Lovely, Dark, and Deep (2024)

Score: 4 / 5

Despite the titular reference to Robert Frost, the opening quote for this film is rather an ominous paraphrase from John Muir, the "Father of the National Parks." It could just as easily have come from the lovechild of Thoreau and Poe: "And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul." Visually, the film could be the lovechild of Picnic at Hanging Rock and The Blair Witch Project. And if you haven't gotten the idea yet, Lovely, Dark, and Deep is the latest nature horror film set in a forest. The storied tradition may not have offered its biggest swing with this, but it dives deep into psychological horror territory of the highest order.

Teresa Sutherland's directorial debut (she also wrote it) feels like a love letter to campfire stories told to us as kids. But, unlike those featuring monsters or masked killers, here the horror is centered on the forest itself, wherein the forest itself is horrifying. Not in the Grimm sense (no trees grabbing at Snow White here), with gnarled creatures grasping from the foggy, Gothic woods; no, here we are invited into a warm, sunlit paradise under a golden canopy, acoustically ringing with the buzz of insects and a chorus of birds. In a Violent Nature took a similar approach to outdoorsy, pastoral horror this year, though in the slasher tradition.

SPOILER ALERT. Lennon (Georgina Campbell of Barbarian and The Watchers) is a brand-new park ranger in the Arvores National Park, taking the place of a ranger who recently disappeared. She takes an interest in missing persons, apparently, listening obsessively to broadcasts about the scores of missing persons in parks and forests and pinning up a map of the area with pictures of the missing. Lennon clearly has a haunted past -- other rangers gossip about her before she announces herself -- and so does this forest, so it's only a matter of time before things get creepy. Well, that, and the facts of the film's intro to her, driving along the road in the dark before getting startled by a black deer that stares into her soul before vanishing. Omens like that, commonplace in the genre, usher in the spooky vibes for this summer flick.

It's not all scary. Though there are a few nasty jolts, there aren't many deliberate jump scares here; rather, the disturbing patience of the film despite Lennon's apparent eagerness to do some good creates internal tension. One of the biggest shocks for me is a visual gag that has no score or editing whatsoever to make it zing, but when you see the shape moving in the not-so-distant background, your skin will crawl, too, much like it surely did when Toni Collette did that airborne spider-swim thing in Hereditary. And that's mostly how this film goes, playing off other woodland horror story tropes without fully indulging what we expect or even want. Whereas other psychological horror films in the forest like The Ritual take a hard turn into the horrors of other people or of monsters, this one turns inward, making the forest itself a sentient entity.

And isn't that really what going into nature is all about? Especially the woods? When it's just you and your thoughts alone in the wilderness -- where humans really don't belong (and can't, for long) -- where can you go but further, deeper, within? It's telling that Lennon fights so hard to maintain her outward appearance, immaculate in her official greens, even as her mind and spirit are forced to cut into old wounds. We learn that Lennon's young sister Jenny went missing in the woods and that Lennon feels responsible. The truth of that guilt is never really determined, but, as in life, it rarely should be, because what matters is what we do with that guilt. Lennon fearfully regards the deer (a clever reversal of "deer in headlights") but is all the more motivated to get to work.

Campbell's performance is more emotionally nuanced and optimistic than it probably should be, making this film endlessly watchable and enjoyable. Sutherland's cinematographer similarly mines the forest for consistently interesting perspectives; filmed in Portugal, its capturing of nature is a character unto itself. Its ending may not work for you -- it barely works for me -- but it features interesting and brave choices nonetheless. The revelatory, climactic scene between Zhang and Lennon suggests that there are indeed sentient forces at work in the forest, taking hikers and rangers alike for unknown purposes, but the scene is framed in a watery void that begs us to question its authenticity. When they gaze up at the stars, we're not sure if it's meant to be an answer to where the entities came from or care about or use, and we, like the characters, are reduced to that most primitive and reliable form of navigation. The revelation reminded me more than a little of Willow Creek, and hopefully sparks spirited discussion this summer as people flock to the woods for hiking and camping. Too, the denouement (in fact, the final scene) features Lennon making a shocking, devastating decision that I'm still not sure makes sense even though it packs a mighty wallop as is. So, if you decide to join this excursion, I encourage you to avoid intellectualizing it; just enjoy the vibes as you lose yourself.

