Long before Stephen King became a blathering, political pundit, he wove yarns to inspire and scare: some original, others derivative.
"Pet Sematary" is one of the latter: a variation of W.W. Jacobs' Faustian fable, "The Monkey's Paw", where animals (and on occasion, people) rise from the grave, all with vexing consequence.
The novel is so gripping that one might claim that no movie version could ever do it justice. There was hope that George A. Romero might have pulled it off, but as with other proposed, Romero/King projects, the prospect slipped through the cracks, leaving Mary "Urban Legends" Lambert to grasp the directorial reigns.
Lambert's '89 adaptation doesn't capture the full extent of the book's ominous atmosphere, but on the whole, it shares its essential content and for television connoisseurs, offers Denise Crosby (in what was her most high-profile part since "Star Trek") and Fred "Herman Munster" Gwynne as the supportive but wary Jud Crandall: a role for which the actor should have won an Oscar.
Considering these successful attributes, there's no logical cause to have remade "Pet Sematary" (any more than there was for Lambert to sequelize her film in '92), but why redo any film? When it comes to repeated tries, maybe "...dead is better".
For me, accepting a "Pet Sematary" remake is like accepting any knockoff of "Monkey's Paw" (that includes Bob Clark's emotive "Deathdream", Robert Kurtzman's raffish "Wishmaster" and Rod Serling's mordant "Man in the Bottle") or any "Frankenstein", "Jekyll and Hyde", "Dracula" or "Carrie" (ha, ha) that have come over the years. It's a matter of how well the product is rendered. Some retellings work; some don't.
In this instance, the line between new and old is slim: A child dies in a most violent way and after being buried in a accursed burial ground, crawls forth to...shoot, you know the rest. In this regard, the new film, directed by Kevin Kolsch and Dennis Widmyer, and adapted by Jeff Buhler and Matt Greenberg, is sure as hell no revisionist "Curse of Frankenstein". On the other hand, it does offer one wise, character twist, which sets it apart from Lambert's version, while still sticking to King's story structure.
For the most part, the remake's characterizations are comparable to those of the first, ringing of poignancy and culpability. The performers include Jason ("Planet of the Apes"/"Terminator") Clarke as Louis Creed; Amy ("Alien: Covenant") Seimetz as his wife, Rachel; scene-stealing Jete Laurence as his daughter, Ellie; the versatile John Lithgow as Jud Crandall; Obssa Ahmed as the spectral Victor Pascal; Alyssa Levine as sorrowful Sister Zelda; and Hugo and Lucas Lavoie as wee Gage. (For the record, four kitties comprise Church, the famed, resurrected cat, each projecting cuddly and/or perturbing results.)
Though Clarke is excellent as the anguished father, it's Lithgow who holds the heartbreaking horror together: a man who understands evil and yet succumbs to it. As with Gwynne's portrayal, it's easy to see through Lithgow's eyes. Of course, when it comes to King characters, Crandall is one of the most tenderhearted: a weathered everyman, who might as well be one's uncle or grandpop. That he's identifiable makes the prodigious premise credible.
Though conceptually redundant, "Pet Sematary '19'"s staging is as vigorous as it's repugnant. No matter the moment (no matter how horrid the death), one dare not turn away. And yet does the remake's deft execution validate it?
Perhaps not, but I do believe that King's tale, like the short story that inspired it, is destined for the ages. This version won't be the last, for as with any significant horror literature, the insatiable urge for cinematic revisitation will subsist. Besides, for better or worse, sequels and revivals of "The Dead Zone", 'The Shining" and "It" are but a recapitulated heartbeat away.
When one travels through time enough times over, things are bound to get skewed. Parallel worlds emerge, and what we once thought to be reality has morphed into something new, braced by a new past and inevitably, birthing a new future.
This is the basis of Alan ("Thor: the Dark World") Taylor's sequel, "Terminator: Genisys". Incidentally, Genisys is a program linked to the infamous Skynet, which as any "Terminator" fan knows, spells trouble. To add to this, that essential, time-traveling element of mother/father/son resurfaces, with both a cyborg assassin and sentinel nearby, but now with the '84 classic's foundation hauntingly redesigned.
In fact, the Terminator 800 dispatched to track and kill is now confronted by a mature edition, nicknamed "Pops", who we learn arrived a good number of years prior, prepared to face his imprint to protect Sarah Connor. The implication is clear: a Terminator-vs-Terminator confrontation is set, but thanks to Leata Kalogridis and Patrick Lussier's crackling script, this is only the beginning of the twisting, turning alternate-reality fun.
Within the refurbished formula, our old favorites return, but in new forms. Now we have Emilia Clarke as the determined Sarah Connor; upcoming action star, Jai Courtney as the destined-daddy-to-be Kyle Reece; and of course, Arnold Schwarzenegger as the mechanical star attraction(s), yet again proving himself menacing, charismatic and when need be, humorous.
Co-starring is Lee Byung-Hun as the liquefied T-1000 (a nice tribute to Robert Patrick); Matt ("Dr. Who") Smith as a most intriguing impostor with a most surprising secret; and J.K. ("Spider-man") Simmons as the insightful but tormented Detective O'Brien: a role originated by Lance Henricksen in the James Cameron original.
The revolutionary legend, John Connor, is now portrayed by Jason Clarke, who made a significant impression in last year's alternate-reality mega-hit, "Dawn of the Planet of the Apes". What's unique about Clarke's portrayal is that he's not only the John Connor we've come to admire from past films, but this time he's recycled into a tenacious T-3000. The duality here isn't exactly Jekyll/Hyde, but the abrupt personality contrasts certainly insinuate such.
