Planet of the Apes

I'M NOT REALLY SURE ABOUT ANY OF THIS

Planet of the Apes is a 1963 novel, originally published in French, by Pierre Boulle. I recently purchased the DVD of the 1968 adaptation, directed by Franklin J. Schaffner, and also the novel, all for under £5! Yay, university!
So, I went about reading the novel, and I really, really liked it. This isn't a blog where I review books, but it's somewhat relevant so I'll just explain that I thought the plot progression was natural and intelligent, the character development was interesting and believable, and altogether I thoroughly enjoyed it. (And would strongly recommend it, it's 50p in HMV and about 200 pages long, go read it.)
Soooo, this review will contain spoilers for both the book and the film, if anyone cares. And this might be a lengthy review.
SO! First things first: The premise. I was looking forward to the film, and was expecting to enjoy it, because it's obviously very well-known and is a classic; in addition, the original script was written by Rod Serling and, gosh, do I love The Twilight Zone; apparently, the script that Serling originally wrote sounds a lot more like what I had envisioned, too. And I thought all of these things in spite of the fact that the DVD cover is just a massive spoiler (oh my god, I was wrong... it was Earth all along).
I'm not actually familiar with the work of any of the actors or the creative team behind the film, so I didn't have expectations in terms of formality or acting; I especially didn't expect what I was presented with.
Now, just to be clear: I'm not saying this is a bad movie. I'm saying it's a bad adaptation of a good book. As a standalone movie, it's good; it still presents sometimes profound themes and ideas, the cinematography is interesting, and even the acting is good. But the book was a much more enjoyable experience, overall.
Obviously, production was largely hindered due to the era; making a film like this would be a lot easier in 2013 than 1968- as demonstrated by Rupert Wyatt's Rise of the Planet of the Apes in 2011. It's undeniable that the prosthetic make-up worn by the apes is impressive- especially in chronological context. It's not flawless; especially in close-up dialogue sequences, it's quite obviously a mask; but when they are still the make-up is fairly convincing.
One, slightly painful, thing to note is in the beginning sequence of the film, when the explorers first land on the unknown planet; they plant an American flag in the soil. Which isn't just a throwaway action- a number of close-ups are given to this statement, as well as a lengthy shot of Charlton Heston's character laughing maniacally in response. That whole shebang was unnecessary and uncomfortable. But it's American science-fiction in the 1960's, so I can't blame them.
As with all adaptations, the movie deviates from the book's narrative quite a lot- but not, I think, in beneficial ways. I understand that the book would have been difficult to adapt into a screenplay; it is written in the first person, and a lot of the story progresses and is interpreted by the protagonist's mind, which is understandably hard to translate to the screen, but is a shame because the narrative progression is a lot more natural, interesting and believable in the novel than it is presented in the film. For example, in the book, the protagonist- Mérou, Americanised as ~Taylor~ for the film, is an intelligent journalist, which allows for more emphasis on exciting discoveries and interpretation of events. I got the impression that the book's protagonist had more motivation and determination than his movie counterpart; Mérou was tasked with communicating his intelligence to the apes wordlessly, instead presenting himself as an outstanding scientific specimen; and then slowly learning the ape's native language in order to communicate fully and seek liberation. Taylor, however, was simply shot in the neck (what) and had to wait until he regained use of his vocal chords and simply speak to the apes... who were speaking English anyway. And I know that's incredibly easier to demonstrate on-screen, but it really sacrifices the intelligence of both the story and the protagonist. Having to learn an entire language and convince a dominating creature that you are sentient and intelligent is a lot more impressive than simply insulting your captors in your mutual language and achieving freedom through aggression. And it calls into question why Taylor is so surprised when he discovers he was on Earth the whole time, if all the creatures speak perfect English...
Another change to the narrative that made me quite angry is what they did with Zira's character. In the book, Zira is the compassionate chimpanzee- a scientist- who sees a uniqueness to Mérou and even helps him learn their ape language. She basically single-handedly cares for him when none of the other scientists would believe in his abilities, and only later mentions her scientist fiancé, Cornelius, who can help him make an appeal. In the film, however, Zira is still present and compassionate but has very little screentime in Cornelius's absence. The film presents Taylor's rehabilitation as a wholly joint effort between the two of them, when in the book Mérou has very different relationships with both Zira and Cornelius, and doesn't spend very much time with both of them at all. 
One of my main issues with the film is that they sort of changed the whole point. That is, in the book, the ape's society is almost identical to how ours was perceived to develop, at the time of publication- but only slightly less advanced. In the book, the apes had cars and aeroplanes and almost all modern technology that was available in the 1960s, when the book was written, but had not yet attempted space travel. Other than that, society was supposed to mirror Earth's almost perfectly, which apparently is what Serling's script resembled. However, in the re-write, it was decided that for funding purposes the apes should be more primitive, unable to fly or even drive- they travel by horse-drawn carriage in the film. The apes do not have sophisticated houses (not even left over from human civilisation)? And almost every visual aspect is very primitive and in no way resembles the image the book created, which I found to be one of the most disappointing aspects. 
Another thing about the protagonist; in the movie, he's presented, for lack of a better word, like a complete douchebag. The character in the book is written with a fair degree of arrogance, more acceptable in context when his species is ridiculed and mocked by a seemingly lesser species, but is still respectful, intelligent and thoughtful. In the movie, however, he gets almost everywhere by being rude and demanding (the first, famous line he speaks to the apes; "get your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape".  Rude.) And doesn't attempt to respect the customs of the apes or, really, do anything to help anybody but himself, which was upsetting because I could relate to Mérou to a degree, but did not like Taylor at all.
I've definitely got a lot more I could say, but this is getting super long, so I'm going to end with the ending. Both the film and the book end in similar ways, but again, the book does it more intelligently and thought-provokingly. The book uses a lot of foreshadowing to suggest that perhaps this planet resembles Earth a little too closely, as well as characters carrying out neural research on humans and finding trapped memories of apes beginning to usurp their duties, but the novel ends with Mérou escaping back on his shuttle to return to Earth, only when he lands back in Paris, the air traffic controller who greets him is a gorilla. This is interesting and ambiguous; it could either be that he never really left Earth, just travelled through space in a circle, landing back on Earth both times, or it could be that Earth has met the same fate as the ape planet; humans have again fallen, allowing apes to rise in their place... it's uncertain, and up for debate. In the film, however, there is comparatively little investigation into the human race's history, and he discovers he is on Earth after all upon seeing the ruins of the Statue of Liberty (again with the USA imagery), which isn't up for debate and seems to unequivocally mean that he never really left Earth. Which, to me, feels less exciting, you know?
</end ramble>
TO CONCLUDE. Planet of the Apes is an enjoyable film, which does what it sets out to do and keeps audiences interested. However, the original novel tells the same story in a much more interesting and creative way, in my opinion.

DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL

Bicentennial Man

MY HEART

One of my clearest, surest memories of my dad, growing up, was the movie Bicentennial Man. As far as I can remember, my mum didn't like it, but my dad loved it, so he and I used watch it together fairly often. And that's cool, it's only a PG, as a child I was well within reason to watch it, but as a result of this exposure, I have an emotional connection to this film as intense as any other childhood movie- and I get very intensely emotional about anything from my childhood. 

Anyway, I watched Bicentennial Man last week for the first time in probably nine years. Even though I was a child when I watched it- and to be honest it's quite an adult film, thematically- I still remembered the entire plot from start to finish, even including some specific lines of dialogue; which is a testament to just how frequently I watched when I was younger. Even though it's generally poorly received by critics, I think Bicentennial Man is a wonderful film, exploring deep-seated desires, fears and ethics experienced by all people, and, evidently, certain machines. I also think that this film is the root of my extreme emotional empathy with robots, responsible for feelings- often to the point of tears- for even antagonistic robots (There's a reason Blade Runner is my favourite movie, and Deckard definitely isn't that reason).

It should be mentioned that Bicentennial Man is based on a novel written by Isaac Asimov, who wrote several stories about robots- and its written origins become obvious in the film when, near the beginning, Andrew quotes Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics. I'm ashamed to admit that I haven't actually read the novel, which isn't something that happens often, because I almost always try to read the book before I watch the film, if I'm aware that it's based on a book (this being the reason I haven't seen The Great Gatsby). I really want to familiarise myself with Asimov's work, because I love robots so much, but I still haven't gotten around to it. Maybe over summer... I'm just going to briefly mention that this is one of two films based on Asimov's work that I've seen, the other being I, Robot. And, whilst the latter was a bigger commercial hit and is more popular, I definitely think Bicentennial Man is the better picture. Everything about it is better; the acting, the music, the cinematography, the lack of ridiculously gratuitous product placement- low blow, I know, but it's so grating- except for the special effects, but it remains true that Bicentennial Man tells the story it sets out to tell very effectively without jaw-dropping scenery and over-the-top CGI.

So! The film. I might even say that Bicentennial Man is one of my favourite films, because I think the storyline is really sweet, and well written. I think that Andrew's journey is relatable, to an extent, and empowering in a strange way? Like, even before he begins his transformational journey, he tries to better himself in every way possible, learning multiple languages and teaching himself carpentry; and I think that's a message that a lot of people should note- hobbies and intellectual pursuits are beneficial, even if the creative outlet is just a mediocre film blog (wink wink).