Recommendations for similar viewing (not already mentioned in this post): In the Earth (2021), Gaia (2021), Blair Witch (2016)

Under Paris (2024)

Score: 1.5 / 5

I'm all for a bonkers premise to spin a well-worn wheel in a new direction, especially just for fun. But the oddly popular (on social media, anyway) Under Paris, a recent Netflix-exclusive French feature, stems from a concept that is neither particularly original nor taken to particularly interesting conclusions. Worse, its story quickly evolves from what should have been a suitable plot to increasingly wacky nonsense with bizarre ideas and an obnoxious push for sequels. Basically, in what seemed to be Jaws or Piranha in the Seine, we're hoodwinked into something more like The Meg or Sharknado. Which might be your batshit B-movie taste, but not mine.

An effective opening scene takes place in a floating garbage patch in the open Pacific (which is evidently a real, and real tragic, phenomenon), when Sofia (I didn't know and didn't end up caring about the actors here, sorry) is researching a mako shark named Lilith. What an original name for a monstrous female. Her husband is killed while attempting to take a blood sample. The film jumps three years into the future, as Sofia is working in Paris, and suddenly it becomes clear that there is a shark in the Seine, the iconic river snaking through the city center. Not just any shark, though: Lilith, of course. Logic aside, this revelation sets Sofia up to overcome her trauma and redeem her score against the beast.

The Seine is hosting the swimming portion of an upcoming triathlon (again, it feels very much like the summer camp of the original Piranha or the spring break party of its remake, to say nothing of Independence Day in Jaws). Sofia and her team know that danger is in the water, but they're having trouble bringing enough proof to the authorities; the mayor, meanwhile, utterly refuses to cancel or postpone the event, or even to establish reasonable safety measures. An interminably long setup finally reaches its payoff when, as the triathlon commences, competitors start -- bloop -- disappearing under the murky, roiling water. This climax might make the film worth watching for you, depending on your taste for the subgenre of killer shark horror; it almost did for me. It's a wonderfully tense exercise in insane spectacle that offers images fans will want to lock in their memories.

For a movie that looks pretty expensive otherwise, too many shots of Lilith herself look unfortunately cheap, and by the time the climax ends, I found myself wanting more. And then the film decides to give us more. Far too much more. Because -- SPOILER ALERT -- the "heroes" discover that Lilith has been breeding asexually while adapting to freshwater and is actively filling the river with her brood. Mixing the end of Piranha 3D with something Roland Emmerich might have dreamed up, it all teeters into one of the most disappointing denouements and threats of sequels I've seen in years.

Had this film followed through on its most basic premise, it could have been really cool and indeed offered insight into other follow-ups. Consider aquatic predators in other watery cities, like Venice or Singapore, and how fun that could be. There's some real interest and inspiration in the triathlon scene, and I'd have loved something more like Jaws meeting United 93 or Stronger, a tense realistic horror/thriller about trauma and average nobodies stepping up to save people in need. More practical effects, less CGI hooey with weapons and computers and gimmicks about a score to settle from the opposite side of the world. More messaging about environmentalism and pollution and skewed politics that value money and image over human lives. Instead, we got something more like The Meg in action and bunk sci-fi, both of which I'll gladly and permanently cross off my list when Shark Week comes 'round each year.

