For Caesar!
The gospel heart of the ‘Planet of the Apes.’
This article was originally written for Mockingbird.
There are few film franchises more closely associated with pure science fiction than the aptly titled Planet of the Apes series. As a loose adaptation of a 1963 novel of the same name, the 1968 film, which starred Charlton Heston, gave filmmakers a venue with which to discuss the events of a tumultuous decade in American history that was marked by racial tension, social upheaval, political corruption, and the rise of the counterculture. It is no surprise, then, that Hollywood executives would jump at the chance to re-launch this franchise, which they did with 2011’s Rise of the Planet of the Apes. Fresh off of his groundbreaking performances in Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy and reimagining of King Kong, which put motion-capture filmmaking in the limelight, Andy Serkis went from mutated hobbit to inspired ape with his portrayal of Caesar, a chimpanzee who obtains human-like cognition after being given a dose of a drug that was intended to combat the side-effects of dementia and other cognitive diseases. This evolution, if you will, brings humanity to a new breaking point, as the simian test subjects quickly become aware that they no longer have to let mankind control their surroundings. Through the events of Rise, Caesar demonstrates valor and uncanny resourcefulness as he leads an uprising of apes against the humans who detained them.
The second and third films in this modern reimagining of the franchise, Dawn of the Planet of the Apes and War for the Planet of the Apes, respectively, continue to highlight Caesar’s journey from a confined test subject to a Moses-like figure of ape legend. Both installments expand upon the world established in Rise, succeeding both as indispensable chapters in the Planet of the Apes saga, as well as achievements of visual effects production. With Caesar’s narrative well at an end and zero interest from executives to let any chance at profit pass them by, 2024’s Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes exists both to continue unfurling the world of the previous three films while also transitioning the series in new directions and, as many managing directors are no doubt hoping, setting up a handful of sequels.
Under Wes Ball’s energetic direction and backdropped by the exemplary talents of Wētā FX, Kingdom, for the most part, accomplishes its goal. Although, like many other cinematic jaunts recently, the third act leaves much to be desired and slips into familiar tropes far too easily, which, Freddie deBoer says, leads to “a cornucopia of total plot senselessness.” Even in 2024, though, Kingdom boasts of several sequences that are so exquisitely crafted and visually engaging that one might wonder if they actually had trained orangutans on set during principal photography. Be that as it may, the most enduring element of the film isn’t its cinematic achievements, digital or otherwise. Rather, it is the array of questions the film poses concerning Caesar, truth, and the conveyance of myth.
When Kingdom opens, we are shown Caesar’s funeral pyre as his faithful disciples honor the one who had liberated them from the humans. This cuts to scenes of dilapidated steel and skyscrapers overrun by foliage, with an accompanying title that informs us that what we are witnessing is several generations removed from Caesar’s death. Among the forested ruins of bygone a civilization, we are introduced to Noa and his friends Soona and Anaya, all of whom belong to a clan of apes who live in aviaries, where it’s commonplace for eagles to soar and swoop in close proximity. Noa, we quickly learn, is a bona fide rule-follower, as twice he invokes “the law” of his clan as his directive for life. Though unnamed, what Caesar established long ago seems to live on through the devotion of this simian tribe. Indeed, Noa is shown to be an honest, resourceful, and responsible ape; a model disciple of the religion of Caesar.
Through a series of events involving a runaway human, whom Noa refers to as an Echo, Noa’s village is attacked by a rival clan of primates, known as The Masks. As they infiltrate Noa’s home, he is forced to watch every structure go up in flames for reasons that are mostly his fault. Amid the commotion, though, these violent and brutal apes roar, “For Caesar!” — a declaration that serves as the crux of the film’s most potent themes. When Noa is eventually captured by The Masks, he is taken to a coastal compound where he learns that these vicious apes belong to a budding kingdom of apes helmed by one who calls himself Proximus Caesar. Even though he invokes his name, Proximus’s leadership is a far cry from Caesar’s. Indeed, although Proximus and his ilk claim to act in service of Caesar, their exploits beg one to ask what this even means.
