Dawn of the Planet of the Apes is an ambitious, nuanced, commanding endeavor. Though I find more enjoyment in the rampant momentum of Rise, Dawn is admittedly the better film--far more realized in allegory and character, despite falling short of its predecessor on less-consequential facets. Matt Reeves is perhaps the best director we could have possibly received for this film, and his efforts pay off spectacularly.
Reeves is not only a long time fan of Planet of the Apes, but he understands all its layers and nuances (as revealed via audio commentary). Overall, Dawn is more slowly- paced than Rise, yet no less mesmerising. The production design by James Chinlund thrives with history--all scenes but the skyscraper sequence were actually shot on a physical set or location, and the film breathes with natural lighting (including burning down the ape village set for real). There's a constant undercurrent of character-driven intensity from the apes in this film, and a level of technical innovation and ambition that's nigh-comparable to the likes of Avatar and The Lord of the Rings. We're talking shooting motion-capture in the mud and rain, sometimes shooting over a thousand takes, and monumental undertakings in editing. The craftsmanship here is unparalleled.
Director of photography Michael Seresin seems like a perfect successor to develop Lesnie's window/cage motif from Rise, seeing as how "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban" highlights his repertoire. Unfortunately, I didn't notice much in the way of symbolic sensibilities besides that of Caesar's face opening/closing the film. Nonetheless, the shots are often beautiful and thriving with scope. The effects by WETA are even more astonishing than before, and there's no competition for their accomplishments here.
I have problems with select aspects of the direction though, such as elements of the combat sequences, but primarily, disparities within overall scope. Part of this film is trying to tell an epic, but another part of it is relaying a humble, transitionary story. That's a compelling idea in its own right, but sometimes the confines of the world got to me--with connective sequences from the ape village to the bridge to the human compound, making the world feel somewhat small despite the massive implications of the preceding pandemic. I'll also admit that though one-handed machine-gun-wielding apes-on-horseback are awesome, it's a stretch of reality. You can reasonably assume they reload off-camera, but still. . . . If anything drags in this movie, it's the battle sequences--as the real focal point of tension is the characters, and these sequences feel like a digression sometimes. Some more minor flaws include a handful of clichés, such as the introductory montage and opening/closing on Caesar's face, though are effective (or even powerful) within their individual contexts.
The initial screenplay was written by Rise's duo Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver, later revised by Mark Bomback and Reeves himself when he entered the project. Though the plot's admittedly a cliché (taking after classic westerns), there's still a lot to praise. Foremost, there's the Shakespearean tragedy: Koba and Caesar, the story about two brothers (as distinguished by Reeves), their clashing philosophies, and inevitable betrayal. If you look closely, you'll also find a meticulous illustration of duality: Caesar and Koba, Malcolm and Dreyfus, humans and apes. . . . war and peace. This film is a multifaceted study on perspective and delusions of infallibility, exhibiting an entire spectrum of viewpoints across a spectrum of affiliations, articulating shades of grey that would normally be presented as a false dichotomy. In this we get a series of reversals, such as humans and apes alike struggling to stay united, humans realizing that they are too animalistic, and apes realizing they are too human. All of this is churning inside the beautiful, fleeting moment in which peace is a possibility.
This film also delves back into the franchise's signature sociopolitical commentary, with some light content on gun violence, racism, and international relations. It's still not quite as intricate as 1968's masterpiece, but it's worthy of the Planet of the Apes title.
Rise developed a thriving history behind Caesar that Dawn builds off of excellently. Caesar is a character defined by an internal study of duality: belonging to two worlds, and hence belonging truly to neither, dooming him to a certain sense of isolation. The apes on screen thrive with depth in their dawning civilization, and though apes can't physiologically produce vocalized speech or tears, these stretches of reality are executed mostly tastefully. The human characters however present an interesting flaw, in which I sympathise with them, but I don't especially "care" about them. They work well in their depiction of an emotional reality, and within their role in the film's themes, but they simply aren't as individually complex and emotive as the apes (which was a near-impossible balance to strike in the first place, given the context).
The human performance highlights are Oldman and Russell. Clarke is competent, despite a sometimes dry chemistry with the other actors. The only truly iffy ape performance for me was Thurston, who at times felt emotionally constipated--but besides that, the apes are great! Karin Konoval is delightful and has a touching scene with Kodi Smit-McPhee. Kebbel delivers a heartbreaking performance as Koba, exhibiting a perfectly messy fusion of hurt, anger, restraint, and obsession. Serkis is truthfully just as riveting without the CG, having seen behind-the-scenes footage. He's an incredible motion-capture actor because he's an incredible actor. That's all there is to it.
I don't like Giacchino's score as much as Doyle's (and I really wish he made an effort for thematic continuity), but it's still better than your average film score. The orchestration feels a little thin at times, or like a score to an animated movie, but the darker segments are fantastic--especially where Giacchino delves into more avant- garde, Jerry Goldsmith-influenced sensibilities.