The Watchers (2024)

Score: 3.5 / 5

After assisting her father with his two most recent films and coming into her own on their (excellent) jointly-created series Servant, Ishana Night Shyamalan comes into her own with her feature-length film directorial debut. It's not entirely her own, produced as it is by her father and adapted from an effectively spooky novel by A.M Shine (which I also softly recommend). The material seems like something her father would have dreamt up, and between its folkloric conceits and its numerous twists before a major twist ending, it's the kind of story that has become synonymous with the Shyamalan name. For some, that will be a turn off. For me, it means a deliciously stylized foray into psychological fantasy horror with an emphasis on solidly PG-13 scares. And this fits the bill.

I won't recount the plot here. Partly because the marketing shared more than was necessary already, partly because the plot's unraveling is part of the fun. Please note, then, that I won't be tiptoeing around any spoilers moving forward.

Shyamalan's screenplay capably adapts the source material here, which will land well for some audiences but not all. Anyone who gets easily irritated or frustrated by plot holes and unrealistic logistics should steer clear of this material, both in literary and cinematic forms. It doesn't make sense that the forest or its titular inhabitants haven't been found, being on apparently an easily accessible route between Galway and Belfast; it doesn't make sense that nobody has followed up there, considering the plentiful missing persons posts en route (not to mention the numerous workers who were sent there to build a bunker and never returned). It doesn't make sense that, despite having been in the bunker for many months, its inhabitants aren't starving or ill or even emaciated or mentally unstable. It doesn't make sense that the "points of no return" encircling their bunker are so elaborately and deviously decorated (a la Blair Witch). It doesn't make sense that the professor's office is perfectly dusted yet completely untouched after his absence of what seems to be several terms.

Audiences eager to critique (here meaning criticize and condemn) movies for this won't be able to see the forest for the trees. But anyone who prefers cerebral meditations to generic conventions -- anyone eager to critique (here meaning analyze lines of artistic curiosity) movies for more than plot -- should enjoy this trip into the darkest woods. Shyamalan films, once you allow yourself to slip into their frequencies, have a hypnotic power that emphasizes their own internal logic. Even when that logic isn't necessarily obvious. For example, here we almost never see the characters eat, and when we do, it's the crows or whatever they are able to catch; so what does the golden conyer parakeet thing with them eat? Is it a cannibal? But in context, this isn't a survival horror story; it's a fantasy horror story, and the bird is less a cause for concern than a small, almost angelic force of nature.

After all, the film is drowning in its own color palette. Shyamalan and her cinematographer use heavy color grading to make everything very blue in hue, and it carries into production design as well, as when we see protagonist Mina, wearing blue, driving her blue Jeep into the blue-green wilderness, stopped in a shadowed blue copse as bluish wisps of fog curl up around her. Key points of contrast include the salvific sunlight, always a bright yellow, the amber lights of the bunker's secret basement that will point their way forward and out, and of course the yellow shock of the caged bird that eventually guides them out of the forest. Color theory, some might call it, is in full force here, as if a grad student was behind the visual dynamics of this film.

More importantly, the titular creatures themselves are wonderfully realized and terrifyingly rendered. Really, and with only few exceptions, this film is a pleasure to behold. It's been a long time since I've been impressed by fantasy horror (and precious few new titles even approach that subgenre), though here, as with its source material, I find something like The Hallow or even Lady in the Water important points of reference to understand what The Watchers is up to. While, having recently read the novel, I was annoyed at the different architecture of the bunker, the hurried chronology of events, and the overly sentimental finale, I found myself tensing at all the proper (mostly predictable) moments and riding the roller coaster for all its fun, silly contrivances, which is exactly what we're meant to do.

What else is there to say? Lots. Forgive the rambling, but here we go.

Shyamalan's strengths, beyond atmosphere and tone, are rooted in fantasy and plain-faced horror more than in suspense, tension, or drama. Her screenplay hamstrings earned character development, cheating her actors out of grounded stakes or opportunities for variation. And the performances are all pretty flat here, though Olwen Fouere manages to be effectively creepy. Georgina Campbell is a mess because her character should be a mess but isn't at all, instead being weirdly mothering and also determined to dance in a nonsensical manner for her unseen audience. Dakota Fanning is actually annoying and seems to think that leaving her mouth open is an acting choice. Granted, they're not done any favors by the dialogue, which dumps exposition in every scene like that's its job.