Throughout the first three films, Caesar establishes a following by remaining devoted to two codes: “Apes together strong” and “Ape not kill ape.” Upon these two hang the lives of every primate generation. Caesar’s leadership is an unrivaled amalgam of grace and truth. By the time we get to Noa’s time, Caesar has become a legend along the lines of “Christ and Augustus,” writes Sonny Bunch for The Bulwark, “a near-mythical elder, one who many tribes have forgotten and others have twisted to their own needs.” This is candidly depicted by Proximus’s self-proclaimed kingdom, which he happily governs autocratically. Behind their masks of iron, Proximus’s henchmen can carry out his despotic bidding as they “de-primate” any who stands in their way. “The real Caesar was undoubtedly strong and brave,” says New York Times columnist Alyssa Wilkinson, “but Proximus Caesar has mutated this into swagger and shows of force, an aggression designed to keep his apes in line.” Nothing is as important to Proximus as the expansion of the kingdom of the apes, which, of course, is an endeavor executed “for Caesar” and the glory of the apes he died to establish and defend. But if both the iron-fisted and the idyllic can claim their actions are “for Caesar,” how is one to know which representation is the true one?
For this answer, we must delightedly look no further than to the tenderhearted orangutan, Raka, who identifies himself to Noa as a follower of the “order of Caesar.” Raka’s priestly presence during Noa’s darkest moments imbues Kingdom with a spiritual resonance, especially as he takes the displaced ape under his care and tutors him in the ways of the True Caesar throughout most of the middle act of the film. As the last remaining chronicler of Caesar’s teachings, Raka is endowed with the weight of entrusting Caesar’s true myth to subsequent primate generations. His story — his true story — must be preserved and passed down. In an especially profound exchange, Noa tells Raka that “the law is everything.” Noa’s obedience to the law is what gives him meaning, identity, and purpose. For him, those codes epitomized all that Caesar hoped to leave behind. But, as Raka reveals, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Adhering to a law is far from everything that Caesar hoped to establish. “It was Caesar,” Raka says, “who taught us what it means to be ape. He was our leader, our lawgiver. Apes together strong.” Despite how enduring the code was, it was Caesar himself and his gospel of unity that represented the heart of Caesar’s telos. This, in many ways, is the doctrine of Caesar, whose essence isn’t the law by which his disciples lived but “the decency, morality, strength, and compassion,” as Raka summarizes it, with which he lived.
For my own part, I can’t help but think of Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes as an expansion on the parable of the Good Samaritan, but with primates and near-mute humans. In effect, what is on display is so-called devotion “for Caesar” that owes little to its namesake. Rather, it is the law for the law’s sake. It is fealty to a creed without any semblance of consideration or compassion for the other. Similarly, the priest and the Levite, who traverse to the other side of the street to avoid the beat-up traveler, are the biblical apotheosis of rule-followers who have utterly failed to grasp the point of it all. Notwithstanding their fidelity, they manifest the law running rampant, that is, the law for the law’s sake. What’s lost is any semblance of mercy or care for others in need. When the law becomes the means and the end for all our religious endeavors, there is little room left for much else besides our own religiosity. When the law runs rampant, it results in a tyranny to self, which always ends in biting and devouring one another (Gal. 5:15).
The good news, for Noa and for us, is that the law isn’t everything. It is merely a steward of the promise, not the promise itself. We are as misguided as Proximus if we assume that the law of God is the essence of what God wants to give us or wants us to know about himself. After all, the promise is all about Christ, who both fulfills and embodies the promise through his life, death, and resurrection. Much like the gospel of Caesar, the gospel of Christ tells us that the sum and substance of what it means to follow him isn’t through slavish devotion to the law but through intimate relationship with him, with the person of Christ himself, through his Word and his Spirit. It is through him and what he’s done that we are what we are and have what we have.