The Films of 2017: The Last Jedi

[Warning: This is the most super-spoiler-y review of The Last Jedi ever. Do not read it if you haven’t seen the film, or want to be surprised by it.]

[Second warning: Please re-read first warning. This review is chock full of spoilers on a level never before seen on this blog, or on any blog, in the history of the Internet.]

The Last Jedi (2017) has arrived, and divided fans and critics fiercely. Some fans feel it is the greatest Star Wars film since The Empire Strikes Back (1980), while others feel it is the worst one since Attack of the Clones (2002).

Notice, that -- in both instances -- The Last Jedi is being compared specifically to its reflection in a previous trilogy: the second part of that particular movement. The Empire Strikes Back, it is understood, defines a good second chapter in a trilogy. Attack of the Clones apparently fails that test dramatically.

And so The Last Jedi…has created a schism in the Force.

But here’s the truth, from someone who has absolutely no horse in this race: The Last Jedi is neither the greatest nor the worst Star Wars film, and it features both great highs and great lows. It deserves some praise, for certain, and also some criticism. Like any other Star Wars movie you can think of, it is both highly enjoyable, and simultaneously, highly imperfect.

What I find so relentlessly intriguing about The Last Jedi, however is the specific manner of its success and failure.  The film succeeds on the basis of ambitious storytelling, character development, and most crucially, overall theme, as I will explain below. These are the “big” issues of a movie: what does it mean, and how does it express its meaning?

Where The Last Jedi fails egregiously, I would argue, is in the basics of movie-making: plotting and editing.

In other words, the big picture “stuff” of The Last Jedi is largely terrific, and the basic “stuff” is, at times, horrendous.

Where does assessment that leave us?

With a flawed but absolutely fascinating Star Wars film that will be evaluated and re-evaluated for years to come.

I know, you don’t read a review for even-handedness. You read it to know where the reviewer stands. So where do I stand, ultimately, when I can see both the positive and negative elements associated with the film?

If choose a side I must, finally, I must count the positive elements as more important, if only slightly.

In my books, and here on my blog, I often write about how a work of art reflects the time period that gave life to it. The Last Jedi, accordingly, is the most populist film in the Star Wars saga, a rallying cry for the “resistance” movement in the Trump Era. The film reminds us that failure is not an end, but a beginning; a lesson to learn from, And The Last Jedi also reminds us that we all have a voice in our future. Like the Force, we can choose to be “woke,” or choose to accept the status quo.

On those grounds, The Last Jedi is relevant and provocative, and the Star Wars film we need, right now, in this moment of national darkness.

It’s a terrible shame, then, that some of the worthwhile messaging in The Last Jedi is lost in the oppressive, repetitive cross-cutting, and in the weak “go-nowhere” narrative.

“We are what they grow beyond.”

While Rey (Daisy Ridley) contacts the long-missing Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill) on Ahch-To, the Resistance attempts to flee an attack by the First Order.

General Leia (Carrie Fisher) is injured in an assault on the Resistance fleet after it is learned that the First Order has developed “hyperspace tracking” technology, and can trace escaping ships to their destination.  Unable to travel to hyperspace without facing attack, the fleet limps away lamely as the First Order picks off ships one at a time.

This strategy of limping away from battle doesn’t sit well with hot-shot pilot Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac), who launches an insurrection against Leia’s chosen successor, Holdo (Lara Dern). Meanwhile he sends Finn (John Boyega) and Rose Tico (Kelly Marie Tran) to Canto Bight, a casino world to find a hacker who can disable the First Order’s hyperspace tracking device.

Elsewhere, Rey learns that Luke wants nothing of the Force, or the battle with the First Order, and has, in fact, cut himself off from the Force. Luke trains Rey in the ways of the Jedi only grudgingly, and seems afraid of her abilities. When Rey connects with Ben Solo/Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) through the Force, Luke can’t stop her from going to him, and attempting to sway him from the Dark Side of the Force.

Unfortunately, Supreme Leader Snoke (Andy Serkis) is behind the Force connection Rey and Ren share, and now Rey is in his manipulative hands.  This fact leads to a change in the First Order, and a new stage in the relationship between Kylo and Rey.

Finally, Luke is visited by an old friend, who urges him to learn from his failures, and pick a side in the upcoming battle; a battle which could see the end of the Resistance, or the beginning of a new hope.

“Every word of what you said is wrong.”

My greatest criticism of The Force Awakens (2015) was (and remains) the rehashed nature of the narrative. The film slavishly recreated the details of A New Hope (1977), down to a third iteration of the Death Star (called Starkiller Base, but still, really, a Death Star…). The Last Jedi addresses this sense of “sameness” beautifully, taking the Star Wars saga in bold and challenging directions. If you’ve seen the film, you know that -- love it or hate it -- the film takes creative chances.

