Review - War for the Planet of the Apes

“Apes together, strong” is a fitting mantra for Caesar, the super-smart lab chimp played by Andy Serkis around whom 20^th Century Fox's Planet of the Apes prequel trilogy orbits. First it was his righteous rallying cry as he led a simian revolt against human oppressors in 2011's Rise of the Planet of the Apes. Then it became a plea for peace and unity in the superb 2014 sequel Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, as fear and war-mongering rent his ape utopia asunder.

With War for the Planet of the Apes now wrapping up the story, it also serves as an 'ape-ropos' meta-assessment for the series itself. Under the sturdy guidance of husband-and-wife producers Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver (who co-wrote the first two chapters before turning scripting duties over to writer-director Matt Reeves, who also helmed Dawn), these three straight-faced precursors to a verbose and silly 60s sci-fi represent the best of what the modern studio culture can accomplish; A high-minded dramatic saga driven by emotion over spectacle, and serviced (rather than shadowed) by technical innovation. Taken as a whole, these Apes reboots leave an impression far more enduring than any of them do as standalone entities. Even if War doesn't quite match the sprawling Shakespearean complexity of Dawn, it still delivers a grand conclusion to what has stealthily become the finest blockbuster franchise of its decade. Apes together, strong.

In case the events of the previous two films escape you, a brief opening text reminds us of how humans and apes came to be at war, while Michael Seresin's camera slides us in line with a battalion of soldiers (their helmets ominously scrawled with omega symbols) preparing to attack. Caesar wishes only for the fighting to stop so his ape community can be left alone in their forest home, but a fatal midnight raid led by a nameless Colonel (Woody Harrelson) awakens his blood lust.

As his colony prepares to relocate, he strikes out into the snow-covered mountains (a perfect backdrop for the winter of his discontent) to settle his personal vendetta. With him are is right-hand chimp Rocket (Terry Notary), gorilla Luca (Michael Adamthwaite) and orangutan Maurice (Karin Konoval), the latter of whom adopts a mysteriously mute human girl beautifully played by Amiah Miller. Their first encounter unfolds – as do most of the film's best passages – without a word of dialogue, the silence occasionally pricked by the tender prodding of Michael Giacchino's piano.

Caesar values his friends' loyalty but fears what it may cost them. He knows that his journey will only grow more perilous as he draws closer to the Colonel, whose shaved dome and whispered menace evoke Brando's crazed Col. Kurtz from Apocalypse Now.

It's not the only similarity shared with Coppola's Nam classic, a clear influence by Reeves' admission. Apocalypse Now was often less a war film than a dark odyssey of the soul, and War for the Planet of the Apes feels much the same for long stretches of its meaty 142 minutes. In fact, the war implied by the title is scarcely glimpsed but for a taught opening firefight and the climactic pyrotechnics.
The greater war is waged within, between our hero's humane superego and his vengeful id.

If anything, War is shaped more as a revenge-Western-turned-prison-break;
A gripping one to be sure, although with prison movie territory having already been tread by this franchise, the second act inevitably loses some momentum.
It's a slight but notable flaw, though it isn't alone. Not every plot beat of Reeves' and Mark Bomback's busy screenplay is gracefully timed, and the introduction of Steve Zahn's comic relief character 'Bad Ape' adds little to a series that had gotten by just fine without indulging in needless laughs.

None of this is to imply that War disappoints. I come not to bury Caesar after all, but to praise him. The mutli-film realization of this character has been a thrilling Serkis act to behold.

The marriage of the ape cast's emotional gravitas to Weta Digital's ever evolving performance-capture technique is as seamless as ever, but this final installment of the trilogy and its elegiac arcs offer them their best showcase to date. It is, by far, Serkis' most internally complex outing in what may be the signature role of his career; Physically demanding as always, but more impressive yet in its self-probing study of grief and coming to blows with one's own ideals.

Reeves' controlled, confident penchant for closeups allows every anguished grimace, steely gaze and poignant tear to register in stunning detail. With due credit to the hundreds of Weta artists who transform the man into the ape, every pixel of Caesar's digital flesh still belongs to Serkis. Oscar voters won't take notice, but they should.

However, when the smoke clears on the battlefield, what's inescapable is that War owes as much of its impact to its predecessors as to its own skillful storytelling. Our ability to take this fable seriously rests entirely on the success of the first two episodes, which also boast more in the way ethical nuance.

The moral lines drawn in the snow seem somehow more obvious, and the stakes somehow lower despite their epic ramifications. Perhaps the hopeful illusion of coexistence offered by Dawn, with its complicated manifestations of pacifism and fanaticism on both sides of the special divide, provided a richer array of character perspectives to explore than we have here.

Then again, the clear stance War takes on humankind's very lack of humanity – made none too subtly by the revelation of a virus that renders infected humans literally speechless – is a compelling enough idea for viewers to grapple with.
You may find it tough to align yourself with the humans as they threaten to wipe both apes and each other off the face of the Earth in this cataclysmic finale. Arguably, the apes deserve the planet more than we do.

*** out of ****