IN ADDITION, the acting is brilliant. This is probably Robin Williams at his finest, a comedic performance with serious undertones akin to Mrs Doubtfire. He carries the character through so many changes, yet maintains a constant characterisation, so that the audience's identification with the character also remains. The relationships depicted are mostly believable, and sweet after explanation. Initially, the I'm-in-love-with-the-great-granddaughter-of-my-master thing is a little weird, but the exploration of their relationship makes it more believable and trustworthy.

I think that the majority of the characters in the film are well-written, no matter how small their part. Even the president, seen only at the very end of the film, is well executed. Rupert Burns, the technician, is a great character, expositionally, comedically and for story development, and makes a good scene partner for Andrew, effectively representing the audience. And I'm just going to throw in that, as unimportant as Galatea, the female robot, is, I love her character- she's the namesake for several flashdrives and my iPhone- and the small aside reveal at the end that she, too, is somewhere along the journey to humanity gets me every time. These goddamn robots.

There's probably a bunch of stuff I want to say and have forgotten to mention, but the gist of my opinions on Bicentennial Man are: brilliant robots, good story, heart-wrenching ending... maybe cast Embeth Davidtz in slightly fewer roles? "The looks skip a generation" is great and all, but no granddaughter is completely identical to their grandmother, I mean really. Other than that, though, good job, Chris Columbus! There are tears e v e r y w h e r e.

Thelma & Louise

SUCH BADASSES

I've had a post about Thelma & Louise saved in my drafts since January. Around January, I started to get slightly snowed under with uni assignments, and also I'm just a very lazy person, so I never bothered to finish writing the blog post. But hey, it's never too late!

(edit: this post seemed much longer while I was writing it. They'll get longer, don't worry)

While I was walking to the train station this morning, on my way to pick up my laptop from its repair (turns out laptops don't like having pepsi spilled on them, who knew?) The Ballad of Lucy Jordan, by Marianne Faithfull, started playing. The first thing I think of whenever I hear this song is Thelma & Louise, and the simultaneous senses of hopelessness and possibility that both the song and the film evoke.  Bear in mind I'm writing this blog post not having watched the film in about 5 months, so I may be a little rusty, but I have seen it many, many times...

Thelma & Louise is one of my all-time favourite films. This is true for many reasons, not least of which is that it's directed by Ridley Scott, who is one of my absolute favourite directors (I'm a bit of a broken record when it comes to this topic) and, as usual, he takes on a project that many others would produce generic, sub-par drama from and creates a visually stunning, emotionally poignant and timelessly resonating film. The dramatic performances from both Susan Sarandon and Geena Davis (incidentally, both nominated for the Best Actress Oscar for their roles in this film) are incredible; realistic, convincing, funny and emotional all at the same time. And they really sell those southern accents. 

As can be expected with Ridley Scott at the helm- even those who dislike him agree that he emphasises visuals-, Thelma & Louise is visually beautiful. Not as obviously and outrightly stunning, like Prometheus or Blade Runner; if these films are supermodels, Thelma & Louise is the girl-next-door. That convoluted analogy is my way of saying that, out of the mundane American landscape, Scott managed to capture its unlikely beauty, from sweeping shots of oil rigs to tracking shots of a mini aircraft watering a field. His long panoramic sweep of the mountain ranges and desert-like environment really help position both the characters and audience, and makes identifying with the characters easy. 

One thing I really like about Thelma & Louise is its themes and conventions- the two lead characters, both women, play out different roles throughout the course of the movie; they act as mother and daughter, sisters, and the dominance in the relationship switches throughout, which makes for an interesting, varied narrative. Some critics have complained that the film is too harsh on men and portray them stereotypically, which very much feels like a first-world complaint, because these same complaints from women are often ignored and muted. However, I would argue that whilst the majority of the male characters may be unpleasant, they are all examples of the types of people that do exist in the world, and women deal with every day. This film simply sheds light on the world from a female perspective, which I think is very interesting.

I could seriously write forever about this film, but I want to wrap this up fairly soon, before it turns into an essay. I'll finish off by saying that, however much I love the acting and directing, I think my favourite thing about this film is the writing. It would have been very easy to write Thelma and Louise simply as criminals, on the run, in a similar fashion to Bonnie and Clyde, or at least have them lose some sense of morality once they were fugitives. It's true that Thelma carries out armed robbery towards the end of the film, but it's clear that she wouldn't have actually injured anyone, and the only reason she did it at all is because they needed money. It is made clear to the audience that they retain their morals and ethics the entire time, and I think that's admirable. Also, just little things like Louise stepping out of the car at night while Thelma sleeps and just, staring into the starry horizon, reflecting on her life. Little things like that, dotted throughout the film, are what provide its humanity and realism, and what add up to make it one of my favourite films.