For example, The Last Jedi reveals new iterations of Force powers, ones that allow Leia to survive in the vacuum of space, and Luke to astral-project himself across the galaxy. I have absolutely no problem with any of this new information. Indeed, I would not want the Force to be limited only to what we have seen in the movies in the past, and it is wonderful to see Force sensitive individuals “stretch” their use of the mystical power that binds the universe together.

More than that, it is refreshing that director Rian Johnson has thought about The Force in a way that is bold and surprising but not at all out of line with what we know. Luke’s feat, during the climax, is rousing, and a wonderful apotheosis for the beloved character. Consider that Luke has been defined, since The Empire Strikes Back, as a character who always focused on the future, or some other place, not where “he was” or “what he was doing.” Appropriately, his final act in this mortal coil is to transform that weakness, or character flaw, into a strength; projecting himself to the one place in the galaxy where he can do the most good. For once, his mind being in another place is exactly the right answer.

Similarly, the movie goes in a surprising direction with Snoke, the Supreme Leader of the First Order. It says something about the audience’s limited imagination that everyone just assumed he would be around until the final film of the trilogy, leaving Kylo Ren permanently in the apprentice role. Again, just because that’s what we saw with Vader and Palpatine, it is not how things must be. Once more, the writer-director answers the biggest criticism of The Force Awakens by pushing the saga in new and often shocking directions. We don’t have to wait for the third chapter to see Snoke fall.

Better yet, many of these new directions are aligned to a larger theme, and purpose in The Last Jedi. To sum up the film’s theme, it is that failure makes us stronger. “The greatest teacher, failure is,” Yoda informs Luke at one point in The Last Jedi, and that wisdom seems to be the galvanizing thought of this second chapter. Indeed, it is through the failure of the main characters, primarily, that this film expresses itself as a second chapter, one of reverses and down-turns. 

Poe fails dramatically, unable to save the Resistance cruisers, or even take command of the fleet. He learns it was a failure to even think in the terms he did, as playing the “hero” when grown-ups like Holdo and Leia already had a plan, minus the heroic theatrics, to save their fleet.

Finn fails radically in the film too. He not only fails to wrangle the right hacker on Canto Bight, he fails to disable the First Order’s tracking device aboard the dreadnought. Later, he even fails in his bid to take down a dangerous cannon-weapon, and go out in a blaze of glory. He is dealt set-back after set-back, only to find -- at the end of this road of failure -- a friendship he never saw coming, with Rose. That friendship could be the beginning of something more.  Had Finn succeeded in his earlier endeavors, perhaps that doorway would not have been open to him. Failure opened a door for him.

Rey fails too. She fails to turn Kylo Ren to the light side of the Force, and nearly dies at the hand of Snoke. On a simpler level, she fails to get Luke to invest in her training, and in the battle for freedom in the galaxy. Luke is right when he tells that things won’t go as she expects. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t learn something.

And I expect that this is where Star Wars fans really get upset. Luke Skywalker himself grapples with failure in this film.

If The Last Jedi belongs to any character, it belongs to Luke. He clearly sees and feels his failure to stop Kylo Ren’s descent to the dark side of the Force. And in a very clear reference to the first trilogy, the prequels, he notes too, the Jedi Order’s failure to stop the rise of Darth Sidious (Palpatine) in the first place. All around him -- and in the mirror too -- Luke sees only his own failure, and how he failed to live up to the Luke Skywalker legend. But Yoda’s Force ghost appears and makes it clear that we learn best from failure. This message seems to resonate with him.

Mark Hamill is terrific in the film, and I believe The Last Jedi represents his best performance as Luke. Too often, mainstream films forget that we are not complete and “grown” at forty, fifty, or even sixty. We grow and change through our whole lives. It’s not just the young who face challenges, or hurdles. The journey we saw Luke begin in the OT continues and concludes meaningfully in The Last Jedi. He finally becomes the Jedi he always dreamed of becoming.

Luke saves the Resistance, one last time, lighting the spark that will rejuvenate “light” in the galaxy. We have every reason to expect that Finn, Poe, and Rey, fresh from their failures, will similarly bounce back, providing us the triumphant conclusion to the trilogy we all hope for in Episode IX.

The whole “failure” motif, which runs throughout The Last Jedi, also refers to our contemporary politics, make no mistake. For those who feel bereft and devastated by the most recent presidential election, the film is a reminder to keep up the fight.  I know there will be some readers who call “foul” and note that Star Wars films are not political.