This is easily one of the best Apes films, and is solidifying what's looking to be one hell-of-a trilogy.
Score: 9/10
Reeves is not only a long time fan of Planet of the Apes, but he understands all its layers and nuances (as revealed via audio commentary). Overall, Dawn is more slowly- paced than Rise, yet no less mesmerising. The production design by James Chinlund thrives with history--all scenes but the skyscraper sequence were actually shot on a physical set or location, and the film breathes with natural lighting (including burning down the ape village set for real). There's a constant undercurrent of character-driven intensity from the apes in this film, and a level of technical innovation and ambition that's nigh-comparable to the likes of Avatar and The Lord of the Rings. We're talking shooting motion-capture in the mud and rain, sometimes shooting over a thousand takes, and monumental undertakings in editing. The craftsmanship here is unparalleled.
Director of photography Michael Seresin seems like a perfect successor to develop Lesnie's window/cage motif from Rise, seeing as how "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban" highlights his repertoire. Unfortunately, I didn't notice much in the way of symbolic sensibilities besides that of Caesar's face opening/closing the film. Nonetheless, the shots are often beautiful and thriving with scope. The effects by WETA are even more astonishing than before, and there's no competition for their accomplishments here.
I have problems with select aspects of the direction though, such as elements of the combat sequences, but primarily, disparities within overall scope. Part of this film is trying to tell an epic, but another part of it is relaying a humble, transitionary story. That's a compelling idea in its own right, but sometimes the confines of the world got to me--with connective sequences from the ape village to the bridge to the human compound, making the world feel somewhat small despite the massive implications of the preceding pandemic. I'll also admit that though one-handed machine-gun-wielding apes-on-horseback are awesome, it's a stretch of reality. You can reasonably assume they reload off-camera, but still. . . . If anything drags in this movie, it's the battle sequences--as the real focal point of tension is the characters, and these sequences feel like a digression sometimes. Some more minor flaws include a handful of clichés, such as the introductory montage and opening/closing on Caesar's face, though are effective (or even powerful) within their individual contexts.
The initial screenplay was written by Rise's duo Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver, later revised by Mark Bomback and Reeves himself when he entered the project. Though the plot's admittedly a cliché (taking after classic westerns), there's still a lot to praise. Foremost, there's the Shakespearean tragedy: Koba and Caesar, the story about two brothers (as distinguished by Reeves), their clashing philosophies, and inevitable betrayal. If you look closely, you'll also find a meticulous illustration of duality: Caesar and Koba, Malcolm and Dreyfus, humans and apes. . . . war and peace. This film is a multifaceted study on perspective and delusions of infallibility, exhibiting an entire spectrum of viewpoints across a spectrum of affiliations, articulating shades of grey that would normally be presented as a false dichotomy. In this we get a series of reversals, such as humans and apes alike struggling to stay united, humans realizing that they are too animalistic, and apes realizing they are too human. All of this is churning inside the beautiful, fleeting moment in which peace is a possibility.
This film also delves back into the franchise's signature sociopolitical commentary, with some light content on gun violence, racism, and international relations. It's still not quite as intricate as 1968's masterpiece, but it's worthy of the Planet of the Apes title.
Rise developed a thriving history behind Caesar that Dawn builds off of excellently. Caesar is a character defined by an internal study of duality: belonging to two worlds, and hence belonging truly to neither, dooming him to a certain sense of isolation. The apes on screen thrive with depth in their dawning civilization, and though apes can't physiologically produce vocalized speech or tears, these stretches of reality are executed mostly tastefully. The human characters however present an interesting flaw, in which I sympathise with them, but I don't especially "care" about them. They work well in their depiction of an emotional reality, and within their role in the film's themes, but they simply aren't as individually complex and emotive as the apes (which was a near-impossible balance to strike in the first place, given the context).
The human performance highlights are Oldman and Russell. Clarke is competent, despite a sometimes dry chemistry with the other actors. The only truly iffy ape performance for me was Thurston, who at times felt emotionally constipated--but besides that, the apes are great! Karin Konoval is delightful and has a touching scene with Kodi Smit-McPhee. Kebbel delivers a heartbreaking performance as Koba, exhibiting a perfectly messy fusion of hurt, anger, restraint, and obsession. Serkis is truthfully just as riveting without the CG, having seen behind-the-scenes footage. He's an incredible motion-capture actor because he's an incredible actor. That's all there is to it.
I don't like Giacchino's score as much as Doyle's (and I really wish he made an effort for thematic continuity), but it's still better than your average film score. The orchestration feels a little thin at times, or like a score to an animated movie, but the darker segments are fantastic--especially where Giacchino delves into more avant- garde, Jerry Goldsmith-influenced sensibilities.
This is easily one of the best Apes films, and is solidifying what's looking to be one hell-of-a trilogy.
Score: 9/10