The best American adventure film of the 1930s. Like all great myths and fables, it’s simple on the surface and packed with all sorts of wild subtext underneath. You could talk about this one all night.
A movie director (Robert Armstrong) and crew travel to Africa to capture Kong, the giant ape. Along the way, Kong becomes transfixed by the crew’s sexy actress (Fay Wray). He wants to possess her and protect her. The director uses her to lure Kong into captivity and then puts him on exhibition in America, where he breaks free and goes on a rampage in New York City.
Is Kong tragic or is he just a monster? Or, to put it another way, has anyone ever watched this and rooted for the humans? (I don’t.) Later remakes of the film would run with the interpretation of Kong as a tragic figure, imposed upon, kidnapped, and put in bondage by human interlopers. Most painful of all, he’s genuinely in love with the actress and nothing can come of it. Here though, directors Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack are so busy showing off Willis O’Brien’s dazzling stop-motion special effects that they never really take a stance on where Kong’s feelings lie. Kong’s eyes and expressions show nothing. He could be in love with blonde, leggy Fay Wray or he could just want to keep her as a little knick-knack. 
From one angle, this is a work of racist paranoia. Kong, worshiped by a primitive black tribe and representative of exotic African mystery, is a metaphorical monstrous black man who wants to ravage a horrified white woman.
From another angle—and the flipside of the above interpretation—it’s an anti-racist film. Kong is a sympathetic (albeit, today, politically incorrect) metaphor for an African slave. He doesn’t hurt anyone until he’s provoked and he doesn’t understand why he’s being chased. The man who wants to catch him isn’t a hero—he’s a greedy exploitation-minded filmmaker with a carnival barker’s spirit. When Kong breaks free from his chains, you can’t hold it against him.
Then there are interpretations that have nothing to do with race. Some critics see it as an expression of sympathy for the animal targets of game hunters (Cooper and Schoedsack’s previous film was an adaptation of Richard Connell’s The Most Dangerous Game). Then there’s writer Danny Peary’s fascinating reading of the film in which Kong is the subconscious projection of a sexually frustrated (and possibly impotent) Robert Armstrong, who secretly desires Fay Wray.
The film was a huge hit in its day and it helped build the foundation of RKO Pictures. Some of the harsh pre-Code violence in scenes where Kong massacres screaming men, as well as a moment in which Kong peels off and sniffs some of Fay Wray’s clothing, was cut from the film in later re-releases, but has since been restored.