But, of course, history reveals them to be wrong.

George Lucas has acknowledged on many occasions that he wrote the Star Wars story as a deliberate response to the Nixon Presidency, and his fear at the time that Nixon would oversee a move from democracy to authoritarianism.

Likewise, Revenge of the Sith all but echoes George W. Bush’s “you’re either with us, or you’re against us” language, and equates such “absolute” thinking with the behavior of Sith Lords. 

And now, The Last Jedi serves as a call -- right from its opening crawl -- for “RESISTANCE” (all-caps) in the face of what seems a lost cause, or a lost country. Very clearly, Kylo Ren, is our Donald Trump corollary here.  He is a faux populist who tells Rey that he wants to “let the past die,” and start fresh, draining the swamp as it were, to use a familiar phrase. But we know from a year of Trump’s Presidency that the swamp is now exponentially deeper, and that our country is being plundered by corrupt, self-interested plutocrats.

It is clear that faux populism in a desperate time gave us Trump. Similarly, we know it would be a grave mistake to trust the future to Kylo Ren. He wants to “kill the past” but for him, all that really means is that he gets to rule the galaxy.  The people and their needs are forgotten, as they are in Trump’s Administration. I have read that Star Wars fans are upset, feeling that Ren’s call to kill the past is actually a message to Star Wars fans to forget the franchise’s past.  To them, I say, not so fast. Remember who is making this call, and remember what he really desires: absolute power.

Again, folks can complain about Star Wars being political, but it has always been political, and it has always been liberal too. Trust your feelings. You know it to be true.

Accordingly, The Last Jedi is full-on populist/progressive in outlook. We see on Canto Bight, a world where the rich and powerful live in luxury, unconcerned about the war raging everywhere. Indeed, many of the folks enjoying the high life at the casino sell weapons to both the First Order and the Resistance. Like Trump himself, these folks don’t really care about ideology, they care about making money, about fleecing everybody else to maintain their status as “elite.”

Rey's lineage is another example of the populist outlook of this installment of the saga. Kylo Ren tells Rey that her parents are nobodies, just drunks from Jakku, and that, accordingly she "has no role in this story." 

But, once more, everyone has a role in the story. You don't have to have a name like Skywalker, or Kenobi, or Solo to be important to this galaxy far, far, away. Just like in real life, our leaders shouldn't have to be members of the Trump, Bush, or Clinton family to wield power. 

The movie’s sense of populism extends to the awakened Force. A stable boy slave, like Rey -- a desert scavenger -- is sensitive to it. This is a metaphor for individual power in the political arena in 2017. So many people feel powerless today in America, unaware that they still hold great power as long as they make their voice heard (which, frankly, just got exponentially harder with the anti-democratic repeal of Net Neutrality).

But for the time being, we all still possess power to resist the corruption, greed, and foreign collusion we see emanating from our ethically-compromised“leader” in the White House. We just have to let our activism “awaken,” and fight back.  The message of The Last Jedi is The Force is with us, and will be with us, and so we must stand up and use it. Those without hope must “awaken” to the fact that even after a great defeat, they do possess power: to organize, protest, and most importantly, vote.

These qualities all make The Last Jedi a Star Wars film for 2017, just as Revenge of the Sith spoke trenchantly to 2005, or A New Hope did in the immediate post-Watergate era.

Where I believe The Last Jedi fails, however, is in terms of many of its specific plot lines and contrivances, not to mention the editing.

Much of the film is spent with a Resistance fleet crawling away from a First Order armada. The Resistance ships run out of fuel, and because they can be tracked in hyperspace, they get picked off one at a time.  The first thing to consider here is the bizarre notion that hyperspace tracking is a new or revolutionary development in Star Wars. A homing beacon on the Millennium Falcon allowed Darth Vader (and the Death Star) to track it to Yavin IV in Star Wars. That’s the same thing as hyperspace tracking, no? I fail to see the distinction, because a ship is tracked both ways, to its ultimate destination, with hyperspace as the route. By my reckoning, this kind of technology has been around at least thirty years, in-universe.

But let’s put this detail aside for a minute.

This movie asks us to believe that the First Order fleet -- which does possess plenty of fuel, ostensibly -- can’t make tiny jumps at hyperspace, and instantly catch up with the fleeing Resistance ships? The whole battle should be over in five minutes.  Even if we accept that the First Order fleet can’t catch up just by increasing speed a little, it could have sent fighters ahead, let them burn their fuel in the battle, and then refuel the craft when the dreadnoughts finally catch up.

