Tragic blockbusters are fascinating. Since we as audiences have become so
accustomed to summer popcorn flicks wrapping up with the hero defeating the
monster, saving the world and getting the girl (because, let’s face it, the
hero’s pretty much never a girl), the few that enter darker territory often
seem to merit extra attention simply for their willingness to break from the
long-held assumption that crowds can only be pleased by happy endings. What
makes the Planet of the Apes
franchise so peculiar, other than its shocking longevity, is that, as critic
Matt Zoller Seitz asserts, it has always been inherently bleak. From the
moment Charlton Heston laid eyes on that partially-buried Statue of Liberty at
the end of the original 1968 film, humanity was doomed, and if any later additions
or reiterations deviated from that pessimistic viewpoint, it would feel false,
incompatible with the rest of the canon. It’s not just the apocalyptic, if
rather ludicrous premise that makes these movies inevitably tragedies; it’s because,
even in creating a universe where apes rule the world, they still paint humans
as the ultimate monster, catalysts of their own downfall.
Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, the latest installment to the
simian-obsessed series, continues in that despairing tradition. Set ten years
after 2011’s similarly awkwardly-titled Rise
of the Planet of the Apes, which showed how apes became hyper-intelligent
and introduced a deadly virus that quickly spread across the globe, Dawn finds civilization in shambles as a
handful of survivors hole up in San Francisco, unable to connect to any other
communities that could possibly have sprung up, while the group of apes led by
Caesar has thrived on land that’s been reclaimed by nature. Naturally, the two
societies eventually discover each other and come into explosive conflict.
Given that audiences have known the conclusion to this story for nearly half a
century, it would’ve been easy for both of these movies to fall into the usual
prequel trap, where the predetermined outcome prevents current events from
having any real weight. While most prequels make do with lazy writing that simply
goes through the motions, Rupert Wyatt’s Rise
presented a coherent narrative – something that’s appallingly hard to come by
in modern blockbusters (talk about setting low standards) – that was not only
fun to watch unfold, but also seemed interested in telling a new story, rather
than merely setting up for an old one. Despite changing directors, with Let Me In’s Matt Reeves now at the helm, Dawn seamlessly transitions from and
builds off of the solid foundation established by its predecessor, taking
advantage of the fairly large time jump to mine different creative ground
without losing the blend of epic scope and intimate focus that made Rise successful. It offers an equally
thrilling, unexpectedly contemplative look at what happens when brute force
triumphs over compassion, the consequences of historical violence, and the
meaning of family, community and home.
When the Godzilla remake/reboot/whatever-it-was came out earlier this year, a
critic for the website The Dissolve
called it the
first “post-human blockbuster”, arguing that its human characters were
intentionally dull to demonstrate the natural world’s apathy toward their
struggles. Though I haven’t seen the movie yet and can’t comment on the
validity of his analysis, the label itself could easily also be applied to both
Rise and Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, especially the latter. Although the
cast of Jason Clarke, Keri Russell, Gary Oldman and Kodi Smit-Phee (who must’ve
had a serious growth spurt since he last worked with Reeves) is perfectly
serviceable, it’s clear from Dawn’s
post-title shot that they’re not its main concern. Their characters are thinly
drawn, receiving just enough development that they don’t actively disturb the
film’s rhythm or detract from its effectiveness.
By contrast, their ape counterparts feel astonishingly well-realized,
aside from the frustratingly underused Judy Greer as Cornelia, the mother to
Caesar’s two sons. Thanks to some ace performances, led by the inimitable Andy
Serkis, and state-of-the-art CGI and motion capture technology, Caesar and co.
