Dawn of the Planet of the Apes

Et tu, Koba?

"Dawn of the Planet of the Apes" is the movie that has brought "Apes" to war. Oddly enough, this is one of the most anti-war films in years, with unmistakable allegories and warnings against unguarded militantism and vengeance. This has been observed by several others. Ari Siletz notes that audiences will surrender to the film's fatalism, that "when the forecast is war, peacemaking is as futile as raindancing in a drought." Here's what Rob Ryan has to say: "The central thesis of the second movie seems to be that despite the best intentions of good leaders, people (and apes) are innately paranoid, hateful creatures that are almost entirely incapable of getting along with each other." Three years ago, in my review of "Rise of the Planet of the Apes," the better than expected reboot of the series, I wrote that the horror of the film was that the "descent with modification" that is evolution is flipped and the hegemony of humans over their distant cousins is reversed. The horror of "Dawn of the Planet of the Apes" is that now both species have guns and will do anything to destroy each other. There exists here an embrace of the "killer ape theory," the idea that "war and interpersonal aggression was the driving force behind human evolution." War has found a way.

This is really evident in the fascinating performance that is Toby Kebbell as Koba. Koba (if I recall correctly) was the ape who was particularly mistreated in the previous film. Here, he is one of Caesar's (Andy Serkis) top lieutenants. In the opening hunt, it is Koba who saves Caesar's life. Koba recognizes that it was Caesar who saved his first, and so he is willing to follow him wherever Caesar takes the apes as their leader. But it's not so simple. The majority of Koba's scenes show him as a character of haunting mercilessness--an angry warrior charging into battle, willing to figuratively and literally jump through fire if he has to. I don't think I've ever seen something as uniquely frightening as an ape shooting assault rifles while charging on horseback into battle. Scars make you stronger, he believes--but they also make you more bitter. He has learned hate from humans, and that appears to be all he has learned, and so he grows impatient with Caesar's cautious pragmatism and pacifism. Koba is clever as he is vicious, making his humorous scenes, like how he "plays monkey" to distract his enemy humans, all the more unnerving. It isn't too surprising that he hates humans so much. His reflection, to some extent, is in Gary Oldman's character, Dreyfus. It's not fully explained, but we can assume that while it's unlikely the apes killed Dreyfus's family, he blames them. He's a man of war by necessity, he might argue, not by choice.

Caesar, our main protagonist, isn't nearly as interesting as Koba. But Andy Serkis is doing remarkable work with this trilogy. After watching the first film, I couldn't help but wonder if Serkis was getting tired playing these characters that require motion-capture technology. After all, he has done this for Peter Jackson's "Lord of the Rings" and "Hobbit" trilogies, "The Adventures of Tintin," and "King Kong." He is a part of the main cast of the upcoming "Star Wars" film, and while there are interesting, to say the least, theories as to what kind of character he will play (ranging from a Wookie to Yoda to Jar Jar Binks' son), I side with the argument that his character should not be one that requires computer generation. He has proven his ability and imagination with such acting, but now, I say, let him have an opportunity to prove he can do more traditional acting. Serkis knows this; here is what he told the Telegraph: "Caesar and all the other characters I have ever played are driven by one thing and that is acting. Audiences want to be moved by acting, not by visual effect." I still think that audiences don't quite understand the physicality of his work. Here's an great quote from an interesting article in Wired about his performance as Gollum: "He conceived Gollum as an addict whose inner struggle translated into an out-of-control, convulsive physicality. In his audition, he climbed up on a chair, his face contorted, and delivered his lines in a thin voice interspersed with a gurgling cough."

Serkis doesn't necessarily gurgle a cough and contort his face, but his Method acting approach and laborious study of ape movement is obvious. Remind yourself that the actors portraying humans are not seeing the actors portraying apes as we the audience see them, so the pressure is twofold on Serkis and others. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the digital rendering of Caesar seems to look less realistic than that of Koba or Maurice (Karin Konoval), an orangutan who serves as an important adviser to Caesar and a school teacher. Most of the other characters aren't particularly interesting, though. Jason Clarke as Malcolm, the main human, is more of a man of peace (in stark contrast to Clarke's characters in "Lawless" and "Zero Dark Thirty") than Dreyfus. It's not a bad performance or character per se, just a rather flat one. Like Frida Pinto before her, Keri Russell isn't given much to do other than hand out antibiotics to dying apes. But while the movie doesn't have much to offer in terms of character development, the other elements are terrific. The music by the great Michael Giacchino manages to aid the film while seemingly paying homage to the original 1968 film and "2001: A Space Odyssey" (which was released the same year and also famously has apes). Its dialogue isn't exactly that of Shakespeare, but its impressive visuals, powerful imagines and obvious metaphors make it a movie you should see.