Instead, the whole blooming movie -- Finn’s adventure on Canto Bight and Rey’s on Ahch-To -- occur while the Resistance fleet barely outruns the First Order ships. If Finn can get away to other planets, why can’t the Resistance fighters do the same? Why don’t they all launch escape pods or those convenient little transports and make a run to Canto Bight?

The movie-length, slow-motion crawl from the First Order gives one the hard-to-shake sense that The Last Jedi possesses absolutely no forward momentum; that the movie actually goes nowhere.

And this is perhaps the worst edited of all eight Star Wars films. The film is a never-ending series of periodic, choppy cross-cuts from one plot to the next. The result of the repressive “A story, B story, C story” editing is that we are never with Rey and Luke, or Leia and Poe, or Finn and Rose, long enough to truly glean a sense of place, time, or, significantly, scope. Ahch-to is beautiful, but we hardly get any time to marvel at its beauty, because the film is always cross-cutting to the next plot-line in a blunt, intrusive manner.

The editing style is a devastating miscalculation that makes The Last Jedi a film that is nearly impossible to be swept away by.  Finn’s plot-line is the weakest, but we seem to spend the most time on it, perhaps so that the film’s coda (with the stable boy’s awakening) has a dramatic pay off.

Another example of the lousy editing involves an attack on Leia’s cruiser, and the death of Admiral Ackbar. The blast hits, and Leia and the others are seen blown into space. The film then cuts away, to another scene, and it is absolutely impossible to concentrate on because we have just seen our beloved Leia blown into space, and have no idea that she possesses a “Force” power that can save her. Also, identification with Leia and her plight is lost via the editing. The scene would have worked much effectively if we had followed Leia into space, watched her nearly die, and summon up the Force all in one scene.

What else doesn’t work in The Last Jedi?

Captain Phasma is a terrible character, one resurrected only to be killed off yet again. She is perilously close to being a total joke at this point. If Phasma shows up again in Episode IX, only to be dispatched a third time, she will be remembered as Star Wars’ lamest and most incompetent villain.

If one thinks about it, the evil BB-8 droid on the dreadnought is a much more effective and sinister villain than Phasma ends up being in this film.  Maybe the droid should come back in Episode IX.

So Snoke is dead, in an effective surprise attack, Phasma is a joke, and we are left with Kylo Ren -- who can’t outfight a phantom -- as our main villain going into the third and last film of the trilogy.  He doesn’t exactly inspire fear or respect Kylo still has his emo temper tantrums, and he still hesitates when going in for the kill.  The Knights of Ren better show up to supplement him in Episode IX, or it’s going to be a short, lopsided finale. I feel this approach is a mistake. I understand the value of surprising us with Snoke’s death, and I like that moment, but the idea that this trilogy has a “plan” and a “direction” is in utter shambles after The Last Jedi.

Star Wars fans are up in arms for the way that The Last Jedi treats Luke, or the way that it re-wires the Force, or for the new, more populist approach to the material. For this critic, all those elements are well-played, hard-earned, and an effort to overcome the weaknesses of The Force Awakens. The qualities that upset me most about this movie are the technical details, from the lousy pacing and cross-cutting to unbelievable central scenario.

The Porgs, the crystal foxes, the caretakers, and the racing dogs on Canto Bight almost make up for these deficits, as they are a welcome reminder of the galaxy’s diversity. It wouldn’t have killed the filmmakers, however, to populate the casino with a Rodian, Neimoidian, or other familiar face from canon, which would have visually reminded us that even as Star Wars pushes forward, it remembers its history too.  This way we would know, for sure that Kylo’s line “let the past die” isn’t the filmmakers speaking to fans, but rather a character’s distinctive point of view.

In the introduction, I noted that, ultimately, I fall on the positive side, when regarding The Last Jedi, and I do.

I would rather watch a flawed film with great ambition, than a mindless rehash of past glories. If, in some way, the film’s reach exceeds its grasp, that’s ultimately okay, especially as this is a second chapter in a trilogy. Rian Johnson goes for broke, and I appreciate the audacity of his vision. If the film’s editing and narrative had lived up to Luke’s final, elegiac moment -- once more gazing hopefully at the twin stars of Tatooine -- then The Last Jedi might have truly been the new trilogy’s The Empire Strikes Back.

That doesn’t happen, exactly. But I have little doubt that the filmmakers will grow beyond their failures here, and continue to take Star Wars to daring and unexpected new heights. 

In terms of 21^st century Star Wars movies, however, this one still falls (well) behind Rogue One (2016), and ahead of The Force Awakens (2015).

The Films of 2017: War for the Planet of the Apes

(Spoiler Warning: Details of this film are extensively described below).

It is a welcome surprise to report that the new Planet of the Apes franchise has gone three-for-three in terms of quality.

