“Take your stinking paw off me, you damn dirty ape!”
Rise is the most important of the current iteration of the Apes franchise, in the way that every opener is the most important: if the first one is bad, we won’t get a second. And I will say: I like this movie well enough. And I will also maintain that Rise is the fourth-best of the current iteration. (For my full list, and some takes on the most-recent entry, check out this post.)
Let’s start by talking about what keeps Rise from the top of my Apes list; and then we’ll talk about what it does really well.
“Some things aren’t meant to be changed. You need to accept that.”
Charles' Rodman’s Alzheimer’s. Larry’s Depression in Lady Bird has become the standard against which I measure portrayals of illness; it’s a measured, disciplined presentation of the disease, one that eschews ostentatious exhibitions of symptoms.
Mr. Rodman’s Alzheimer’s is not. Now, to be fair, his disease is a lot different from Larry’s. In addition, one of the more devastating elements of living Alzheimer’s is the reality that it brings with it sudden, violent outbursts. (Moreover, I’m no Alzheimer’s expert; as of this writing, it has not touched my day-to-day life directly.)
But, well, more than a few scenes still make me a little uncomfortable. Is it possible that my beloved John Lithgow hams it up just a bit? More broadly, how high is the degree of difficulty in portraying any disease of the mind in a big-budget sci-fi action film? In other words, is a measured, disciplined presentation even possible, or viable?
And, look; again, I fear I’m getting a bit far out my lane, here; and I’d love for an expert to tell me I’m wrong.
The Science and the Scientific Method. A few weeks back, I saw a social media post asserting that James Franco is a poster boy for unintelligent people being unable to play intelligent people convincingly. As I am not personally acquainted with Mr. Franco, I can neither confirm nor deny the validity of the foundation to that post’s conclusion. In any event, that post has stuck with me, thanks in no small part because the presentation of Gen-Sys’ operating procedures and policies is one of the most unserious elements of the franchise.
Again, I’m no scientist. And I know “it’s just a movie.” But come on; some of the scientists’ very many departures from responsible science are inarguably head-shake-inducing.
On my most recent viewing, I took special issue with Steve Jacobs’ arc. We all get from the beginning that he’s a little cash-compromised. Fair enough. But it’s a little tough to take that on hearing that ALZ-13 has the promise to make everyone who takes it way smarter he immediately goes full flat cartoon villain.
If we think about it for even a few seconds, it’s not hard to see the story motivations for Jacobs’ turn. First, Jacobs-as-villain allows us to see Koba’s introduction as a vindictive killer as he sends Jacobs to his death—a plot point that falls emotionally flat for me. Second, the film gets to remove any subtlty to the message that capitalism is at least partly responsible for our apocalypse. Third, Will gets to skate a bit on his culpability. Yeah, he recklessly ended human civilization. But hey! His boss told him to! And Will quit!
Will working totally on his own, perhaps even in defiance of Jacobs’ orders would have painted him more as a Dr. Frankenstein: egotistical, convinced of his mission’s nobility, and blinded to its dangers until it’s too late. Put another way: perhaps I’m asking too much, but I would have loved a chance to see Will more as someone who is both an evil scientist and a sympathetic son and father.
Okay! Decks cleared! Let’s talk about what I really like about this movie.
“Careful. Humans don’t like smart ape.”
First—and maybe this sounds like I’m talking too much out of both sides of my mouth—the film in several instances showcases pathos effectively. We can see Caesar’s doomed effort to save Charles from his confrontation with their pilot neighbor coming a mile away; and it still works. Will leaving Caesar at the shelter is legitimately gut-wrenching. And Caesar’s initiation with the other apes features some difficult-to-watch moments. He’s an easy protagonist to root for; and we do—passionately.
The series will get even better in showing complicated situations with simple and deep emotions—even better at making the apes effective and dynamic characters.
Second, Rise is relatively tight, and hits its marks. Say what you will about the parenting decision to show my son the fourth installment of this series before the first. (In my defense, it’s summer!) When I asked him what we thought after he saw Rise, he said he preferred it to Kingdom, for a simple reason: the story was more direct. And I have to agree with him there. At an hour and forty-five minutes, the movie respects the viewer and seems to understand the assignment. The pace moves relatively briskly, and does not wallow overlong in any one key structural element.
“Ape alone . . . weak. Apes together . . . strong.”
Third, what makes the film’s tightness so endearing is that the story is also confident. I remember walking into the theater to watch this film expecting to see all sorts of sequences of apes on the rampage, and walking out disappointed (in that regard).
The more I see it, though, the more I respect its restraint in this arena. The escape sequence is actually pretty compact. And up until that sequence, the film takes pride in being as much a drama about a placeless and lonely ape as it is sci-fi thriller.
Along the same lines, we see confidence in the film’s slow-walking of Caesar’s development. We have to wait for and thus get a chance to have our breath taken away by Caesar’s first “NO!”. And once he delivers that first line, the story is confident to hold back from him speaking again until the very end. And it’s one hell of an effective mic drop.
Fourth, the ending rules. I’m not talking about the ending right after Caesar’s mic drop, where he and his crew gaze upon San Francisco. (That part still seems odd to me, actually. Like, okay. You’ve made it to the forest just north of the Golden Gate Bridge. And? Did the authorities just give up looking for you at that point? Have you actually won?)
I’m talking about the real ending, the mid-credits scene. We’ve known that this guy is a pilot; and we know in live-time that Franklin coughing blood on him is bad. But tracing the paths of the flights to show us how the world ends is one hell of an efficient and chilling way to show us how bad. I’ve seen the film several times, and it remains overwhelming and dark and sad.
And phew, boy, does this scene hit different after COVID. (While I’m here: so does Jaws, Outbreak, and Contagion.) (While I’m here: watching Contagion in July 2020 during lockdown was one of the scariest movie-watching experiences of my life.)
See you on July 10th, when we discuss the triumphant sequel to Rise, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (2014).