I rarely say this, but this film should have been at least half an hour longer, if only to spread out the exposition (because, truly, the material by definition requires a LOT of world-building). That would allow for interpersonal drama between the characters as well as belief in their starvation and loneliness. Shyamalan does, however, turn her focus toward the more artistic pursuits of intangibles: this movie isn't about the scares, the survival, or even the material reality of what she's built. It's about watching. Voyeurism and mirroring and duplication are the themes at work here, in almost every scene, from Mina and her twin sister Lucy (though those literary names are more distracting than illuminating) to the near-constant shots in reflective surfaces, from the mimicking bird that isn't supposed to be talking to the watchers themselves -- revealed to be shape-shifting fae -- everything is carefully calculated to impress on us the odd balance between individuality and conformity in a world meant for survival through adaptation. It's a whole thesis, and Shyamalan seems content to give us bullet points in rapid fire succession. Which is to say, it will make for a comfy, cozy spooky watch on streaming, and perhaps that's where it's best kept.

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (2024)

Score: 4 / 5

Mad Max: Fury Road was one of the best movies of 2015 and cemented George Miller as a visionary storyteller who can reinvent himself with madcap glee while using state of the art techniques to entertain the world. While Furiosa might not be exactly what we expected (or expected to want) after Tom Hardy filled Mel Gibson's shoes, it is certainly a worthy prequel about that film's most surprising character. Who wouldn't want to see Charlize Theron back again, kicking ass without cracking her stoic mask? She may not be back this time, but her character is: the semi-androgynous cyborg who took absolutely no shit from Max or Immortan Joe or anybody else on her quest to save the sexual slaves of a tyrannical warlord. Easily the most interesting part of Fury Road, making Max himself take the backseat, Furiosa here is shown as a younger woman growing into the hardened warrior we know she will become.

We open with a young Furiosa picking a bright red fruit from a full tree in a verdant forest known as "The Green Place." Fans will remember the quicksand wasteland from Fury Road, doused in blue, setting the stage for a key action sequence that was later revealed to be Furiosa's childhood home. A biker gang roars in to pillage as the girl capably fights back, but they capture her, leading a furious chase as her mother follows them into the desert all the way to a warlord's camp. The warlord, Dementus, impressed by her courageous violence (as she slaughters her abductors to keep the location of the Green Place a secret), crucifies her mother and adopts her to stave off his familial loneliness and hopefully eventually learn more about her paradise home.

This elaborate and high-stakes setup is the first of five chapters detailing Furiosa's life leading up to Fury Road, spanning roughly a decade of her development. It's an epic of revenge, grief, and the ever-present pull of one's home. Miller seems a little more desperate than usual to fulfill his "epic" mandate here, even making it explicit at one point near the end, as Dementus asks Furiosa if she has what it takes to make her own story epic. Knowing full well what he's doing, Miller injects tons of mythic and religious imagery and concepts into this story, from the Edenic opening to numerous crucifixions and from hellish quarries to towering platforms with diabolic temptations. And while there is no doubting the entertaining, intelligent, skilled, and spectacular prowess Miller here demonstrates -- there are, somehow, even more eye-popping visuals here than previously -- there is a disappointing abundance of CGI.

It's not always a bad thing, and these days with increased safety and security measures on film sets, it's probably for the best. Especially when the characters (and audience) are thrust into such a bizarre and fully realized world, which finally introduces us to multiple wasteland fortresses in one, including Gas Town and the gobsmackingly cool Bullet Farm. But it does make you miss his signature practical effects. Similarly, and this bothered me more than the VFX, his screenplay -- for all its scope and intents -- feels obnoxiously heavy-handed, as though he's beating us over the head with the thematic and metaphysical import of every scene through what his characters say to each other. He's throwing a lot -- a lot -- at us visually and aurally, so to be hand-held through the actual human elements of this story feels a bit infantilizing. Which is definitely not what this franchise is all about.