This saga -- consisting of Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011), Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (2014), and War on the Planet of the Apes (2017) -- has proven to be a dramatic high-point of modern, reboot cinema.

In short, all three of these science fiction films are better, merely as stand-alones, than we have any right to expect, given Hollywood norms. 

But the most delightful thing about the trilogy, as proven firmly by War, is that the series also coheres beautifully as overall tale, or large-scale narrative.

War on the Planet of the Apes not only dramatizes a satisfying and emotional story about Caesar, with resonant, and powerful characters all around, it also weaves the whole saga together in a successful, artistic manner.

And then, finally -- with laser-like focus -- it aims that saga straight on course for the 1968 Planet of the Apes film, which is set in a future 2000 years hence.

But here’s the thing of import:

I did not hope or expect for War on the Planet of the Apes to fit so ably into or establish the continuity of the original Apes franchise.

I did not even know, at this point, that I wanted such a thing. 

I suppose that I am jaded or cynical enough about Hollywood, at this point, to have given up on that particular dream of an Apes continuation.

Yet War on the Planet of the Apes succeeds in forging that link, and it does so in ways that appear unforced, effortless, and smooth.

So War on the Planet of the Apes is a remarkable standalone adventure, a brilliant apex for the reboot trilogy, and, finally, the “perfect” bridge between the 1960’s and 1970’s Apes chronology, and this 21^st century one.

To complete and contextualize the Gospel of Caesar -- which is really what the three films amount to -- War on the Planet of the Apes relies on antecedents such as the story of Jesus’s crucifixion, and the film, Apocalypse Now (1979). 

But what truly makes this 2017 film remarkable, I believe, is not the “origin story” of the Caesar’s apes arriving at their home (a Garden of Eden beyond the Forbidden Zone-like desert), but rather the film’s sad, haunting commentary about the way that man loses his supremacy of the planet.

We live in an age of so much shouting, don’t we?

So much blind, stupid rage, and hateful yelling. It is an age not merely of hatred, then but loud, noisy hatred. 

In War on the Planet of the Apes -- as though punished by God for his wicked, savage tongue -- mankind irrevocably, permanently goes silent.

This is apt punishment, given the nature of the film’s humans, particularly the villain played by Woody Harrelson.

I found this "fate" to be a terrifying but appropriate justice for man; for so foolish and self-destructive species.

With this film, the war is over, and man goes into that good night without even a whimper of protest. 

We did it, finally, to ourselves.

War on the Planet of the Apes is the best franchise film of the summer of 2017, and one of the best pictures I’ve seen this year. It is the origin story of a people (the future apes of the Schaffner ’68 film) and simultaneously a poignant elegy for the human race.

“There are times when it is necessary to abandon humanity to save humanity.”

Following Koba’s attack on humans, Caesar (Andy Serkis) and his apes find themselves plunged into a vicious war with human soldiers.  

These heavily armed soldiers are led by The Colonel (Woody Harrelson) and his rogue "Alpha/Omega" outfit, and they work with enslaved apes they derisively call “donkeys.”

The war hits Caesar too close to home when the Colonel launches a decapitation strike, but succeeds only in killing his eldest son, and wife.  

Enraged, Caesar determines to go on the war path.  He sends the majority of the apes on a pilgrimage to a new, hopefully safe land, far away, and takes Maurice (Karin Konovol) and a few others to hunt down the Colonel at a northern border.

En route, Caesar, Maurice and the others befriend a mute girl that Maurice names Nova (Amiah Miller), and then, a solitary chimp, Bad Ape (Steve Zahn), who possesses knowledge of the Colonel, and his brutal work camp.

Soon, Caesar learns that his people have been captured on their pilgrimage, and made slaves at the camp. 

He must attempt to free them, and his only son, Cornelius.  

The Colonel takes special delight in humiliating Caesar, but also tells him of a strange side-effect of the Simian Flu (which all humans carry). Man is becoming mute, and may even be losing his capacity to reason.

Caesar must now set his people free, find his apes a new home, far from warring humanity, and also reconcile his feelings of rage and hatred with his more fair-minded, judicious nature.

“Make sure my son knows who his father was.”

From 2011 to 2017, movie-goers have witnessed the Gospel of Caesar, but War for the Planet of the Apes in particular utilizes religious (scriptural) symbolism to help us understand the religious nature of the story. 

Consider that the film depicts Caesar’s crucifixion, at the hands of the Colonel and his men. The tale even provides a Judas in the form of Winter: an albino gorilla who betrays Caesar and his people to the humans.

