April of the Apes: Conquest of the Planet of the Apes (1972)

When it comes to Conquest of the Planet of the Apes – the fourth installment in the simian time-travel franchise – I can’t quite say whether I would have preferred the title to be Panic on the Planet of the Apes or Riot for the Planet of the Apes. (The conquest, you see, happens largely off-screen, after this movie ends.) It’s certainly the most violent of the Apes films, particularly in the unrated version that found its way onto Blu-Ray, and at times it seems as though the violence is merely an end in itself. But for all its low-budget sturm und brutish allegorical drang, Conquest is a compelling installment in a perennially strange series.

Twenty years after his parents arrived on earth, the talking chimpanzee Caesar (Roddy McDowall) has been hiding from the government under the protection of circus owner Armando (Ricardo Montalbán). While the rest of the world domesticates apes to replace the dogs and cats that perished in a global pandemic, Caesar becomes the unlikely hero of a revolution after his secret is uncovered by the forces of the sinister Governor Breck (Don Murray).

 

Conquest is somewhat unique among the Apes films in that it exists in two different versions: there’s the 1972 theatrical release and the more recent (and, as far as I can tell, fan-preferred) unrated version that debuted on Blu-Ray circa 2009. While the differences are largely negligible, with the unrated version featuring more graphic and startling shots of blood and violence, the ending is bracingly different. I’ll throw up a spoiler warning, although I wonder whether it’s possible to spoil a closed-loop time travel story: in the theatrical release, Caesar heeds his better angels and talks his fellow apes out of violence, while in the unrated version, Caesar embraces the use of force and encourages the gorillas to execute Governor Breck.

 

When I first saw Conquest ages ago, it was the theatrical version, but having watched the unrated cut for “April of the Apes,” I can’t imagine going back. The darker, more fatalistic ending gives Roddy McDowall the centerpiece he deserves; in a dramatic monologue that is equal parts Shylock and Richard III, McDowall mouths a somber and grim portrait of humanity, invoking the darkest chapters of American history while positing himself as a Darwinian emperor ape. In this closing soliloquy, dark and chilling enough to elevate the entire film, McDowall’s Caesar reminded me very much of another science-fiction fable of revolt – HBO’s Westworld. And like the violent delights of the android theme park, the precarious peace of Conquest’s earth, Caesar insists, would have violent and inevitable ends. (One also cannot ignore the unanticipated lasting potency of the film’s civil rights metaphor, all the more heated in 2021, when Caesar’s essential thesis revolves around which lives matter.)

 

While McDowall is doing simian Shakespeare, the rest of the film is bogged down by cheap effects and on-the-nose metaphors. The first two Apes films featured an incredible prosthetics technique by John Chambers, but by the time we get to Conquest, we’re lucky if more than two apes at once are sporting that innovative makeup effect; instead, the bulk of the cast is sadly restricted to low-budget pullover masks, at once inexpressive and unconvincing. It’s a plus for Caesar, who stands out all the more, but it is overall to the film’s detriment, especially since the film does not invest much time in ape characters like Natalie Trundy’s Lisa (who, in the theatrical version, masters the power of speech in time to soften Caesar’s hardened heart).

 

Similarly, the villains of the film are thoroughly undercooked, evil for the sake of being evil without much in the way of motivation or character development. Doubtless the makers of the Andy Serkis mo-cap trilogy took note, as this was something the Serkis films greatly improved upon, particularly with Woody Harrelson’s unsettling Colonel in War for the Planet of the Apes. In Conquest, though, the antagonists are little more than Nazi stormtroopers, callously engaging in barbaric modes of torture without the self-awareness to realize that their shiny black boots and crisp black clothing telegraph their inherent villainy to the world. There’s a shining moment of insight when MacDonald (Hari Rhodes) chooses a side and turns against the other humans, but the film bludgeons the point home when MacDonald and Caesar repeatedly call attention to the fact that the black MacDonald is “a descendant of slaves.”

 

So much of Conquest of the Planet of the Apes isn’t subtle, though perhaps that’s asking too much of a franchise that involved Rod Serling only once. Still, like Escape from the Planet of the Apes, there is something of The Twilight Zone in Conquest, particularly in the darker unrated cut. There is a tragic sense of inevitability as the series winds down; in attempting to avert the planet of the apes, the human slavers end up creating it. There can be no peace through subjugation, the film warns, yet it is a lesson that Caesar seems not to have learned. Like Ben Affleck’s Batman, Caesar is blinded by his rage and his pain – yet the film is stronger and more chilling without the theatrical cut’s moralizing (and ultimately inert) denouement. While it’s very short and subsumes substance for spectacle, one can’t help but be won over by Conquest’s potent go-for-the-jugular approach – but none of it would work if it weren’t for Roddy McDowall treating this sci-fi hokum like Elizabethan tragedy.

 

Put another way, this might not be how we imagined the birth of the planet of the apes (nor does it quite align with the versions we heard from Cornelius or Dr. Zaius), but in the moments when it stays out of its own way Conquest is very nearly better than a fourth film with no budget has any right to be.

