Humans are obsessed with hierarchy. We want to know who is the fastest, who is the strongest, and who gets to wear the crown. When you hear the phrase king of the apes, your brain probably does a quick split-screen. On one side, there’s Tarzan, swinging through vines in a loincloth. On the other, there’s King Kong, swatting biplanes off the Empire State Building like they’re annoying gnats. It’s a title that has been fought over for a century.
But here’s the thing.
The title doesn't just belong to one fictional character or one massive CGI gorilla. It’s a cultural tug-of-war between pulp fiction, cinema history, and actual biology. Honestly, the way we use the term says more about us than it does about the primates.
The Literary Roots of the King of the Apes
Edgar Rice Burroughs didn’t just write a book in 1912. He created a myth. When Tarzan of the Apes first hit the pages of The All-Story magazine, it wasn't just another adventure tale. Burroughs was tapping into this weird, post-Victorian anxiety about civilization. He wanted to know what happens when you strip away the suit and the tea service.
Tarzan is the original king of the apes in the literary sense. He wasn't born a king; he earned it by being smarter and more brutal than the Mangani—the fictional species of great apes that raised him. Burroughs was very specific about this. Tarzan didn't rule through some magical animal connection. He ruled because he could use a knife and a rope. It was a dark, often violent depiction of survival.
You’ve probably seen the Disney version. Forget it. The original Tarzan was a stone-cold killer who had to prove his dominance daily. He was the "King" because he was the apex predator of his ecosystem. This version of the character represents the human ego—the idea that even in the wild, a human will eventually rise to the top of the food chain.
Kong: The Heavyweight Champion of the Title
Then came 1933. Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack decided that if a man could be a king, a literal giant gorilla could be a god. King Kong shifted the definition of king of the apes from a human in the wild to a prehistoric force of nature.
Kong is different. He’s the tragic king.
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Think about Skull Island. It’s a nightmare of evolution where everything is trying to eat you. In that environment, Kong isn't just a big monkey; he’s the stabilizer. He’s the only thing keeping the dinosaurs at bay. When he’s taken to New York, the title "King" becomes ironic. He goes from a literal sovereign of an island to a "Eighth Wonder of the World" freak show.
The 1933 film used stop-motion animation by Willis O'Brien to give Kong a soul. You can see it in the way he nudges Ann Darrow’s body or looks at his own wounds. This isn't just a monster movie. It’s a story about the fall of a monarch. Peter Jackson’s 2005 remake doubled down on this, showing Kong as an aging, scarred silverback who is the last of his kind. He’s a king with no kingdom and no heirs. That’s heavy stuff for a popcorn flick.
Caesar and the Planet of the Apes Shake-up
If Tarzan is the "Lord of the Jungle" and Kong is the "God of Skull Island," then Caesar from the modern Planet of the Apes trilogy is the "Revolutionary."
Andy Serkis changed the game here.
Starting with Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011), the title of king of the apes took on a political tone. Caesar isn't a king because he’s the strongest—though he is plenty strong. He’s a king because he has the burden of leadership. He has to decide how a new society will treat its enemies.
This is where the concept gets complicated. Caesar’s "kingship" is about intelligence and empathy. It’s a far cry from Tarzan stabbing a gorilla to take his spot in the tribe. Caesar’s reign is defined by the law: "Ape shall not kill ape." It’s a fascinating look at how we view authority. We went from admiring the strongest guy in the jungle to admiring the guy who can keep the peace.
What Does Biology Say?
Let’s get real for a second. In the actual wild, there is no single king of the apes. Nature doesn't work like a Disney movie.
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If we’re talking sheer physical dominance among extant species, the Eastern Lowland Gorilla (Gorilla beringei graueri) takes the prize. These guys are massive. A large male can weigh over 450 pounds. They are the definition of "silverback" authority. But they aren't kings in the way we think. They’re more like grumpy grandfathers who just want to eat wild celery in peace.
- Gorillas: They lead through quiet confidence and occasionally tearing a tree apart to show off.
- Chimpanzees: Their "kings" are political. It’s all about alliances. A beta male can overthrow an alpha if he has enough friends. It’s basically Succession with more screaming and grooming.
- Orangutans: They don't even have a kingdom. They’re solitary. A "king" orangutan is just a big male with massive cheek pads (flanges) who stays away from everyone else.