The crucifixion in the work camp is only the most apparent religious symbol. Consider, as well, the matter of Caesar’s fatal wound at the end of the picture. He is shot in the side with an arrow. That arrow comes from one of the Colonel’s soldiers. The position of the wound, and the nature of the weapon knowingly mirrors Jesus’s wound from the lance of Longinus. Longinus was a Roman centurion, who stabbed Christ. Again, the parallels between Christ and Caesar are telling: a fatal wound in the same place, both given by an enemy soldier.

Maurice, of course, is the franchise's version of Paul. He is Caesar’s greatest apostle, and it is clear from the film’s final scenes that he will grow into an early teacher o Caesar’s “lessons” to ape culture. This was also Paul’s role. Specifically, Maurice promises to teach Caesar’s surviving son, Cornelius, about his life, and his nature. We can extrapolate that other apes will also be taught about the sacrifices and morality of Caesar. We now know his humble origins (as the child of an ape, but not, actually, only an ape), his life of toils and pain, and ultimately, with this film, his fate.

If readers prefer to be reminded of Old Testament comparisons, Caesar, in this film, acts as a Moses-type figure. He leads his “tribe” to the Promised Land away from human subjugation and war. Caesar doesn’t part the Red Sea, but he does survive nature’s dangers. His people begin their quest, importantly, by surviving an avalanche which buries, for eternity, the surviving human military, and their weapons. The Colonel’s corrupt kingdom is Egypt in this metaphor, and Caesar and his people are the Israelites, seeking a home. Instead of parting the red sea, Caesar and his apes go above the treacherous avalanche by climbing trees. This image is also a beautiful call-back to Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011), and young Caesar's exercise regimen in Muir Woods

None of this symbolism is over-bearing or heavy-handed. One can absolutely enjoy the film without making comparisons to Christianity. However, the specific nature of Caesar’s quest, and his death, suggest -- importantly--  that in the future history of the planet Earth, his people will revere him as something akin to a God among apes.

At least that’s a possibility, and we have the “sign posts” (the imagery) to cue us in about Caesar's extraordinary -- or even “divine” --` nature.

Coppola’s Apocalypse Now (1979) is clearly also an influential text in this work of art too. In the film, we see graffiti that reads “Ape-pocalypse Now,” and Harrelson’s Colonel shares a rank with Marlon Brando’s character, Kurtz. 

Both men/characters have also gone “rogue” from the chain of command, and are worshiped by their people as demi-gods. They are cult-leaders as much as military officers.  

Going back to Conrad’s Kurtz in Heart of Darkness (the source for the Coppola film’s character), he was a man who is remembered for having said “exterminate the brutes.” He was referring to intelligent human beings in the Free Congo. Harrelson’s Colonel in this film similarly launches a pogrom of extermination against Caesar’s apes, aware that their survival will doom the human race. 

If the character of the Colonel boasts any antecedent, in particular, in the classic film franchise, it is likely Otto Hasslein, from Escape from the Planet of the Apes (1971). Both men believe that fate or destiny can be averted by taking violent, murderous action in the present.  They both commit fully, and mercilessly to this course.

So how does this sage connect, specifically, to the old franchise?  

You may recall a throwaway image or two in Rise of the Planet of the Apes discussing the launch and fate -- lost in space! -- of Taylor’s spaceship, the Icarus. 

In this continuity, the flight occurs in 2011, not the early 1970’s but the name of the ship is the same, as is the fact that the ship seems, to denizens of Earth, to disappear. It is, as we realize, really traveling into the future, on a course that will day return it home.

So that spaceship is out there, destined to return to Earth in the 3900’s.  

In War for the Planet of the Apes, some of the other pieces that set-up the 1968 film are locked into the puzzle. 

Caesar’s people leave the West Coast, travel through a desert (the future Forbidden Zone, presumably), and find a beautiful green glade, on the banks of a thriving river. This is the location, we can infer, in New York (or at least on the East Coast) of Ape City in Planet of the Apes (1968). So this film's final moments get Caesar’s people to the right coast (and in proximity of the Statue of Liberty!), to set up Taylor's experience there.

Finally, Maurice takes on his role as an apostle, as a speaker of Ape History, and, perhaps, becomes the future Lawgiver. 

Consider that Maurice is, like the Lawgiver, an orangutan, and that he has been tasked with the job of teaching the Gospel of Caesar.  It is very likely that one day, he will take on the title of the most revered ape, The Lawgiver.

What proves so interesting about this development is that, in the Ape Future of the original film, Caesar’s name is never spoken. The legend of the Lawgiver (and his written word: the Sacred Scrolls) thus comes to supersede Caesar as the messiah/divinity figure of ape culture.  