seem so alive, so completely integrated into the onscreen world that it’s easy
to forget they don’t actually, physically exist in real life. Motion capture
often get dismissed as mere tech wizardry, closer in spirit to voice acting
than traditional performances, which are somehow more authentic, never mind
that they can be just as enhanced by makeup, costumes and editing as mo-cap
ones are by digital effects. Just as The
Lord of the Rings trilogy and Avatar
did before it, Dawn proves again
that, one, motion capture can be an extremely valuable tool for filmmakers and
actors, helping them bring to life characters and stories that otherwise
would’ve been impossible to realize, and two, it doesn’t work unless there’s
real talent behind it. While visual effects artists may be responsible for
making the apes photorealistic, unique individuals that can be visually distinguished
from one another, it’s the actors who give the characters weight, personality
and emotion, who make them empathetic or loathsome, who convince the audience
to invest in their narrative. As a master of this particular method of acting,
Serkis is the obvious and deserved standout, using his expressive eyes and
throaty, primal growl of a voice, so different from the slithery rasp he had as
Gollum, to lend Caesar both gravitas and a subdued dash of angst; he commands
the screen without ever being seen on it. He’s accompanied by Nick Thurston,
who plays Caesar’s conflicted son Blue Eyes, Karin Konoval as the orangutan Maurice,
and a nastily menacing Toby Kebbell as Koba, another chimp used for medical
experiments in Rise who’s decidedly
not satisfied with Caesar’s isolationist attitude toward humanity. This tension
between Koba and Caesar drives the film’s core conflict, their rivalry
resembling that of X-Men’s Xavier and Magneto, but made more
complex because Koba has a motive to his madness and because the film itself
allows for the possibility that his hatred and condemnation of humankind is
justified.
Even beyond its use of motion capture, Dawn is a technical marvel. Backed by the always-reliable Michael
Giacchino’s sonorous score, which samples some of the original Planet of the Apes music, Reeves and
cinematographer Michael Seresin, who previously worked on Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Askaban, use elongated, swooping
shots to give their film an appropriate sense of grandeur and scale, a welcome
departure from the jittery camerawork and choppy edits so favored by action flicks
these days. Not only is it possible to follow what’s going on even during fight
scenes without getting a headache, but their confident, inventive approach
invigorates the proceedings despite a fairly familiar plot structure. The
highlight? A single, unbroken take from the point-of-view of a tank that pans
360° around a
courtyard as apes attack a crumbling building used as shelter by the remaining
humans. Dawn is never showy, but it
demands to be seen on the big screen, where its expansiveness and expert craftsmanship
can be fully appreciated. At the same time, it doesn’t forget to leave room for
some quieter, more tender moments, such as a scene where Jason Clarke’s Malcolm
and his human companions celebrate the restoration of power to a rundown gas
station or a moment around the beginning of the third act involving Caesar and
a video camera. A beating heart lies beneath the movie’s VFX-loving surface,
ensuring that the inevitable, tragic conclusion feels meaningful and urgent instead
of rote.
On a basic, conceptual level, the Planet
of the Apes franchise invites camp and winking mockery, its “apes inherit
the earth” premise closer resembling the pitch for a Sharknado-esque SyFy movie than an expensive blockbuster. However,
those behind Rise and Dawn opted to take that central conceit
seriously, avoiding the kind of glib, flippant jokes that often fill
blockbusters to make them “fun” but more frequently come across as smug. No,
there isn’t a lot of humor to Dawn, and
some logic gaps might’ve turned a less well-crafted film into an unintentional
comedy (for example, where the heck did all those horses come from? Do the apes
have a stable hidden away somewhere?), but the movie as it stands displays such
sincerity, such commitment to its subject that it quickly earns its darkness, never
becoming bogged down in solemnity or self-importance. The filmmakers seem
genuinely concerned by both the moral implications of animal testing and the
power bestowed by guns, the way they instantly escalate conflicts and sow
division and animosity. Though the political parallels aren’t as sharply
defined or hard-hitting as, say, The Dark
Knight, they add an intriguing layer to a film that clearly wants to be
substantial and memorable, not just a passing pleasure. This isn’t to say Dawn of the Planet of the Apes lacks a
sense of fun. At one point, a chimp riding a horse leaps through a wall of fire
while wielding two machine guns, and I promise it’s as glorious as it sounds.
Photo Link:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DpSaTrW4leg
(screenshot)
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