That doesn't stop it from being a hell of a good time. The young Furiosa, played by Alyla Browne, is immediately entrancing and impressive, physically mastering a demanding role and commanding her screen time, which lasts much longer than expected. She reminded me of the likes of Jodie Foster or Leo DiCaprio, definitely one to watch moving forward. Anya Taylor-Joy steps in later in the film as an older Furiosa, and while she performs with her usual dedication and intensity to easily successful effect, I confess myself somewhat uninterested in her as things continued. Not because of Taylor-Joy at all, but because the screenplay is simply less inventive or insightful when it comes to her. The woman of few words doesn't allow us much access to any interiority. Instead, I found the raucous character of Dementus infinitely more fascinating, helped a lot by Chris Hemsworth's utterly unhinged performance. It's a mix of his imposing muscular presence, his carefully honed comedic skills, and a calculated sinister malice he rarely gets to showcase (the notable exception being in Bad Times at the El Royale).

With its increasingly fanciful rendering of the mad world Miller created so long ago, one wonders where this franchise might go next. Might Tom Hardy return? One or more variations of Furiosa? What about more villainous excursions? After all, the villains are perhaps the most interesting and compelling characters; they are certainly who the designers have the most fun with. Even in Furiosa, a younger Immortan Joe and his sons Scrotus and Rictus Erectus make substantial appearances. Some throwbacks to the Gibson-led films would be a pleasing addition to this franchise as well. But this is the first time in the franchise that a new installment builds on and fleshes out elements of a previous entry, so it would also be a good idea for Miller to simply learn further into originality and create completely new stories and characters. Really, at this point, anything he might do would be welcome. Let us pray that Miller wants to continue playing in this hyperviolent, post-apocalyptic sandbox.

In a Violent Nature (2024)

Score: 2.5 / 5

Here's the thing about an experiment: it doesn't always work. So many people get so upset when movies don't fulfill their expectations -- usually due to marketing -- and then loudly decry a lack of novelty and creativity in contemporary films. Nuanced discussion of what works and what doesn't, which is by definition subjective, is sacrificed on the altar of solid, opaque opinions loudly blasted on social media and irrevocably tainting thoughtful post-screening discussions or recommendation boards. I'm so tired of it. Where are the patient, reasoned conversations about how it impacted you, what elements piqued your interest, why certain bits pulled you out of the moment, or how you might conceive the material differently? This, dear reader, is my goal with this blog and in my life, and perhaps it's time to reaffirm that for myself. Won't you join me?

In a Violent Nature is like nothing we've seen before. On those merits alone, it deserves praise, not least for its writer and director Chris Nash, who surely made it on a minuscule budget in rural Canada. It reads as a sort of love letter and deconstruction of rural slasher films, a minimally populated classification that pretty much includes Friday the 13th, The Evil Dead, and The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. Nash boldly wears these influences on his sleeve, parading them in arthouse fashion strikingly reminiscent of Terence Malick and Gus van Sant. Here, I'll cautiously say that the most obvious inspiration points are to Maniac (specifically the limited POV) and to Friday the 13th Part 2 (specifically the plot and certain scenarios), though there are particular scenes that clearly draw lines to the other titles I referenced above.

If pastoral horror is a thing -- I suppose it is, right? Lamb, Midsommar, and The Dark and the Wicked come to mind -- this takes it to a new level. Immersive sound design plunges us into the forest, and a lack of scoring makes the soundtrack to this film little more than the birds and frogs chirping in the distance. Apart from occasionally diegetic music (from a radio, for example), the only real sounds are those of the main character walking and of course the sounds he makes as he slaughters the hapless other folks roaming his domain.

