Drama, nuance and apes help revive Matt Reeves’ career
Every filmmaker has a unique origin story. Matt Reeves’ involves Super 8 cameras and dolphins.
One day, when Reeves was around 8 years old, his grandparents took him on a trip to a Southern California ocean-themed entertainment park called Marineland of the Pacific.
“There were some tourists filming dolphins with an 8-millimeter camera, and it hit me like a lightning bolt,” Reeves recalled on a mid-June morning in his office on the 20th Century Fox lot. “I thought, ‘Wow, they’re going to have the dolphins! Any time they want, they can put the dolphins on their wall!’ I was blown away by that. My grandfather sent me my father’s old windup 8-millimeter camera, and that was it. I never turned back.”
Forty-odd years later, Marineland has long since closed, but Reeves’ passion for capturing
for the Planet of the Apes,” whose title may be cause for still further bewilderment. By the often bloody and bombastic standards of the genre, this masterful third chapter is not much of a war movie at all.
Viewers expecting an epic clash between two equally vicious primate factions may be surprised — though not, I imagine, disappointed — by the eerie calm that hangs over this picture, and by the grace and restraint with which the writer-director Matt Reeves guides the story from its explosive beginning to its elegiac finale.
Perhaps that last part won’t be so surprising. Reeves, after all, was the filmmaker who gave “Dawn” its unusual gravity and emotional grandeur, veering away from Rupert Wyatt’s high-spirited “Rise” in pursuit of something altogether darker and more despairing.
“War,” co-written by Reeves and Mark Bomback, completes this progression with breathtaking formal beauty and tonal control. It is hard to overstate just how singular this picture feels in its seriousness of purpose and in its cumulative power to enthrall and astonish.
Of course, seriousness is nothing new on the blockbuster landscape, and these three recent “Apes” movies are hardly the first to traffic in grim allegories of oppression and xenophobia. The crucial difference here is that the series’ vision seems to have evolved in sync with visual-effects technology, rather than being eclipsed by it. It’s the rare Hollywood reboot that really does feel like the product of a higher intelligence.
The sharpest mind here belongs, as ever, to Caesar, the grave and eloquent chimpanzee leader played by Andy Serkis in another seamless melding of digital expertise and actorly soul. Having defeated the vicious rebel bonobo known as Koba in “Dawn,” Caesar now presides over an advanced Bay Area ape community that, despite its peace-loving ways, is repeatedly targeted by an encroaching human army.
The consequences
Even Caesar’s seemingly infinite patience wears thin after a fresh round of casualties, the cruelest of which is exacted by the army’s maniacal leader, known only as the Colonel (a terrific Woody Harrelson). Spurred on by visions of Koba’s bloodthirsty ghost, Caesar puts aside his pacifist impulses and sets out to take down the Colonel, accompanied by such sidekicks as his right-hand chimp Rocket (Terry Notary), his gorilla deputy Luca (Michael Adamthwaite) and, best of all, Maurice (Karin Konoval), still the loveliest orangutan to walk the earth.
The journey to the Colonel’s compound is paved with stunning backdrops, namely a series of snowy mountain vistas that, as shot by cinematographer Michael Seresin on gorgeous 65-millimeter film, give the movie a bleakness and desolation all its own. Naturally there are harrowing complications and unexpected meetings in store, and it is a measure of the underlying compassion of “War for the Planet of the Apes,” the optimism beneath its apocalyptic gloom, that these tense encounters tend to give rise to new friendships more often than not.
One enemy turned comrade is a wily zoo refugee, named Bad Ape by his former captors; he’s wonderfully played by Steve Zahn, bringing some welcome levity to the proceedings while enriching our sense of what has become of the world’s broader ape population. The other newcomer is a courageous young human girl named Nova (Amiah Miller), who has been stricken mute by the virus.
Nova is not alone. Even as the apes’ language skills continue to evolve — most of them communicate via (helpfully subtitled) sign language, though several, like Caesar, have become proficient English speakers — many of the humans who survived the virus’ initial onslaught are now losing the gift of speech. It is in many ways a fate worse than death, and it explains the fanatical extremism of the Colonel and his followers.
Powerful force
Under these circumstances, it’s fitting that silence should become such a powerful force in “War for the Planet of the Apes,” whose stately, never-draggy 142-minute running time features several gloriously talk-free passages. Reeves, an instinctively visual storyteller, likes to hold his characters in extended close-up, and he is understandably eager to showcase his ape ensemble, whose expressive twitches and gestures attest to the latest advances in performance-capture technology.
Serkis’ work as Caesar, much like his turn as Gollum in “The Lord of the Rings” movies, by now exists in a realm beyond praise or even measurable achievement; you feel this character’s goodness, but also his roiling internal conflict, in his every digital atom. Most of the spoken dialogue, by contrast, falls to Harrelson’s Colonel, a worthy new adversary who at one point gets a deranged, nihilistic monologue that further underscores his resemblance to Col. Kurtz in “Apocalypse Now.”
That’s just one of a few classics that Reeves has cited as overt influences, including the Clint Eastwood western “The Outlaw Josey Wales,” biblical epics like “The Ten Commandments,” and the World War II-era classics “The Great Escape” and “The Bridge on the River Kwai.” Mercifully, “War for the Planet of the Apes” feels like an inspired synthesis rather than a slavish imitation.
We root for the apes, of course — how could we not? — and Reeves does not shy away from heightening our sense of alienation from our own stupid, prideful and empathy-deficient species. Humanity here is a largely faceless parade of white-uniformed soldiers, as blank and menacing as a squad of Imperial Stormtroopers.
The subversion of our sympathies is bracing, and indeed the spectacle of mankind’s impending destruction is the sort of vicarious pleasure that the movies have always been well equipped to provide.
But the moral here, which is sufficiently nuanced that it has taken three movies to come into focus, isn’t that mankind deserves extinction. It’s that we are obliged to protect and fight for humanity wherever we happen to find it, and that the very question of one’s humanity is less a matter of interspecies difference than a condition of the heart.