The hook?
Real-world parallels—racism, animal rights, Cold War paranoia—smuggled into pulp storytelling. That blend of spectacle and subtext earned it a spot among the greatest sci-fi sagas ever made. But after the original run fizzled, the series went quiet.
It wouldn’t stir again until Tim Burton’s 2001 remake. That one had ambition, sure.
But it didn’t land. No spark, no staying power.
Then came 2011. Rise of the Planet of the Apes hit reset and nailed it. Gritty, emotional, and actually thoughtful. It revived the series and launched a new prequel trilogy, closing the gap between our world and the ape-run dystopia of the ’68 original. A true origin story with teeth. And in 2024, a fourth chapter, Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes, pushed that vision even further.
The prequels build the bridge—from the human present to the ape-dominated future.
The newer films trace the apes’ rise—from lab experiments to a fully formed civilization. Not just evolution, but revolution. Along the way, they unpack the uneasy tension between species, digging into what it means to rule, to survive, to lose control of the future.
By the end of *Kingdom*, the original saga isn’t just echoed—it’s earned. The loop is closed, the mythos deeper.
And the apes?
They’re here to stay.
Chronological order of the Planet of the Apes films:
Year | Film | Director |
---|---|---|
1968 | Planet of the Apes | Franklin J. Schaffner |
1970 | Beneath the Planet of the Apes | Ted Post |
1971 | Escape From the Planet of the Apes | Don Taylor |
1972 | Conquest of the Planet of the Apes | J. Lee Thompson |
1973 | Battle for the Planet of the Apes | J. Lee Thompson |
2001 | Planet of the Apes (Reboot) | Tim Burton |
2011 | Rise of the Planet of the Apes | Rupert Wyatt |
2014 | Dawn of the Planet of the Apes | Matt Reeves |
2017 | War for the Planet of the Apes | Matt Reeves |
2024 | Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes | Wes Bal |
Release order of the Planet of the Apes movies:
Release Year | Film Title | In Universe Year |
---|---|---|
1968 | Planet of the Apes | ~3900 AD |
1970 | Beneath the Planet of the Apes | ~3950 AD |
1971 | Escape From the Planet of the Apes | 1973 |
1972 | Conquest of the Planet of the Apes | 1991 |
1973 | Battle for the Planet of the Apes | 2000 |
2001 | Planet of the Apes - Reboot | ~5021 AD |
2011 | Rise of the Planet of the Apes | Early 2010s |
2014 | Dawn of the Planet of the Apes | 2020s |
2017 | War for the Planet of the Apes | 2029 |
2024 | Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes | 2300 approximately |
The Planet of the Apes films—across both the original run and the modern reboot—aren’t just about humans vs. apes. They're about what happens when the idea of “civilization” starts to crack.
At the heart of it all is a question: what makes us human? And what happens when another species mirrors our intelligence, our language, our instincts—for good and for destruction? The apes aren’t just stand-ins. They’re reflections. Sometimes they're better than us. Sometimes they’re just as brutal.
Power and control run through every chapter. In the original series, we see apes oppressing humans—flipping the script on our own histories of colonialism, slavery, and systemic violence. In the prequels, it’s the reverse: humans playing god, pushing science past ethical limits, experimenting on apes like they’re tools, not lives. That dynamic lays the groundwork for the revolt. And it’s not just a rebellion. It’s a reckoning.
Science, especially genetic engineering, isn’t portrayed as inherently evil—but the films dig into how quickly discovery turns into domination. Caesar’s origin in Rise is tragic not because science failed, but because it succeeded in the wrong hands. The line between progress and exploitation? Razor-thin.
Then there’s the question of morality. Who deserves rights? Who decides what counts as a person? The films don’t give easy answers. Humans cling to their superiority even as they fall. Apes struggle with the same tribalism and fear. When Koba lashes out in Dawn, it’s not just revenge—it’s trauma speaking. And it poisons everything.
Identity and belonging also run deep. Caesar, born in a lab, raised by humans, never fully fits anywhere. That sense of in-betweenness—of living between species, loyalties, cultures—drives much of his arc. He’s not just leading a revolution. He’s trying to build a society that avoids the mistakes of both sides.
And underneath all of it is a quiet sadness. These aren’t stories about triumph. They’re stories about loss. The loss of innocence. The collapse of civilizations. The slow, bitter realization that intelligence alone doesn’t make a species wise.
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