Biologically, humans are actually the "kings" if we're going by global dominance, which is a bit of a bummer. We’re the only ones who have successfully colonized every continent. But we’re also the only ones who feel the need to give titles to the other apes while we destroy their habitats.
Why the "King" Archetype Persists in Media
We keep coming back to this trope because it explores our relationship with our own primal nature. Every time a new Godzilla vs. Kong movie comes out, or a new Planet of the Apes chapter drops, we’re looking at ourselves.
We love the idea of a king of the apes because we are the "Ape that went too far." We have the DNA of a forest dweller but the lifestyle of a tech-obsessed urbanite. Seeing a "King" like Kong or Caesar reminds us of the raw power we traded for iPhones and air conditioning.
It’s also about the "noble savage" myth. There’s a romanticism in the idea of a ruler who doesn't need a parliament or a tax code—someone who just rules because they are the biggest and the baddest. It’s a fantasy of simplicity in an incredibly complex world.
The Evolution of the Keyword in Modern Times
Nowadays, the king of the apes isn't just a movie character; it’s a brand. It shows up in video games, gym apparel, and NFT projects (for better or worse). The term has been commodified.
In gaming, look at Donkey Kong. He’s the Nintendo version of the king. He’s goofy, he loves bananas, and he wears a tie. It’s a total subversion of the Kong myth. He’s a "king" of fun. Then you have Overwatch with Winston, a genetically engineered gorilla from the moon who is a scientist. We’ve moved so far from the 1912 version of Tarzan that the "king" can now be a lunar-dwelling physicist.
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Common Misconceptions About Ape Royalty
People get a lot of things wrong about this topic. You’ve probably heard some of these at a bar or on a poorly researched YouTube video.
- "Alphas rule by force." Actually, in the world of chimps and gorillas, an alpha who is just a bully usually gets assassinated. Real leaders in the ape world provide protection and settle disputes.
- "Tarzan is the only King of the Apes." Legally, the Burroughs estate might argue this, but culturally, Kong has a much bigger footprint.
- "The King is always male." While the trope is male-dominated, in Bonobo societies (our other closest relatives), the females run the show. They aren't "kings," they are a matriarchal collective that uses social bonding to keep the peace.
How to Apply "King" Lessons to Real Life
If you’re looking for a takeaway from all this ape lore, it’s not about growing a beard and moving to the woods. It’s about the different styles of leadership these characters represent.
- The Tarzan Approach: Mastery of your environment. Being so good at what you do that your surroundings no longer pose a threat. It’s about skill and adaptability.
- The Kong Approach: Being a protector. Kong is at his best when he’s defending something or someone. It’s leadership through strength used for defense.
- The Caesar Approach: Diplomacy and vision. Building something that lasts longer than your own lifespan.
Honestly, we’re all just trying to find our place in the troop. Whether you’re a fan of the classic black-and-white films or the high-tech mo-cap of today, the king of the apes is a mirror. It shows us our capacity for violence, our potential for leadership, and our deep, soul-level connection to the natural world we keep trying to paved over.
Actionable Steps for Ape Enthusiasts
If you want to dive deeper into this world without getting lost in the cinematic weeds, here is what you actually need to do:
- Read the Source Material: Pick up a copy of Edgar Rice Burroughs' original Tarzan of the Apes. It is much darker and more complex than any movie version. It’ll give you a real sense of where the "King" archetype started.
- Support Real Kings: If you love the idea of these animals, support the Dian Fossey Gorilla Fund or the Jane Goodall Institute. The real kings of the apes are currently endangered by poaching and habitat loss.
- Watch the Evolution: Do a triple feature of King Kong (1933), Planet of the Apes (1968), and Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011). You’ll see the entire history of how our culture views power and nature change right before your eyes.
- Visit a Sanctuary: Don't just go to a crappy roadside zoo. Find an AZA-accredited facility where you can see great apes behaving naturally. Seeing the presence of a real silverback in person is a humbling experience that no IMAX screen can replicate.
The legend of the king of the apes isn't going anywhere. As long as we feel a little bit out of place in our concrete jungles, we’ll keep looking back at the real jungle to see who’s wearing the crown. It’s a story of where we came from and, if we aren't careful, where we might be heading.
By understanding these archetypes, we don't just learn about movies; we learn about the primal drive for status and survival that still lives in our own DNA. Next time you see a giant gorilla on screen, remember: he’s not just a monster. He’s a reflection of the king—or the beast—inside all of us.