Clarke's altered guise is also the driving force behind the film's conflict. His villainous tenacity is relentless, but unlike with Terminators past, the Connor model exudes a calm, sinister charm, more in tune with a Bond villain than an entity manufactured to kill.
As with any "Terminator" yarn, "Genisys" delivers exciting action sequences, and not just for the sake of hollow glitz. The escapades have a practical purpose, logically bridging events to the "present", while spewing a steady flow of alternate circumstances.
Indeed, for fans of action-based science-fiction, "Genisys" will satisfy. Sure, it's not the breakthrough that the first two films were and nor does it try to be as boldly revisionist as "Salvation". That's okay. "Tarzan's Secret Treasure" isn't as innovative as "Tarzan and His Mate", but that doesn't make it any less worthy within its franchise. Also, more than the other sequels, "Genisys" returns to the roots of Harlan Ellison's "Outer Limits" stories: its mood contemplative and sometimes eerie, despite the blazing visuals.
For die-hard "Terminator" fans (which includes even those of the wayward "Sarah Connor Chronicles"), this one demands a view and box-office support. Let's hope the fans back it. Though doomsday won't strike if this latest endeavor falters, it sure as hell wouldn't hurt, either, if it spawned another. The door is certainly open for a new path of thought-provoking thrills.
By its very nature, "Planet of the Apes" has always offered parallel possibilities to our own known reality and even from out its own initial five-movie mythology.
When Cornelius and Zira (along with the tragic Milo) traveled back in time, their offspring (ultimately to adopt the name Caesar) rose to power in the alternate '90s, the implication was that he'd not only plant the seeds of ape dominance, but was possibly altering events to create a future unlike what we see in the '68 classic. The original series' "final chapter", "Battle for..." certainly insinuates this notion, and the acclaimed, but short-lived '74 television series further solidifies the idea (along with an animated counterpart which premiered roughly a year later).
Tim Burton's 2001 reboot also offers an alternate origin, but it was 2011's "Rise of..." (a loose retelling of the fourth film, "Conquest of...") that carried the concept through a steadier course. Now a sequel to that venture, "Dawn of..." has emerged, further enhancing the alternate track of possibilities.
Directed by Matt ("Let Me In") Reeves, "Dawn" is in many respects derivative of "Battle", with apes and humans facing off to determine who will reign supreme. "Battle", however, deals with burgeoning human mutants (forerunners to those seen in "Beneath") and ultimately, calculated, militaristic maneuvers. "Dawn" is far more subtle, playing upon a genetic fluke (as outlined in "Rise") which has perpetuated the species divide, and despite valiant efforts from both sides, the situation nonetheless results in "Fort Apache" type bloodshed.
Andy Serkis again portrays Roddy McDowall's legendary Caesar, and just as McDowall's version led a major simian mount in "Battle", so does Serkis', though from a slightly different vantage. Also, in "Dawn'"s case, the apes are considerably less evolved than those in the original movies, and in computerized form, often realistically bestial. Nevertheless, like their earlier incarnations, they are capable of keen thought, riding horses, and of course, speech.
That apes and humans can readily communicate naturally leads to interaction, but not all humans are inclined to believe that apes can reason. Dreyfus (Gary Oldman) sees them as a threat if crossed: his character subtly reminiscent of "Conquest/Battle'"s Governor Kolp (Severn Darden) and "Escape'"s Dr. Hasslein (Eric Braeden). In other respects, he's essentially a good man, whose stance is really forced upon him, for he can't help but sense the inevitability of ape control.
On the other hand, humans like Malcolm (Jason Clarke) and Ellie (Keri Russell) fully subscribe to species coexistence (and see no viable way around such if they want to access electricity for their camp), but how can they initiate a peaceful outcome when certain apes not only mirror, but accentuate Dreyfus' view? Caesar's "general", Koba (Toby Kebbell), for example, has no empathy for humans, due to the scientific torture they forced upon him and from this, becomes a chimpanzee counterpart to Claude Akins' Aldo ("Battle'"s most abrasive gorilla), and therefore, more friend than foe to Caesar.
Beyond this mounting friction, much of "Dawn" concentrates on Caesar's compassion for humans and his need to nurture his spouse, (Judy Greer), son (Nick Thurston) and cutely CGI'd newborn. He also furthers his position as leader by reinforcing bonds among trusted friends, such as the faithful orangutan, Maurice (Karin Konoval): an equivalent to Paul Williams' Virgil from "Battle". Such relationships let Serkis mold Caesar into a well rounded character, arguably on a par with McDowall's complex interpretation.
Like its predecessors (or as evidenced in some of the finest "Alien Nation", "Star Trek" and "Twilight Zone" efforts), "Dawn'"s script (by Mark Bomback, Rick Jaffe and Amanda Silver) ripples of sociology and loads of irony. It doesn't parallel our existing society in the way the '68 film so deftly did in its time frame (due mainly to Rod Serling's insightful take on Pierre Boulle's text), but still manages to make us ponder our own current state of affairs and the ultimate shape of things to come. It also simultaneously suggests how we might interact with others on a global scale (an easier-said-than-done prospect), but also how we might survive within our more immediate confines (an admirable start, at the very least).
"Dawn", however, unlike "Battle", doesn't insinuate a harmonious horizon, but at least implies a continuation of concern. For those of us who've followed the original series and its various offshoots over the decades, nothing could be more provocatively finer. Like that which has come before, let the alternate variations morph, circle, overlap and perpetually stimulate. That's the wonder of "Planet of the Apes", and it's most reassuring to know there are filmmakers yet bold enough to perpetuate the tradition.