So if you wonder what the next ape trilogy might concern, I have an idea the role of Maurice, and his fall from grace or innocence. 

At some point he must stop trying to make peace with humans, and start to write of humanity as a “the beast, man.”  It is also entirely possible that in the generations between Maurice and the 3900’s, his gentle philosophies and beliefs will be perverted or misinterpreted by ambitious, man-hating apes.

What might happen between the events of War and the 1968 film? 

I suppose the final piece may be a nuclear war. A group of humans, offshoots of the Colonel’s Alpha and Omega group (a callback to Beneath the Planet of the Apes [1970]), perhaps, will detonate a bomb near Ape City, or perhaps, on a global scale, decimating whole swaths of the planet. The destruction of the environment, a useless, bitter gesture, given man’s fall could be the very thing that turns Maurice from an advocate for peace into a hater of mankind.

And, of course, most importantly, War for the Planet of the Apes sets in motion that final fall of mankind. 

Man will go down into history as a foolish, self-destructive being, who can’t even argue his own case for supremacy, because he has lost his capacity to speak. As the movie dramatizes, the Simian Flu mutates so as to rob humanity of his ability to speak. It is not entirely clear, but the Colonel also believes the virus robs humanity of his ability to reason; to think logically.  If this is the case, then the Sacred Scrolls of the first film are, in a sense, truer than we ever realized.  Man of the future world is a dumb brute, unable to reason, or think. He is a blind consumer of resources, an animal.

As I wrote in my introduction, to see man lose his voice in this film is haunting, and breathtaking. Not just because the loss connects to the details of the 1968 film, but because of the world we live in now, in 2017. 

Cable TV is a bastion of bitter taunts, hate speech, and gotcha politics. Look at how we’ve chosen to use Twitter and other social media: as opportunities to troll others, to hate others, to spread lies, to forward , even, conspiracy theories and racist memes.

What War for the Planet of the Apes implies, in some sense, is God’s disappointment, and punishment of man for using his intellect in this manner. 

Not only will mankind die, but he will be robbed even, of the power to speak, to argue, to debate. He has squandered that great gift of voice, and now his fall will not even be accompanied by screams, or crying. 

He will go silently into that good night, unthinking, un-speaking, unable to mourn aloud his fall from favor.

I confess that this aspect of the film was incredibly impact-ful to me. I vacillate between dreaming of a Star Trek-kian future utopia, and fearing a Planet of the Apes-style apocalypse. Our fall from grace in this film seems especially appropriate, given how we have chosen to use our “voices” in the public square, and on the net.

It is a timely and artistic choice for the makers of this saga to make man mute, at this juncture, at this time in our culture. It plays as more powerful today, than it did in earlier generations. Today, everyone has the power to contribute their voice to the community. But what we have seen is not a community lifting its voice to help others. Instead, we have seen a rebirth and broadcast of hate, racism, sexism, paranoia, and conspiracy theories. We have seen the rise of extreme narcissism, the dawn of widespread propaganda, and a war to obfuscate facts, and to hold onto the tenets of science.  

When people discuss -- seriously -- in 2017, a new flat Earth theory, the fall of man, the de-evolution of man, seems only years away. Perhaps we reached our pinnacle as a species when we landed on the Moon. Perhaps our fall from grace has already begun.

War for the Planet of the Apes thus captures beautifully, if tragically, the real terror and fear of our times; the idea that we can't stop sniping at each other long enough to take care of the species, let alone the planet.

Lastly, I would be hard-pressed to name a better film trilogy of the 21sts century than this one. 

I know The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit sagas have their champions, and for good reason, but the amazing gift of this new Planet of the Apes saga is that it does so much so smoothly, and with so much discipline. None of these films feel over long, or retreads of old material. They all work, in tandem, as original stories, and as pieces of a grand, overarching saga. 

And now, as this trilogy ends, we can see a grand plan to connect to the original franchise (or some version of the original franchise). The ambition was there all along, but the filmmakers demonstrated patience, and laid their bread crumbs, without drawing over attention to them.

I have to write, too often, about the creative failings of remakes and reboots (see: Tim Burton’s 2001 Planet of the Apes). It is therefore a pleasure and a privilege to behold the wonders and victories of this reboot series. The “new” Planet of the Apes series pays homage to what came before, honors the spirit of social commentary those old films championed, and it breaks new ground at the same time.

Like the best science fiction films, War of the Planet of the Apes makes us see ourselves more fully, more completely.  The scary thing about the film is that as much as it frightened me, I also thirsted for the humans to fall, to be, finally, silent. For the hatred to end.  This feeling made me think of Armando's (Ricardo Montalban) words in Escape:  "If it is man's destiny one day to be dominated, then oh, please God, let him be dominated by such as you."

