Review: "Planet of the Apes" As American Myth
Thanks to NetTrekker and others on AOL for letting me know about this new
book. This is a review taken from Entertainment Weekly. The book
theorizes that the Apes film saga (doesn't mention the TV shows for comic
books) is actually a metaphor for America during the Vietnam era. You can order
it from Amazon.com by going to the Books Page.
Personally, I'm always wary of anyone trying to find some deeper meaning to
mainstream Hollywood films. I mean, this is HOLLYWOOD for crying out loud. You
know, the same people who have given us the Police Academy saga. The same
people who actually think Love Boat: The Movie is a good idea.
Anyway, this is the best "metaphor arguement" that I've heard since
the one about King Kong being a metaphor for the plight of the black man
in white society. You know, taken from his jungle home, forced to do the white
man's bidding, attempts to escape, and is finally killed for making advances on
a white woman. Actually, I think Pinocchio is a much better metaphor for
the youth of America in the Vietnam era (and ahead of its time, too). Young
innocent ignores his conscience and blindly follows those who would lead him
astray. Then, only after he comes to his senses and rescues his family from the
belly of the beast does he become "real." Think about it. Might have a
book there myself.
From Entertainment Weekly, 04-26-96
No joke: 'Planet Of The Apes' teems with political subtexts
By David Browne
While watching Beneath the Planet of the Apes, you probably never
analyzed the gorilla army's march into the Forbidden Zone. Eric Greene has--it's
clearly a metaphor for America's incursion into Vietnam, right? Greene's 'Planet
of the Apes' as American Myth (McFarland, $29.95) sounds like one of those
irony-steeped college courses, but it's hardly monkey business. To him, the Apes
movie series wasn't merely five goofy-scary sci-fi flicks about life before and
after the apocalypse. Instead, they were increasingly politicized manifestos
about America during the turbulent late '60s and early '70s. And what's even
scarier than Charlton Heston in a loincloth is that Greene makes an utterly
plausible case for his theory.
For instance, Greene, a Los Angeles writer, feels it was no coincidence that
Heston, "a film icon of white heroic strength and Western indomitability,"
starred in the first film as the cynical astronaut Col. George Taylor. For a
country tarnished by Asian conflicts and violent assassinations, Taylor's
mauling by the apes symbolized America's fall from grace. In Escape,
Greene sees the quashing of pacifist chimps Zira and Cornelius as a metaphor for
the suppression of the Left by the Man. He even finds meaning in the limp final
installments, Conquest and Battle: In his eyes, those violent,
militaristic flicks symbolize the rise of the black-liberation movement and the
resultant anxieties of white liberals. How's them bananas?
Feel free to harrumph like Dr. Zaius, but Greene supports his arguments in
interviews with the creators, who confirm some of these messages. He also hit
the "pause" (or "paws"?) button enough to pick up such
fleeting images as a dead African-American with a rope around his neck (in Conquest).
Greene's academic yet readable prose occasionally overheats, as when he strains
to find segregation associations in the use of a school bus in Battle,
when it could simply be, you know, a bus. But after 187 well-considered pages,
you'll be scratching your head in humbled agreement.