Charlton Heston | Bouquets & Brickbats

09/05/24

Cineworld, Edinburgh

When author Pierre Boulle published his science fiction novel La Planéte des Singes in 1963, he could have had no idea of the protracted cinematic legacy that awaited it. In 1968, Planet of the Apes starring Charlton Heston was a massive hit and had one of the most iconic final scenes in history. It spawned four (admittedly patchy) sequels and, in the 1970s, became a long-running television series, of which I still have fond memories.

In 2001, Tim Burton attempted a big-screen reboot, but only his staunchest fans would claim that it was in any way a success.

So when, ten years later, director Rupert Wyatt made another attempt to apply the old defibrillators, I had low expectations (which, in retrospect, may have helped). Rise of the Planet of the Apes was a cracking film which centred on a remarkable mo-cap performance by Andy Serkis as Caesar. Two more films (both directed by Matt Reeves) continued in the same vein, rounding off with War for the Planet of the Apes in 2017. Surely there was nothing more to be said on the talking simian subject?

Ahem.

Wes Ball’s Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes begins with a glimpse of Caesar on his funeral pyre and then scampers nimbly onwards for many years, introducing us to a new hero, Noa (Owen Teague). Noa is one of a tribe of chimpanzee hunter-gatherers, who specialise in training eagles, which they send out to catch fish for them. The apes are now the dominant species on the planet and the few humans that Noa encounters are savages who, thanks to a mysterious virus, have lost their ability to speak.

Noa is approaching a coming-of-age ceremony for which he needs a freshly-laid eagle’s egg but, when the one he’s been carrying around with him gets scrambled, he’s obliged to ride out in search of a replacement. He comes up against a gang of aggressive bonobos, under the despotic leadership of Proximus ‘Caesar ‘(Kevin Durand), who has realised that – much like the Romans before him – he can make the name a hereditary title and subvert everything that his illustrious progenitor ever believed in. Noa also meets a wise old orangutan called Raka (Peter Macon) and a human called Mae (Freya Allan), who, unlike most of her species, can speak eloquently. She has a secret mission to carry out in the ruins of the nearby city where Proximus reigns, so Noa and Mae travel there together. They are captured and made to swear allegiance to Proximus. Another captive human, Trevathan (William H. Macy), tells Noa that Proximus is spending much of his time trying to gain entry to a massive underground vault which may just contain a ‘book’ which could restore the power of speech to humanity….

If this is beginning to sound complicated, let me assure you that on the screen it’s even more so – and this gives the story a muddled quality, particularly in the saggy middle section of its lengthy running time. Don’t get me wrong, the film has many qualities to commend it. Like its three predecessors, the world-building here is brilliantly done and the exotic (Australian) locations are awe-inspiring to say the very least. Also, the mo-cap characters are depicted with astonishing nuance and it’s to the film’s credit that, despite a massive cast of simians, I am never confused as to who is who.

As the film thunders into its final stretches there’s a major revelation – and I remind myself that Wes Ball has made no secret of the fact that he sees KOTPOTA as the opening salvo in a trilogy. But looking around the scant audience for this afternoon’s performance, I can’t help wondering if there’s any appetite for it. Maybe this lucrative franchise is finally approaching its extinction. If that’s the case, it’s had a pretty impressive run – and, even if this instalment feels like something of a step down, it’s nonetheless a fantastic visual achievement.

Those with a taste for mo-cap marvels should swing down to their nearest multiplex, choose the biggest screen available and… go ape.

3.3 stars

Philip Caveney

29/09/19

Orson Welles is one of the most enigmatic filmmakers in history. His cinematic career began spectacularly with Citizen Kane in 1941, a film that has consistantly featured in critics ‘best of’ lists down the years. But – largely because of the malign influence of William Randolph Hearst, the newspaper tycoon on whom Kane was allegedly based – Welles’ subsequent endeavours consisted mostly of ducking and diving, scrambling around to try to scratch up enough money to back his features. Despite the inevitable low budget, his 1958 noir classic, Touch of Evil is always a joy to watch, particularly in this version, which reinstates footage cut from the original theatrical release – and the opportunity to see it once again on the big screen is simply too enticing to pass up.

Dazzingly shot in black and white by Russell Metty, the film stars Welles as veteran cop Hank Quinlan, who operates in a small town on the Mexican border. Quinlan is a man who never lets little technicalites (such as a suspect’s innocence) get in the way of a successful conviction. When a local building contracter is blown to pieces by a bomb placed in the boot of his car, Quinlan sets about finding the killer, but the investigation is compromised by the presence of Mexican cop, Mike Vargas (Charlton Heston – yes, really), who is celebrating his marriage to Susan (Janet Leigh), and who just happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Okay so, Heston (and also Marlene Dietrich) wear brownface to play Mexicans, which definitely wouldn’t fly in these more enlightened times, but there’s plenty here to enthrall, not least Welles’ audacious performance as the grotesque, racist police officer.

The film feels strangely ‘modern’ in its approach and it’s interesting to note that it was realised a full two years before Hitchcock’s Psycho would once again have Janet Leigh checking in to a terrifying motel. From the infamous twelve-minute tracking shot, depicting the planting of the bomb, to the final act where Vargas struggles to get Quinlan’s unwitting confession on tape, this is undoubtedly a B-movie masterpiece and one that stands up really well after all these years. It’s always sad to consider where Welles might have gone if Hollywood had been welcoming to his post-Kane projects, rather than repeatedly slamming the door in his face.

4.8 stars

Philip Caveney