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Life Itself

I've made no secret of my admiration of Roger Ebert over the years. But allow me to keep on showing my adoration for the finest film critic we ever had: If there ever was an American treasure in film criticism, it was Ebert. The winner of the Pulitzer Prize and a recipient of a Hollywood Walk of Fame Star (the first in both categories for a film critic), and a prolific writer on a variety of subjects, he was the film critic. But I assure you--you don't have to know who Ebert was to enjoy this movie. Whether you know who he is or not, you really should see "Life Itself," the new documentary about his life and career. It's one of the year's best.

The country first came to know Roger Ebert through his incredibly influential partnership with Gene Siskel of the Chicago Tribune. They were Siskel and Ebert. But as we all know, it was a complicated relationship. An example of just how much they could truly hate each other is told by Marlene Iglitzen, wife of Gene Siskel. Siskel and Ebert were on a plane out of Chicago, and Siskel grew tired of Ebert (who is described as a raconteur by several individuals in the documentary) telling a story to another passenger. Siskel, annoyed as ever, gave a note to the flight attendant and asked if she would give it to Ebert. She did. The note said something along the lines of: "Mr. Ebert, we in the cockpit almost always agree with you over your reviewing partner. We would be delighted if you would join us in the cockpit." Ebert was ecstatic, sprang from his seat, and marched toward the cockpit (and keep in mind that because of his weight, it was rather awkward for him to move about the cabin). The flight attendants were shocked as he was about to knock on the door, before Siskel shouted up toward him and revealed himself as the true author of the note, much to Ebert's profound irritation and humiliation.

Ebert was an exceptional storyteller. If you don't believe me, listen to his story he told on Letterman's show involving Siskel and a Korean film about a lady and her dog. According to Ebert, the two of them were viewing the film with other Chicago film critics and were quite bored by it. Siskel decided to leave the cinema to make a phone call. In the time that he was gone, the movie (which featured nothing of any significance) suddenly took a bizarre turn by having the main protagonist have sex with her dog. Siskel returned, and the other critics broke out into laughter. Siskel demanded an explanation, Ebert told him, and Siskel refused to believe it. Trust me, it's much funnier listening to Ebert explain the situation.

The narrative over the years, especially after Siskel died in 1998 from brain cancer, has been that even though Siskel and Ebert seemed to frequently shout at each other, they really did like each other. But the documentary makes great use of the awesome--yet frightening--YouTube clip of repeated outtakes from their show. "Sound a little excited, Gene," Ebert lectures. "Sound less excited," is the terse response. Ebert continues to correct him--"It's called 'And the Moves,' not 'At the Movies,'" is the next interruption. Siskel keeps it together, then finishes: "That's this week on 'Siskel...and Ebert...and the Movies...and the asshole, and that's Roger!"

Don't worry: They really were a great partnership and seemed to do other outtakes simply roasting each other. "Do you know that for Gene, speech is a second language?" Ebert keeps winning, poking fun of Siskel's inability to not trip over his words. Then for another outtake, they team up, poking fun at Protestants, which, according to Ebert is a group of people who sort of want a religion. What a team. I mean, these two guys couldn't have been further apart in personality. One was tall and thin, the other was small and large. One studied Philosophy at Yale, the other journalism at Urbana. One wrote for the bourgeois Chicago Tribune, the other for the more working class Chicago Sun-Times. But they were quite the team. They came full-circle in the aftermath of Siskel's death. Consider Chris Jones' exceptional 2010 article, where Ebert describes how he and Gene were born to be Siskel and Ebert. In the following paragraph, we see just how much Ebert protected Siskel after his death:

Ebert keeps scrolling down. Below his journal he had embedded video of his first show alone, the balcony seat empty across the isle. It was a tribute, in three parts. He wants to watch them now, because he wants to remember, but at the bottom of the page are only three black squares. In the middle of the squares, white type reads: "Content deleted. This video is no longer available because it has been deleted." Ebert leans to the screen, trying to figure out what's happened. He looks across at Chaz. The top half of his face turns red, and his eyes well up again, but this time, it's not sadness surfacing. He's shaking. It's anger. 

