Both Tomey's Turl in "Was" and the ape Caesar in Rise of the Planet of the Apes are bonded characters that lead their masters on steeplechases that explore and expose moral positions and leave former slaves holding all the cards. The apes prove their humanity while humans prove their complacency, incompetence, and hubris. But despite its lofty aspirations, this latest installment of the Planet of the Apes series lacks the emotional realism that was the hallmark of its finer predecessors. We know that one day, the apes will inherit the world; we just don't know how until the end of the story, when more screen time is dedicated to foreshadowing a sequel than to character or plot development.
[SPOILER ALERT] Caesar, a hyper-intelligent ape in the care of scientist Dr. Will Rodman (James Franco), finds himself in a primate house managed by John Landon (Brian Cox) and his son Dodge (Tom Felton) after Caesar becomes violent when a neighbor threatens Dr. Rodman's Alzheimer's-stricken father Charles (John Lithgow). When he learns to escape the simian sanctuary, Caesar absconds with- and deploys on- his fellow apes a virally-delivered gene therapy Dr. Rodman has developed and desperately tested on his father. The therapy, which imbues apes with human-like intelligence that allows them to revolt against their human captors and escape to the Redwood Forest, is fatal to humans: In a closing scene, an infected pilot boards an internationally-bound flight.
Rise of the Planet of the Apes is full of allusions to everything from Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar" to Joseph Stalin and the Russian Revolution, to 12 Monkeys, to fascism, but these allusions are only half-realized. Caesar turning a single stick into a fasces to demonstrate the power of cooperation flirts with the cult of leadership, but never materializes into totalitarianism; the ruthless, scar-faced ape Koba (a nickname of Stalin's) never betrays the kindly (if rebellious) Caesar, and inter-ape political intrigue and instability are dismissed with the promise of a utopia among the redwoods.
All the danger and tragedy that could have made this film interesting have been left offscreen, presumably to make Rise of the Planet of the Apes palatable to the generalist of audiences. Caesar's transition from pharm lab Frankenstein to dedicated revolutionary is murky, and in the reality of the film, intelligence and emotional maturity are ludicrously interchangeable. Dr. Rodman's desperate and unethical experimentation on his father is similarly devoid of emotional complexity, and his romance with zoo vet Caroline (Frieda Pinto) is eerily un-intimate during its five-year course.
Franco's and Lithgow's performances suggest vital, vulnerable characters, but the juiciest moments of rumination and dialogue were left on the cutting room floor. Lithgow's portrayal of Alzheimer's derives its force from an amazing reserve of intelligence and empathy, and in scenes that aspire to little more than the mere telling of his character's condition, Lithgow demonstrates an ability to show.
Had this movie not attempted to take intellectual high ground and spent less time bracing audiences for a follow-up film, it could have been much bolder than it is. Instead, it's another example of studios capitalizing on already-established franchises, big-name actors and stock stories to fill a parade of the uncannily familiar and blandly wholesome.
