Jmunney's Blog

Dawn of the Planet of the Apes doesn’t play by the damn dirty rules of Hollywood blockbuster sequels.  While I currently prefer its predecessor, Rise of the Planet of the Apes, Dawn may yet supplant it, as it is the type of movie that demands mulling over, which is already one way it sets itself apart.  It is also strikingly small-scale.  Your typical action spectacular is about saving the entire world, while Dawn takes place entirely in and around what remains of San Francisco, even though the whole planet has been decimated by the virus that began spreading at the end of Rise.  That tight focus is simply smart storytelling: the audience can keep track of one emblematic storyline and see how it fits into the larger context.

But what is most striking about how Dawn‘s independently-minded m.o. is its thoughtfulness, and this is especially striking considering how singularly action-oriented it also is.  This is essentially a war movie: when a group of humans who are genetically immune to the virus stumble upon the ape community in the Muir Woods, it leads to a series of conflicts that culminates in an apes-vs.-humans battle for the city.  So obviously there is plenty of action (including several lovingly shot sequences of apes riding horseback), but it is complemented with lots of scenes of talking.  Most of this verbal communication involves the apes, providing a mix of sign language, grunts and screams, and some basic spoken English.  The lines that make up the dialogue are not particularly extraordinary, but the fact that so much screen time is spent on what is essentially the development of a new form of communication is extraordinary.

This ape communication is a key component to how Dawn truly excels.  In portraying the evolution of apes adapting human abilities, this movie essentially presents a species unlike any other that we have seen before.  The original Planet of the Apes just had people in ape costumes, which was fine, but what was started in Rise and now fully realized in Dawn goes beyond just people with ape characteristics or apes with people characteristics.  Andy Serkis, reprising his role here as ape leader Caesar, has been rightly praised as the trailblazer of motion capture acting, but this technology is now strong enough that every ape performer is on his level: among others, there is Toby Kebbell going wild as the rebellious Koba, Karin Konoval supplying peaceful energry as Caesar’s trusted orangutan advisor Maurice, and Judy Greer providing plenty of pathos as Caesar’s wife Cornelia.  The combination here of CGI, practical effects, and the presence of actual individuals produces something that is unknown but familiar.  Too many current action blockbusters rely on CGI to fill everything in and come off as painfully fake.  Dawn goes for a more practical approach but recognizes that the CGI can be corralled to achieve the mark of a successful movie: real connection. B+

Sometimes a story is just too good to screw up.  The music of The Four Seasons is of the variety that you can’t help but sing along and tap your feet to it, and their backstage drama is of the sort that inspired intense loyalty and profound resentment in equal measure.  Jersey Boys is a loud, boisterous affair, and it is therefore ideally suited to the stage.  I have not seen the original musical version, but I can understand why it has been such a big Broadway hit.  The best elements of the film version worked plenty fine on the screen, but I couldn’t help but thinking during each of those moments, “This surely works a lot better on stage.”  John Lloyd Young, Vincent Piazza, Erich Bergen, and Michael Lomenda are uncanny in their channeling of Frankie, Tommy, Bob, and Nick during the musical numbers, but there is an immediacy lacking without the live element.  The fourth-wall breaking narration is a strong device, and the fact that each band member takes a turn with the dictation plays into one of the film’s stated themes (“everyone remembers it how they need to, right?”), but there is a potential intimacy to this technique that cannot quite be fully conveyed at the multiplex.  There is even an all-cast end credits song-and-dance routine that basically screams “Broadway musical closing number!”  What prevents Jersey Boys from being a classic instead of merely good is the risk-averse style of director Clint Eastwood.  Clint is a competent filmmaker: there is nothing in the frame that doesn’t belong there, nor is there a single bad edit.  But he is too content to let the story just speak for itself.  I think where he truly excels is with more challenging material (such as the racially charged Gran Torino or the underrated, spiritually complicated Hereafter), and the degree of difficulty for Jersey Boys simply wasn’t as high as it needed to be.  Its lasting impression is of a great story, but not quite a great filmic experience. B