But the heart of the movie--the team the film most wants to focus on--is Roger and Chaz. Those two additionally seemed different, the most obvious difference being their skin color. But the love they clearly had for each other, especially as Chaz cared for him during his battles and pushed him to keep going, makes this one of the great love stories of any documentary. She herself also has a talent for storytelling, but many of the stories involve pain. She tells us how at one point, the pain became so bad that he slipped her a note saying "kill me." She angrily refused--"That is not an option," she insisted. Ebert is terribly in pain throughout the filming. An obvious hole exists where his jaw used to. We see him struggle deeply as a nurse inserts a suction tube into his throat, and as a physical therapist coaches him to produce even a few steps at the hospital after he's broken his hip. Nobody deserves such suffering, especially Ebert. But he endured, as long as he could.

Ebert is described by a friend as being "nice--but not that nice." Indeed, his not-niceness shows, whether it's in heated conversations with Siskel or arrogant reminders of his Pulitzer Prize--he doesn't always come across in the best light. But as a champion of motion pictures, he was extraordinary. Errol Morris tells us of how a strike during the premiere of his documentary "Pet Cemetery" meant that it wouldn't be reviewed in New York, which essentially equated to doom for his film. But Siskel and Ebert, based in Chicago, were to review it, and they reviewed it not once but three times during the course of the show. Ava DuVernay describes her meeting with Ebert at the Oscars and his inspiring her. (He wrote about the encounter on his blog.) Ramin Bahrani explains how Ebert promised to attend a showing of his film "Man Push Cart" at the Sundance Film Festival. For the first two showings, Ebert was a no-show, but the third and final showing (at eight in the morning during the final day), Ebert was happily at the front of the line. Ebert would later give Bahraini a gift that had been given to him by Laura Dern, who was given it by Alfred Hitchcock. It was Bahraini's responsibility, Ebert told him, to give it to someone else. Martin Scorsese, who Ebert predicted in 1967 would be one of America's most important film directors, tells us how at one point in his career, his marriage had fallen apart and he became addicted to cocaine. He truly was at a low point, and begins to break down as he describes what kept him going: he was told that Siskel and Ebert were to pay tribute to him at a film event. When they gave a bad review to his "The Color of Money," Scorsese mentions that it felt more like a paternalistic warning, not a malicious bucket of venom.

Film critics are meant to be the unsung heroes of movie-watching. That is, we not only are long passed the days of Pauline Kael and Siskel and Ebert but we are also passed the point where people take film critics' opinions seriously. But if Ebert could have had some kind of totally objective viewing of such a documentary, I believe he would adore this movie. He would certainly be proud of director Steve James, one of Ebert's favorite directors. Ebert famously said that no good movie is too long but no bad movie is short enough. I've never found that particularly accurate, but it surely is here. I didn't want the film to end. But all good things must end; such is life itself.

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The Fault in Our Stars

"I still believe, in spite of everything, that people are truly good at heart. I simply can't build my hopes on a foundation of confusion, misery and death."
-Anne Frank

The only thing worse than cancer is kids with cancer. This is a fairly bold topic for a novel and film about young people in love to tackle. But tackle it does. This isn't a movie about sick kids but kids who are sick, and there is a subtle yet important difference between the two. It doesn't need to be elaborated but you'll understand as you watch.

"The Fault in Our Stars" is the story of a girl with cancer, not cancer itself. The girl is named Hazel, a sixteen-year-old, and is played by Shailene Woodley. Hazel has suffered from thyroid cancer for years, and, despite limited relief, surviving has helped convince her doctors that she is a miracle. No one in the audience would doubt her melancholy, however, as her doctors casually proscribe anti-depressants and pressure her to attend youth peer groups for those suffering from cancer. She reluctantly agrees. Here, she literally bumps into a young man named Augustus Waters (Ansel Elgort), whose own cancer cost him his leg but not his spirit. At one of the youth meetings, he proudly describes to the group that his only fear is oblivion. He intends to be around for a long time, and will reach legendary status. This understandably strikes Hazel the wrong way, and she tersely challenges him in front of the others.

