sexism.
Anyway, Fay Wray was in it, don’t you know? And she was stunning. And she screamed a lot. Wouldn’t you if a giant monkey had kidnapped you to make you his monkey bride?
Fay Wray, born Vina Fay Wray on September 15, 1907, in Cardston, Alberta, Canada, became one of the most iconic actresses of the early 20th century. Although she had a varied and extensive film career, she will forever be remembered for her role as Ann Darrow in the 1933 classic King Kong, where she played the damsel in distress held in the massive hands of the towering ape. However, Wray's life and career extend far beyond that single performance, marking her as one of Hollywood's early stars who successfully transitioned from silent films to "talkies," all while navigating the rapidly evolving film industry.
Fay was the daughter of Elvina Marguerite Jones and Joseph Heber Wray, a rancher. The family relocated to Salt Lake City, Utah, when Wray was young, and it was there that her interest in acting began to take root. By the age of 14, the Wray family moved again, this time to Los Angeles, placing Fay directly in the heart of a burgeoning film industry. In 1923, Wray's beauty and budding talent were noticed when she won a bit part in the silent film Gasoline Love. This small role led to a contract with Universal Pictures in 1926, marking the beginning of her professional career.
Wray's early career spanned the final years of the silent film era. During this time, she appeared in numerous silent films, including The Coast Patrol (1925), The Man in the Saddle (1926), and The Wildcat (1927). However, her breakthrough role came in 1928 when she starred in The Wedding March, directed by Erich von Stroheim. This dramatic role established Wray as a leading actress, noted not only for her beauty but for her ability to convey a range of emotions—traits that would serve her well as the industry transitioned to sound films.
The introduction of sound to cinema—popularly known as the advent of the "talkies"—could have been a career-ending challenge for many silent film stars. However, Wray's clear, expressive voice made her an exception. She successfully transitioned into sound films, appearing in thrillers and horror films during the early 1930s, including Doctor X (1932) and Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933). These roles cemented her reputation as a "scream queen," a moniker that would become synonymous with her legacy.
Wray's most famous role came in 1933 when she was cast in King Kong. The film's director, Merian C. Cooper, had been searching for an actress to play Ann Darrow, the female lead in his groundbreaking monster film. Legend has it that Cooper described Wray's role as being "the tallest, darkest leading man in Hollywood"—referring, of course, to King Kong himself. Initially, Wray reportedly thought she would be starring opposite a traditional leading man, and it wasn't until later that she realized her co-star was a 25-foot-tall ape.
King Kong was an ambitious project, utilizing pioneering special effects and stop-motion animation to bring the giant ape to life. The film quickly became a box office hit, in part due to Wray's memorable performance as the terrified Ann Darrow. In many ways, Wray's portrayal of Darrow—a woman caught between beauty and beast—defined the cinematic trope of the damsel in distress. Her famous screams as Kong rampaged through New York City became a defining moment in Hollywood history.
Though Wray often found herself typecast in similar roles following the success of King Kong, she appeared in numerous films throughout the 1930s and 1940s. Her other notable works from the period include Viva Villa! (1934), where she starred opposite Wallace Beery, and The Affairs of Cellini (1934), which earned her praise for her comedic timing. However, none of these films reached the cultural significance of King Kong, and it was this role that immortalized her in the annals of film history.
Wray’s personal life was as dramatic as her professional one. In 1928, she married John Monk Saunders, a screenwriter and director, and the couple had a daughter, Susan, born in 1936. Their marriage was tumultuous, and Saunders struggled with addiction and mental health issues, leading to their divorce in 1939. Just a year later, Saunders tragically committed suicide, a loss that deeply affected Wray. Despite this heartbreak, she found love again, marrying Robert Riskin, a prominent screenwriter best known for his collaborations with Frank Capra, including It Happened One Night (1934). Wray and Riskin had two children together and remained married until his death in 1955.
As Wray aged, she began to step back from Hollywood, appearing in fewer films throughout the 1950s. Nevertheless, she remained a beloved figure, not only for her past performances but also for her graciousness and willingness to embrace her legacy as the star of King Kong. In later interviews, she often expressed pride in the role and its impact on cinematic history. Despite the sometimes frivolous label of “scream queen,” Wray understood that her role in King Kong had touched audiences in a way few films ever do. The film’s success had not only made her a star but also contributed to the early growth of special effects and blockbuster filmmaking, setting a template for future Hollywood spectacles.
By the 1960s, Wray had largely retired from acting, though she continued to make occasional appearances on television and in interviews. One of her final screen roles came in Crime of Passion (1957), where she shared the screen with Barbara Stanwyck. In her later years, Wray became an advocate for preserving film history, often speaking at film festivals and retrospectives about her experiences during Hollywood’s Golden Age.
Fay Wray passed away on August 8, 2004, at the age of 96. In a fitting tribute to her legacy, the lights of the Empire State Building, the iconic structure where King Kong famously perched, were dimmed for 15 minutes in her honor. Wray’s place in cinematic history remains secure, not only for her performance in King Kong but for her role in shaping the early years of the film industry. Her contributions helped define an era of filmmaking, and her work continues to inspire new generations of actors and filmmakers.
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It was beauty that killed the beast, and I never forget that the beauty what did it was born in Canada.