Dawn of the Planet of the Apes (2014)

Director: Matt Reeves

Cast: Andy Serkis, Jason Clarke, Gary Oldman, Keri Russell

Have I Seen it Before: Yes.

Did I Like It: One doesn’t want to give themselves over to the auteur theory, but I am tempted to say that most of the qualms I had about Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011) are alleviated here, and I wonder if that can be laid at the feet of Matt Reeves. Callbacks (callforwards?) to the original Planet of the Apes (1968) are kept to a minimum. The pandemic storyline somehow went from the too-close-to-home ominous undertones in Rise to the hey-at-least-it-didn’t-end-up-that bad on display here. Most importantly, the human element is a real part of the movie, as opposed to the afterthought that is James Franco. And if you think that was easy to say with Jason Clarke in the film, you’re nuts.

The special effects may show their seams the most when those humans and the apes show up in the same frame, but that’s a forgivable problem. Any Apes film that completely conquers the uncanny valley when Ape shares the screen with human really wouldn’t be an Apes movie at all. Now, when the Apes are alone, it’s a different matter all together. They are still the far more interesting characters in the film, and I only say that because they are more interesting than human characters of practically any film of the era. Serkis is once again the master of acting through a digital effect, the same way Chaney or Karloff were the master of the physical prosthetic. There was more than a little chance that a new set of Apes movies would be something silly to behold even in the best of circumstances (I’m looking in your direction, Tim Burton). The fact that he alone not only brings a complete, often heartbreaking performance to a character in this setting, but he managed to do it twice (and in a forthcoming review, is likely to have completed the hat trick). You might see this review and think that there are too many Apes movies, but you owe it to yourself to see Caesar’s full arc…

And on that note, I really ought to give War for the Planet of the Apes (2017) another play through.

Cocaine Bear (2023)

Director: Elizabeth Banks

Cast: Keri Russell, O’Shea Jackson Jr., Alden Ehrenreich, Ray Liotta

Have I Seen it Before: Nope.

Did I Like It: Christopher Miller and Phil Lord are associated with this, and they have a nearly unassailable track record of making bad ideas for films insanely watchable. Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018) might have struggled, but that was rather pointedly not their fault. Here, they have an absolutely killer—perhaps too on the nose—pitch for a movie, so one wonders how they might fair.

However, I fear your mileage with this movie will be tied almost exclusively to the crowd with which you see the film. I saw it with a small crowd that was so primed for howling with every joke and explosion of ultra-violence, with any other movie they might have been astonishingly irritating.

But this kind of movie is so delightfully shameless in its execution, that the shamelessness of the audience only seemed like part and parcel with the whole experience. I even found myself crying out a few times, usually when something horrible happened to Margo Martindale, which, to be fair, was often enough. If the movie hadn’t had a wide release and more than few big stars, it might have been the stuff of midnight screenings for years to come.

Or maybe not. As it stands, I’m wondering if with me writing this review nearly a week after I saw the film and after it was released, the movie may have already collectively disappeared from our collective awareness. I’m certainly struggling to find at least 300 words to write on the subject. I can’t imagine I’m alone when I say that I appreciate funny, ultra-violent, mid-budget movies which don’t feel the need to break two hours in runtime.

So I don’t actually think I’m actually complaining about the film as I write that last part. The title of the film will likely linger in my memory for some time, but memories of the film itself might very well disappear entirely with another week’s distance.

Hemingway (2021)

Director: Ken Burns, Lynn Novick

Cast: Jeff Daniels, Patricia Clarkson, Mary-Louise Parker, Keri Russell

Have I Seen it Before: No, at the time of this writing, the film is brand new. Is this my first review of a movie released in 2021? Looking over the records, I did post a review of Zack Synder’s Justice League (2021), but as I had no capacity to review such a thing, Lora wrote that review.

Did I Like It: And that should be pretty telling. I’m not sure at what point the prospect of spending four hours with superheroes became a chore, and the opportunity of spending 6 hours with a man of letters who was gleefully awful even to those closest to him. I must have become so fussy.

I realize I have reviewed very few documentaries here on the site. I’ve been watching a lot of them, but as they are part of screening duties for a festival, reviews never find their way here. Gene Siskel said once—and my memory fails, he might have been quoting someone else—that he had long since come to prefer documentaries, as it would be time spent with a better class of people.

Documentaries—even flawed ones—will evade the essential phoniness which will weigh down even the greatest narrative films. And, thankfully, as this comes from Ken Burns, there is hardly a flaw to find. Is there a filmmaker who came onto the scene with Brooklyn Bridge (1982)* and became ubiquitous with the documentary form as of The Civil War (1990)**, and has maintained that level of craft throughout nearly forty years? If there is such a master, their name escapes me.

And yet, am I spending time with a better class of person? The reams of words written—and for that matter, the hours of footage displayed—about Hemingway’s failings are too numerous to have any hope to contribute anything new here. He was a brute, a drunk, and in the last years of his life a hateful paranoiac. You can’t dismiss any of that because he knew how to put together an English sentence. Can you contextualize the man’s flaws and still appreciate the work? 

There are three types of failed people where the question of whether the work still has value despite their less-desirable traits. 

There are those whose political beliefs become—or always were odious. Think someone like Frank Miller. Hemingway’s politics were incidental, but in action nearly always to the left, or at the very least anti-facist.

There are those whose behavior is so fundamentally wrong, that even the work becomes revolting in retrospect. Think Woody Allen. If any of his wives, or his children, or F. Scott Fitzgerald were still alive, I think they would have a legitimate beef. Otherwise, I am willing to label being an asshole in the abstract as a venal rather than mortal sin.

Then there are those who wished to be good, but due to being felled by alcoholism, multiple concussions, and the general makeup of human failures, never succeed in being the good men they would have wished. This is Hemingway. A failure. The film is an inspiration and a cautionary tale in equal measure.

*Which—if I’ve seen it—I have since tragically forgotten it. Must make a point to track it down. With my new account with PBS.org, maybe that will be within reach.

**Which I’m nearly always up for re-watching.