Despite this defiance and rejection, Augustus develops quite a crush on Hazel, whom he flirtatiously keeps referring to as Hazel Grace. They swap books--she gives him "An Imperial Affliction," by a reclusive author who, despite his powerful writing, fled to the Netherlands never to return. Augustus gives Hazel Grace his copy of a graphic novel based on his favorite video game. They read the books and appear to enjoy the experience. The flirting continues and crescendos until they fall in love and battle their cancers together.

I liked this movie, and I was surprised by how much. It has a peculiar trajectory--it starts intriguing (though that's probably not an appropriate adjective to use), becomes annoying, then really annoying, then tolerable, then enjoyable, before becoming really enjoyable. And yet I couldn't help but feel much too manipulated. While it's strongest element is that it's a movie about kids who are sick and not sick kids, its weakest quality is that this is a movie that seems to objectify human beings just so I, the viewer (and one who is fortunate enough to not have cancer), can feel happier about my life. I wasn't sure how to react to that. There's a scene that takes place in the Anne Frank House, and there are obvious similarities between the two individuals, mainly being that they are both intellectual, brave young women. The problem is that when our two protagonists reach the top, where Frank and her family hid, it inspires them to kiss. Call me mature or realistic or cynical or whatever, but while it is a powerful and hopeful image, it still struck me as behavior more from Justin Bieber than those who are struggling and kept persevering. The scene might make you cry, but it also might make you internally debate the ethics of such actions.

Aside from being objectifying, it also at times feels clichéd. However, I can't say it's completely clichéd, because the characters' European fairy tale quickly turns into a nightmare in the film's most unpredictable moments. What starts with the pounding adrenaline of Charli XCX's music as their plane lifts off (and a lame attempt at humor as we discover that Mr. Confident Augustus is afraid of flying), the young ones finally get to meet this beloved author of theirs. I won't reveal who plays him, only that you'll likely agree with me that he's one of America's most talented actors. The scenes with him are uniquely but pleasantly absurd.

Woodley is exceptional. Fortunately, she's chosen a better project than last year's atrociously awful "The Spectacular Now." Even in the weaker moments of "The Fault in Our Stars," she still shines, and motivates us to stay interested. She should be considered for an Oscar nomination. Laura Dern and Sam Trammell are also terrific as Hazel's parents, Dern especially so, providing some of the movie's most touching moments. But I think the person who stands the most to gain from this movie is Nat Wolff, who is brilliant in just about all of his scenes (that don't involve trophies). Wolff plays Isaac. When we first meet Isaac, he tells us that his cancer caused him to lose one eye and another surgery could cause him to lose the other. Still, he's on top of the world, madly in love with his girlfriend. As the film progresses and changes, so too do his standing and perception of life. His unusual character and the notes he hits are the exact representation of the movie's dual nature. An issue I had, however, with the acting was about Elgort, who, while not terrible, could have used better direction. He simply overdoes many of his scenes.

You ought to see this film. It's a celebration of life, an acceptance of the banality yet grit of those who persevere. The best movies are coming-of-age stories. This is one, but uniquely different. We rarely see such characters in such extraordinary pain. Rarely do movies like this inspire such thought (and yes, hope and appreciation).


And finally, here's an important message by "The Fault in Our Stars" author and vlogger John Green:

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Edge of Tomorrow

Did you see the science fiction movie where the guy needs to solve a mystery and yet he keeps dying? But every time he dies, he suddenly wakes up again--you've seen it right? It's a neat little film with a clever concept: what if a movie was like a video game, where every time the character died, he got to try over again and win? The film is called "Edge of Tomorrow," and it's the hit new mov--wait a minute! That wasn't "Edge of Tomorrow"! That was "Source Code," with Jake Gyllenhaal, from several years ago. Alright, well both films share strikingly similar plots, although "Edge of Tomorrow" is a louder (and more stupid) movie with more action and big, creepy aliens (that happen to kind of look like a hybrid of those in "Independence Day" and "War of the Worlds"--again, not so creative).