It's a special genre motion picture, indeed, that has the audience rooting against its own kind.

Finally, I hope that Andy Serkis, and the film itself are remembered at Oscar time next year. Serkis’s work as Caesar is extraordinary.  Roddy McDowall created Caesar more than forty years ago, but Serkis has honored that work and carried it several steps forward. He has made the character his own in a remarkable, and dare I say -- human --fashion.

Guest Post: Wonder Woman (2017)

How Wonder Woman Won World War One

By Jonas Schwartz

Gal Gadot is a marvel (despite being a D.C. character) as the title character in Wonder Woman. Radiant, and not just physically, but through the confidence she projects, one just can't help being in love with her. "And the Wonders you can do," indeed.  She not only conquers the evil Germans, but also the film's flimsy script.

In modern day, Bruce Wayne sends Diana Prince (Gadot) a photo that reminds her of her first adventure in WWI Europe one hundred years previously. Diana had grown up the Princess of Themyscira, a paradise island, with her fellow Amazonian warriors in a land free of male intervention. When an American spying on the Germans crashes into the island's sea, Diana saves his life and becomes invested in a world in chaos outside her nirvana, desperate for a hero.  Already discovering her super powers, she joins this young man, Steve Trevor (Chris Pine) on a journey to the front to stop a diabolical German scientist (Elena Anaya) and her partner, a blood-thirsty General (Danny Huston). The scientist has combined mustard gas with hydrogen to create the deadliest killer of the industrial age.

Patty Jenkins, who once directed Charlize Theron to an Oscar for Monster, wisely keeps the camera focused on her magnetic star. The fight scenes are well-choreographed, utilizing slow motion photography to make Diana more dynamic. Jenkins also allows Godot's natural exotica shine through to give the character an appropriate other-worldliness. Jenkins and editor Martin Walsh could have benefited from cutting a good 30 minutes from the film.  The beginning sequence in Themyscira suffers the most by plodding along with predictable sequences.

The script by Allan Heinberg (with a story by Zack Snyder, Heinberg, and Jason Fuchs) is the movie's only liability. Many characters, particularly the villains, are shallowly drawn. The two obvious villains are stock characters with little motivation other than pure hatred for humanity. Too much backstory is left out with the assumption that audience members are loyal comic book fans. While many seeing the movie have absorbed the comics for decades, the writers ignore those who have not, leaving many questions for those not in the know.

For one, Diana obviously ages, at least on the island, but doesn't age at all after leaving the island. The explanation is not given. Second, Themyscira apparently has a protective layer to separate it from the rest of the world, yet why do Steve and the Germans who attack penetrate it easily? And how are Steve and Diana able to sail from the island to London, passing through this layer with no complications?

Two scenes that do work well due to the actors' selling of the dialogue are the argument between Diana and Steve and later between Diana and the main villain about man's fallibility and whether the species is worthy of favor from the Gods.

Gadot is a natural, magnetic talent. She and the always charismatic Pine have superb chemistry. In an early scene, Jenkins reverses the cliché of sexual politics by having the camera leer over Pine's naked body. As opposed to male nudity in past films, where the male is empowered, Pine feels exposed, vulnerable, as female actresses have been made to feel by male directors for over a century. It's a shrewd reversal.

The villains played by Anaya and Huston suffer the most from the script. Anaya has a creepy mask, similar to the mask she wore in the Pedro Almodovar chiller The Skin I Live In that visually illustrates her shattered morality, but the script doesn't pay enough attention to her other than to make her a mad scientist. Huston, a gifted actor, also plays the stock German fascist.

Production design is luscious. The island, early 20th century London, and war -torn France all pull audiences into the locations. Lindy Hemming's costumes only enhance Gadot's luminescence.

Wonder Woman strips away the idiotic Hollywood conceit that women directors with women leads are antithetical to action hits. Both Patty Jenkins and Gal Gadot blast the genre to the planets. It would have gone beyond the Milky Way with a better script, one with the nuances and sophistications of D.C.'s The Dark Knight or Marvel's The Avengers, Iron Man 3 and Guardians of the Galaxy.

Note to audience members used to sitting through every moment of the end credits, remember unless you're dying to know who did the catering while the crew was in Greece, this is a D.C. film, not Marvel. There are no post-credit sequences. This critic made that mistake and is STILL sitting in the theater awaiting the credits to finish (not true, but feels like it).

Jonas Schwartz is a voting member of the Los Angeles Drama Critics, and the West Coast Critic for TheaterMania. Check out his “Jonas at the Movies” reviews at Maryland Nightlife.