What? Oh yes, I nearly forgot to tell you what this strange film is. It's a slasher in its most deceptively simple way. Unseen teens wandering the woods pocket a locket dangling from the remains of a fire tower. Soon after, a hand reaches up from beneath the dirt and rotting leaves, followed by the questionably preserved animated corpse of a hulking man who immediately follows their trail, plodding through the brightly lit forest with no especial speed. His meandering takes most of the film's runtime, and for the most part, we follow him closely, hovering a few feet behind his shoulders, only seeing his face once (and it's a doozy of a shot), forcing us into the somewhat lonely, simple headspace a mindless killer like Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees likely has. It's a weirdly ASMR-like approach to what visually reminds us of the video game Dead by Daylight, and it's almost serene. The boxy aspect ratio and warm scenery is relaxing, beautiful to behold for most of the film. 

Until it isn't. This is a slasher, after all, and when the kills come, they are abundantly gruesome. This film doesn't dabble in clever traps, waste time with elaborate set-ups for jump scares, or even offer any real tension. We just plod along with "Johnny," as we learn the killer is called, as he casually butchers the anonymous teens and anyone in their vicinity on his hunt for the locket. We do get brief moments of dialogue amongst the teens and eventually a park ranger, which do reveal the history of the area and of their monstrous pursuer. Those scenes don't really work for me because they take us beyond our established POV for the sake of explaining plot to us that we don't really need. I'd have been much more satisfied if this film were essentially silent, or if (even better) it were all filmed in (what would appear to be) a single take. Johnny himself never speaks; indeed, you might consider him a force of nature, an idea that makes the final scene make a hell of a lot more sense. We'll get to that presently.

Very little of the film is in fact scary, but the atmosphere is hypnotic. And then there are the kill scenes. Your mileage with them will vary, but I found them gory and graphic to a fully unnecessary extent. Three in particular involve body mortification (torture to a living body in one case that does actually speak a bit to Johnny's character and motivation, perhaps), and those scenes are really hard to watch. That said, the first of the three involves a young woman and is so aggressively bizarre and gross that I had trouble keeping my giggles silent for several unbearable minutes afterward. Worse, the setup is just stupid, as she simply stands there as if wanting to be brutalized. The last kill, on the other hand, is animalistic and vicious in a way that did not make sense to me in the film's context. And none of it, again, is very scary, partly because we're with the killer the entire time, and partly because all the other characters are so obnoxiously stupid -- constantly splitting up, being unsafe, developing plans to fight back and promptly abandoning them -- that it's almost desirable to see the creative ways in which they will die. The acting is negligible, but maybe that's because the characters are, too.

By the finale -- after a frustratingly poised anticlimax, with stupid choices and a failed final fight, we're really not sure if the denouement is going to surprise us with a twist -- things are just about done when we're treated to a really tense and lengthy scene in which the Final Girl (yes, that trope is here too, brought about like all the other tropes herein from the sidelines rather than directly) is rescued by a mysterious woman in a truck. SPOILER ALERT: The woman seems to honor the girl's privacy before treating her to a monologue about her own brother's near-death encounter with a bear in the same woods. There is a hint that the woman is dangerous, especially when she stops the truck to tie a tourniquet, but then there's a final shot hinting that Johnny's quest is over and the woods is at peace again. I think the title plays a key part in understanding the interplay between Johnny, this woman's story, and the pastoral horror we've endured. Is nature inherently violent? Are we? Is it just when we interact with nature? This isn't a man-against-nature drama thriller, or even a killer animal movie. It's a distinct beast of its own, poised against existing titles and subgenres that beg for dialogue and aesthetic connections. 

For the unique viewing experience alone, I do tepidly recommend this film. For the fascinating conversation that can and should follow a screening, I more stridently recommend this film and request attendance. Experimentally, to conclude my opening idea, it's a mixed bag of results that invites each viewer to pick and choose what you like and dislike, much like we saw with Skinamarink and The Outwaters only last year. For my own interests, it fell a bit flat and I was consistently distracted by how and why I'd have directed a very different film from the same material. But, and this is key: this would be an excellent choice for an outdoor summer movie!

Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes (2024)

Score: 4.5 / 5

When one of the most interesting and bizarre franchises in American cinema -- that started in 1968 -- was revived in 2011, no one really knew what to expect. Rupert Wyatt's reimagined prequel of sorts (conceived by Amanda Silver and Rick Jaffa) honored the ideas and names of the original films while dramatically rewiring the material to fit a contemporary setting. Even now, over a decade later, the film's somewhat wide-eyed optimism for medical breakthroughs and environmentalist warm fuzzies feel comparatively naive and simple. But Rise of the Planet of the Apes, despite some lackluster postmortem, did a hell of a lot right, and a rewatch of that film is never a bad idea. While its story is simple and its messages straightforward, it by no means grapples with simple questions or themes, grounding itself -- helped by mind-boggling CGI -- in real drama, eschewing the corny aspect that plagued the original films and even Tim Burton's remake.

Andy Serkis as Caesar, protagonist of the first three films in this reboot series, was sadly overlooked by the Academy, but his presence has thus far defined the series. Matt Reeves and his visionary approach to Dawn and War rounded out the (at the time) trilogy with apocalyptic, operatic scope. Unlike the intentionally weird, alien world of the original film that is eventually revealed to be Earth itself, this series takes great pains to make everything a little too realistic, to dramatize a more or less feasible way apes could indeed take over the planet after viral outbreak that empowers them and kills us. How much more impactful in our post-Covid world! It was only a matter of time before this new series was to be continued.

Finding itself the owners of the material now, Disney tapped Wes Ball to helm the first of what is likely to be a second trilogy in the Apes cosmology, with increasingly ridiculous titles. Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes, however, is a fabulously entertaining and thoroughly stimulating entry that honors what came before even as it thrills us with expectations for what is to come. Penned by "epic" science fiction writer Josh Friedman, it concerns a story far removed from Caesar, many generations later when Caesar is remembered more as a legend than as a living leader. The world is much more like the '60s film than the one we last saw in War: what is left of humanity has devolved into pockets of primitive, feral creatures. Apes seem to have spread abundantly, living apart in small communities that can all speak and develop idiosyncrasies and new traditions, such as hunting with eagles and riding horses. These new enclaves share a love of Caesar, but their ideas about him are often at odds, much as how humans in the real world behave when it comes to politicians or prophets.

I won't discuss the plot here, except to say that Friedman doesn't include any extraneous details or stoop to any kind of fan service. He offers just enough exposition to explain how and why we're at this point in time (initially, the time jump threw me, but he justifies it and then some) and not so much as to overwhelm us. The plot is mostly predictable and occasionally convenient, but not enough to distract from the drama of its proceedings. Tastefully understanding the project at hand, Ball shapes our adventure -- along with that of the main cast, almost all of whom are indeed apes -- with thoughtful artistry and compelling purpose, demonstrating a mastery of tone and pacing that allows us intellectual and kinetic thrills even as it lassoes our heartstrings for emotional dividends. Even if this movie were standalone, it would be deeply satisfying, and that's a profoundly brave thing for this franchise to do. And, more importantly, for this studio to do. 

Beautiful cinematography, truly eye-popping digital effects, and inspired visuals make this entry a feast for the eyes and then some. The performances are all solid, especially the motion capture performances of Kevin Durand as the terrifying Proximus Caesar and Peter Macon as the delightful Raka (who, based on a single line of dialogue and a certain camp air, I'm guessing is a gay ape). The story starts innocuously enough, but stakes are raised early on and from there, it's a breakneck race to the finish line; these action sequences are smart and tense in ways I haven't seen from a major studio in some time. And by its riotous climax, this film knows not to overstay its welcome, wrapping up while planting thematic seeds we can already see have begun to sprout. I was particularly pleased with its continuation of pacifist and anti-gun messages championed in the previous trilogy, and its placement here invites more questions about how current generations can and should learn from the past in more practical ways, while threatening us with the reality that we might not be learning, and what that implies about us in the real world. That's great science fiction, right there.