Dawn of the Planet of the Apes is a Brilliant Subversion

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes is a contradiction: it expands on its predecessor in ways that feel natural while simultaneously turning the franchise in a radical new direction. The very first thing we see in it is not a person, not even an ape, but a single red dot appearing in the dark as the apocalyptic virus known as the Simian Flu infects its first patient. A tragic and painfully innocent piano piece that's but the summit of Michael Giacchino's beautiful score echoes as the dot spreads across the globe to spawn new dots, as if a small child were crying on the keyboard as the world falls apart around her. One by one, the dots flare and then disappear as more lives are snuffed out by the virus to the tune of hopeless news broadcasts and frantic pleas for help over the radio. Rarely have the opening moments of any movie made such a strong impression on me, and that's partly because Shakespearean tragedy was one of the last tones I expected this one to adopt, though it ends up both complementing and elevating its predecessor's humanism perfectly.

The warm, familiar shades of tan and yellow we associate with San Francisco are no more. The homes, the shops, and the once-vibrant beaches of California have been stripped of their life and charm, replaced by a sorrowful post-apocalyptic world which nature is slowly reclaiming. Lightning flashes across the gloomy sky above a rain-soaked forest where apes cling to the trees, painted as if they're going into battle. One of the apes scouts ahead; they're close, he signs to his leader, a deadly-serious Caesar who has grown far beyond that innocent baby ape in the arms of a good but long-dead man. Wait, Caesar signs. Wait...

With a sudden roar, Caesar and the rest of the ape hunting party launch an ambush not on soldiers or scientists, but a herd of deer left to multiply unhindered in our absence. Pure fantasy like this is rare, in large part because it is so appropriate here. The visuals of Dawn could not possibly be further removed from those of its predecessor, though it retains the humanist themes while abandoning the real-world aesthetic in favor of grounded fantasy. Now, in spite of the seemingly untouched herds of deer roaming the woods, not all of the humans are dead, and when one of them panics and shoots an ape after a chance encounter in the woods, tensions are ignited between Caesar's ape colony and the newly discovered human community, flames of unease fanned both by general mistrust and one particularly vengeful ape named Koba, who was experimented upon and tortured by humans before the virus gave the world a hard reboot. If none of this sounds like it fits into a nice, neat box to you, you're getting the idea: try your best to hang on for the visionary, intelligent ride.

Dawn is not a complicated movie, but it is methodical. The only real danger it poses to everyone in it is the very grim, very real possibility of apes and humans going to war, and it is constructed of one allusion to that possibility after another, both sides walking the line and trying to maintain a delicate peace that both parties need, even if neither necessarily wants it. It is not a cut-and-dry narrative with a clear good on one side and a clear evil on the other, though some apes and humans are distinctly more benevolent and good-hearted than others. It is a series of actions taken out of trauma, fear, necessity, and rage, followed by the natural consequences of those actions. And, as dark as this story can get, there are moments of genuine beauty and innocence in it, glimmers of light reminding us of our better angels.

The direction of this movie makes it simultaneously huge and intimate. The scale is massive, and the Last-of-Us-adjacent worldbuilding mind-blowingly immersive, but the smaller, more personal moments feel equally impactful, just in a different way. As good as it is, Rise of the Planet of the Apes was only the appetizer, and Dawn is but part one of a main course that restructures a lot of the rules of its franchise. It places a huge emphasis on humanism, so much so that I could devote an entire article to that one aspect and still be happy with my word count. This is a movie about how each of us reacts to our darker emotions, and very few characters reach the same conclusions, though they all face the same consequences.

Toby Kebbel's stirring performance as Koba is startling, whiplashing between tragedy and villainy. He was hurt more than any animal should have to be, and you can see the pain in his eyes, pain hiding behind a hateful glare bordering on demonic. Andy Serkis is more commanding and mature than before as Caesar, and he serves both as a stabler foil to Koba and as something of a bridge between the two civilizations in the sense that his mind isn't entirely made up on whether to trust them or not. At its best, Dawn is a near-perfect humanist drama, though some of its human supporting characters aren't much to write home about, and for as much screen time as they're afforded, I wish they were. But the high points are what ultimately shine through, and I think with the big picture in mind, that's what really matters.

I've already discussed this movie's vision, but I'd be remiss not to acknowledge its flawless execution. Much of it was obviously created digitally, but none of the computer graphics drag it down; rather, they elevate the vision. The CGI apes are virtually lifelike, an astonishing achievement that blends seamlessly with real sets and computer-generated set pieces so real-looking that I didn't know they weren't until I googled it. One of this movie's finest moments features a rotating mounted shot of Koba commandeering a human combat vehicle during a climactic battle (spoiler alert, but what did you really expect?) My jaw physically dropped as the fantasy swept over me, and I hope and believe it will do the same for you.

The term you've never seen anything quite like... has been wildly overused, but this is one of the first movies I remember truly loving, though I was at the time unable to articulate my feelings, and I haven't seen anything like it in all the years since. It is one of the purest fantasies I've seen put to screen, and while I know this review is beginning to drag on a little, I feel a need to make up for what I see as this movie being unfairly forgotten. It and the rest of its trilogy deserve the recognition that many blockbusters don't, but nonetheless receive. This was not just a paycheck. This was a great movie made with obvious passion.

More than that, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes is a great movie that knows it's great. It is a confident, atmospheric super-dystopian intent on doing what it wants. It is not a blockbuster created to sell merchandise, and it's not exactly a ball to watch either, given that it has more in common with dark, personal dramas such as Platoon and Children of Men than it does with other lighter franchise films. It contains much of the same epic flourish and sweeping violence of other modern fantasies, but a big part of what makes it stand out is its willingness to self-critique and meaningfully examine everything in it, even if it does occasionally default to a predictable war-is-bad message. This is an often-deep and introspectively human tragedy masquerading as a popcorn flick.

You'd think its financial success would give studios a reason to create blockbusters more thoughtful than we've been conditioned to expect. I'm overstating the problem, but Dawn so relentlessly tramples on the safe, dime-a-dozen blockbuster that it might make you wonder how you ever settled for anything less than blood-pumping yet thoughtful movies like it. It genuinely has the ambition of some of the greatest tragedies ever written, and I think it's a shame it's not discussed more. It is an unlikely crowd-pleaser and contains both the subtle, technically impressive filmmaking that will wow critics and the heart and spectacle to win audiences over. It is a brilliant pastiche of countless influences, mixed to create something that feels daringly new, and the confidence and energy it radiates are intoxicating from tragic beginning to poignant end.

This is not just a great movie. It is a great movie that happens to you.

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes - 9/10

Hebrews 13:2