In the end, I saw neither "Kinsey" nor "Hitch" yesterday. Instead, my wonderful wife granted me a day away from the homestead. In the morning, I cashed in gift certificates from Chapters/Indigo ($50 from my mother, used on two magazines - Creative Screenwriting and MovieMaker - and a book, "The New Biographical Dictionary of Film" by David Thomson, which I have been eyeing for more than a year while I waited for it to appear in softcover) and Music World ($20 from Maxine, with which I purchased "best of" collections from Johnny Cash and The Tragically Hip). After a quick lunch of fried rice and orange chicken, I was off to see "King Kong".

Spoiler alert - some plot information follows.

There is no question that it is a powerful and exciting film, and Peter Jackson should be applauded for going back to the well so soon after the astonishing achievement that is "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy, unlike, say James Cameron, who seems paralyzed by fear of failure ever since "Titanic". Adrian Brody is a solid if unexpected romantic lead, Naomi Watts is more beautiful than I imagined (at times, her resemblance to Nicole Kidman is eerie) and her performance is heartfelt and uplifting, and Jack Black's excesses are toned down to the point where he is more tolerable than usual. Jackson's CGI wizards and actor Andy Serkis can add Kong to Gollum on their list of lifelike digital creations. Never for a single moment do you doubt that this a real creature, an amazing giant beast captured on film. The effects are stunning, from Kong himself to the exactingly created world of Skull Island - the native sacrifice ritual, the dinosaur stampede, the terrifying giant insects and worm-like creatures in the chasm, the giant bats - to Kong's final rampage through New York City enroute to his meeting with doom at the top of the Empire State Building.

And yet, there is an emptiness at the centre of this movie that is surprising, given it's director's obsession with the original. Part of this is due to the lack of a true romantic hero to root for. Brody's Jack Driscoll is the nominal romantic lead, the playwright turned rescuer, but the true romantic lead is Kong, the beast tamed by Ann Darrow's beauty. This isn't a creepy sexual relationship, but rather the joy of Kong, the last of his kind, finding a true friend in the wilds of Skull Island, and his powerful loss when she is taken from him, with their reunion sealing his doom but pursuing it nonetheless. Driscoll is lacking because there is no way for him to defeat Kong. While the military shoots at the great beast and Ann puts herself in the line of fire, Jack is running across the city and into the Empire State Building, then ineffectually watching the floor numbers pass as his elevator rises. After Kong is dead, his reunion with Ann at the top of the world is artificial, unearned. The one who truly loves her lies on the street below.

Perhaps the rest of the emptiness comes from my own expectations. The "Rings" saga is such a rich adventure, with almost two dozen fascinating characters and a great mythology holding them all together in a world falling apart. There is true romance and magnificent friendship, both tested and found worthy. Every reward feels earned, and the set pieces contain some of the most astounding visuals yet put to film. And there is a core in, not Frodo, but Gandalf, who unites the many disparate entities together in a quest and whose spirit hovers over the entire proceeding. "King Kong" cannot hope to compete with this, and it is unfair to expect it to. Yet Peter Jackson will always be judged against his greatest achievement, and he has not flinched in the face of that challenge. "King Kong" is a rousing adventure story, and time well spent in the cinema. That it is no more is perhaps a commentary on the lack of truly great stories in this world, and shouldn't be held against its able creators.