Being a b-movie slut can disorientate, mostly when it comes
to differentiating between a horrible movie, and something
that can be ducked under ’cheesy friday night time killer’
with justifiable evidence that it’s cheesiness be deliberate.
So with that in mind, I curled up beside my dearest awesome
and indulged upon the b-movie hit of the summer, Planet
Of The Apes.
Like the muscled bully seventh grader achieving straight D
minuses, Planet of the Apes’ remake foundation muscled the movie’s
way onto the box office charts with little but contempt
for it’s far superior competitors. Alienating all sense
of decency when questioned on character balance, POTA’s
seemingly crusty exterior and relative hollowness are justified
by it’s preoccupation with thrilling through action means
as opposed to varnishing another flaccid premise with the critic-friendly
’quirky and original’ plotting.
Planet of the Apes has that abysmal chime that sparks your
attention and gets you watching. It’s filmed with precision,
basking in the glow of it’s wonderful action directing while
resonating that intangible poor acting closeness that
renders it innocuous to the dignity of the summer cinema
body. It happens upon the viewer and, despite drowning them
in embarrassment, maintains their patience and delivers
a competent arrangement of it’s elements in a harmonious
whole that’s not soon forgotten.