"Edge of Tomorrow," the hit new movie with Tom Cru--wait a minute! Those helmets...that gear...those grotesque aliens...I know I've seen those somewhere. Was it "Source Code"? No, there were no aliens in that movie. Methinks it was circa 1997. I know--it was..."Starship Troopers"? I remember that one! That's the guilty pleasure Paul Verhoeven movie; "the only good bug is a dead bug!" Okay, so one must concede that this "new" movie called "Edge of Tomorrow" borrows from "Source Code" and "Starship Trooper" (and "Independence Day" and "War of the Worlds"), but that's it!

Although...those aliens...they move so darn fast, rolling around and everything. Wait just a friggan minute. Those things move just like the aliens (or robots or monsters or whatever the hell they were) in "The Matrix." Is there anything original in this supposedly new movie? Not really. "Edge of Tomorrow" is frankly, not very original. But directors as varied as Quentin Tarantino, George Lucas, and Martin Scorsese have all used previous works from other directors as inspiration. There is (usually) nothing wrong with this. But when it becomes so prevalent as it is in "Edge of Tomorrow," it becomes distracting, to say the least.

But wait, wait, wait! "Edge of Tomorrow" is based on a 2004 book called "All You Need Is Kill" by Hiroshi Sakurazaka. So in actuality, "Source Code" (but not 1997's "Starship Troopers") is guilty of unoriginality, no? What a particular position this reviewer finds himself in: criticizing a movie for being unoriginal when it in fact is...original. Shouldn't this make me rescind my initial appraisal of "Source Code" and assess "Edge of Tomorrow" differently? Ah, to hell with it! Complaining about a movie because it's unoriginal does not justify disliking the film. But alas, that is not the only problem with "Edge of Tomorrow." For one, it's a pretty stupid title. But again, not sufficient evidence to bash it. Is the acting bad? No--for the most part. Cruise does a fine job. Of course, he hardly ever submits a bad performance. He can almost always lead an action blockbuster, as is the case with "Mission: Impossible" or "Top Gun," and he often puts in exceptional acting, like he did in "Magnolia" and "Collateral." He's one of the rare actors who can lead a loud, dumb movie, and actually act. But he's not given too much to do here, and neither is his co-star, Emily Blunt.

Cruise plays Major William Cage (what a pristinely original name) who sort of goes on TV and "sells" the war as a propagandist. The war happens to be the entire world (or so we should hope) against an alien species. But when he shows up to the war zone, his general (Brendan Gleeson) orders him to the battlefront, even though he has never served and has no intention to. He wakes up in handcuffs and is joyfully humiliated by his commanding officer, played by Bill Paxton (whose acting is a bit over the top, but whimsical and enjoyable nonetheless). Cage is put into terribly heavy and potent gear (similar to the ones in "Aliens" and "Pacific Rim"--oh, for the love of God). "Saving Private Ryan"-style (ugh), he storms the beach with his other soldiers...and dies quickly. But then he wakes up.

"Oh, no," the audience must think. "Not one of those stupid 'it was all a dream' types of story." No, not quite. Here's where the fun begins. Cage seems a bit nauseous as he relives essentially the exact previous moments before his "death." His commanding officer, Paxton again, goes through the same routine. The other soldiers taunt him in the same manner. Something surely is amiss. He dies again and then wakes, yet again in the fetal position, kicked up. He tries to convince the others of his prophetic ability to foresee the upcoming slaughter by the aliens; it's as if the aliens know they're coming. He goes into the same battle, at times trying to save his comrades, often with success, but it's for naught. He continues to die, he continues to wake. It's as if this is the sci-fi version of "Groundhog Day" (dammit!). But he does find one peculiar difference: there appears to be someone just like him.

This is where Blunt comes in. She plays Rita Vrataski, a soldier fiercely nicknamed "the Angel of Verdun" due to her reputation as a fighter. She, too, suffers from this bizarre condition, and once she realizes it, she instructs him to find her again once he dies. Again, this is quite fun. Over and over, we see him replaying this game, finding Rita again and again, dying again and again, becoming stronger, yet discovering not only his own flaws and inabilities, but his growing (and predictable) affection for her.

But the filmmakers cannot sustain this for long. Eventually, it just becomes loud and uninteresting. A missed opportunity, as they say, and an unoriginal one.

Did I mention the music sounds a lot like the theme from "Inception"?

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