 

Conquest of the Planet of the Apes is rated PG. Directed by J. Lee Thompson. Written by Paul Dehn. Starring Roddy McDowall, Don Murray, Natalie Trundy, Severn Darden, Hari Rhodes, and Ricardo Montalbán.

April of the Apes: Escape from the Planet of the Apes (1971)

After a disappointing outing that dared to venture Beneath the Planet of the Apes – to say nothing of the sequel-proof ending to that film – the Apes franchise manages to strike silver, if not outright gold, with Escape from the Planet of the Apes. It might be the second-best of the franchise, at once advancing the narrative while self-reflexively examining its central conceits about human nature and destiny.

When Colonel Taylor’s spaceship washes up in 1973, the world is stunned to see three apes emerge from the craft. Cornelius (Roddy McDowall), Zira (Kim Hunter), and Dr. Milo (Sal Mineo) convince the astonished Dr. Lewis Dixon (Bradford Dillman) that they come from the distant future, but Dr. Otto Hasslein (Eric Braeden) fears that the apes have come to bring about that same dystopian future. Dr. Hasslein’s theories are all the more troubling given the ticking clock of Zira’s pregnancy. Will her baby be the future of man’s relation to ape, or will that infant ape bring about the ruin of human civilization?

 

Make no mistake, Escape from the Planet of the Apes is bonkers. Three talking apes step out of a spacecraft and into a groovy fish-out-of-water farce with all of the unmistakable window dressing of the 1970s. Despite Taylor’s perpetual disbelief in the original film, the rest of the world seems to take to the apes rather well, all things considered. This angle allows the film to focus less on the fact of the apes than on their significance; as humanity oohs and ahhs over the ooh-ooh ahh-ahh crowd, we get to see humanity’s absurdity reflected back at them. Cornelius observes a human boxing match and its attendant throng of exuberant spectators. “Beastly!” he murmurs to himself.

 

The real fun of Escape is watching Roddy McDowall and Kim Hunter perfect their ape schtick, with the film’s full attention this time. (As Dr. Milo, Sal Mineo’s performance is punishingly brief, and it’s a frustrating tease to read production notes that describe him as the ape Leonardo da Vinci.) As a pair, the two are surprisingly touching, doting and romantic as the best screen couples can be. Despite the unusual make-up effects, these performers are so graceful and deft that one almost forgets we’re not watching talented chimpanzees at play. Indeed, I couldn’t help but wonder whether Cornelius could have had a long career appearing as, say, Hamlet or Willy Loman, with Zira doing the talk show circuit. The franchise’s greatest strength remains, then, the ability of its very talented ape performers to sell a ludicrous concept with limited makeup effects. (The Serkis trilogy, meanwhile, similarly succeeded best when it allowed us to forget that those apes were the product of pixels and computer code.)

 

Though Rod Serling had nothing to do with this film, you can’t help but feel his brand of cynical allegory at work. I’m reminded especially of an episode of The Twilight Zone, “The Gift,” in which a messianic alien is met with fear and hostility until the humans kill him and destroy the gift he brings – not black magic or a dangerous weapon, but a cure for cancer. In much the same way, our pacifist apes are greeted with suspicion from the moment of their arrival. It’s great fun to watch Zira in particular flip the script on the scientists who suppose her to be mute and mindless, while the humans never quite realize they are the butt of Cornelius’s droll observations. In this satirical vein, as in the montage where human fashion has never looked more preposterous than on a chimp, Escape strikes all the right notes when it comes to dark humor. 

 

Escape is also a grimly successful satire when it comes to the subject of American politics and the corrupting influence of power. On the one hand, you have William Windom as a willfully ineffectual President, slave to an upcoming election and his own refusal to take a stance on the ape issue. He delegates his rational mind to the will of a committee, agreeing to be their puppet in exchange for taking no responsibility. (He’s almost a Randian caricature of a politician, a surprising polar opposite to contemporary portrayals of then-sitting President Richard Nixon.) His counterpart Dr. Hasslein, who takes advantage of his committee seat to wield undue power in the Oval Office. Though Braeden reportedly did not care for this role, dubbing it stereotypical, Hasslein is the classic science-fiction archetype of a power-hungry philosopher, dictating military policy in judging the fate of the apes. 

 

In fact, though Escape is a suitable title given the film’s opening, Fate of the Planet of the Apes might have been equally apt. While the apes are attempting to escape the fate of their planet, the humans are likewise afraid that their fate will be that of the apes. Similarly, the film poses the question of whether this is a closed-loop time travel story, whether the future can be changed, or whether – as Ricardo Montalbán postulates in a memorable cameo – all this is in fact decided by the will of God. It’s heady stuff, the kind of intense sci-fi subject matter that made the original film such a watchable experience. Though dolled up in the trappings of the 1970s – and make no mistake, this film lacks only a disco dance montage – Escape is a worthy successor to the franchise, and it’s intriguing for once to see an Apes film with a clear-cut tease for a sequel. Who knew the word “mama” could be so potent?

 

Escape from the Planet of the Apes is rated G. Directed by Don Taylor. Written by Paul Dehn. Starring Roddy McDowall, Kim Hunter, Bradford Dillman, Natalie Trundy, Eric Braeden, Sal Mineo, and Ricardo Montalbán.