May 2001

A film review by Mrs. Betty Bowers

If you place a group of apes together in a room with a Steady Cam for what seems like an eternity, will they eventually create a movie? Apparently not. What they will throw together is a slap in the face of True Christians™ everywhere. Tim Burton's perverse "Planet of the Apes" is akin to Charles Darwin aping Cher and deciding to do a two-hour infomercial about his preposterous notion that someone like me, who only has to shave above-the-knee, has chimps swinging in her family tree.

As a True Christian™, I must take a moment to reject the secular heresy of so-called "evolution." My idea of natural selection is picking up a pair of Gucci slingbacks at Barneys to complement my new Hermes silk suit. Sure, the idea that we are après-apes is intriguing (and, in regard to some men, a transformation somewhat overstated), but can tedious biological permutations really hold a candle to a tawdry tale of naked people who lie, murder and commit incest? I am, of course, talking about the delightful Adam and Eve clan our Lord somewhat ineptly created as His first stab at making humans. With such ribald shenanigans in our very own Bible, it is quite clear that if Tim Burton was looking for cheap sensationalism, he needn't have veered away from Creationism.

Regrettably, however, this film clearly jettisoned the Lord's first spec-script in rewrites. No doubt, the title "Old Testament" failed to appeal to the youthful demographic craved by Hollywood producers who have stumbled upon the inviolable formula of "one idea for every $30,000,000." So, instead of creating one male from dirt (casual observation reveals that the Lord's easy recipe shows all signs of still working today with few, if any, additional ingredients), this film overlooks no opportunity to turn everyone back into filth. Starting, apparently, with Helena Bonham Carter's hair conditioner.

Not since "Lady and the Tramp" have we seen a coy animal seductress like Ms. Bonham Carter's simpering simian. With more facial hair than a Sicilian grandmother, and employing animal magnetism to alarming new levels of prurience, she blinds Marky Mark with her sub-human inability to say "not now." As a Christian lady who almost diverted her eyes during their scene of cross-species copulation, I have no doubt that it was prophesy of this very coupling that caused our squeamish Lord to pen His famous epigram "Thou shalt not lie with beasts." Indeed, this entire film makes a mockery of God's express directive that humans are to ravish animals on rotisseries, not roll-aways.

I have no idea what this film is trying to depict since it lacks an intelligible story (and, to be honest, I did go shopping for crocodile mules at Nordstrum during the last third.) I suspect, however, that it is simply a ham-fisted attempt by Secular Humanists to peddle the outrageous lie that not only do humans come from apes, we are blithely traipsing back down the genome highway to the zoo. While casual observation of most American living rooms or conversations would seem to support such notions of devolution, as a True Christian™ I find it quite disconcerting enough to think that I will be sharing Heaven with people who wear sensible heels, much less four of them!

I suppose it is just like what one of the newly-cured boys at my ex-gay ministry, Baptists Are Saving Homosexuals, said to me backstage at BASH's celebratory show "Fifty Ann-Margrets Salute Jerry Herman!" He said: "Secular Humanists are like homosexual size queens – give them just an inch, and they will take every opportunity to make you unhappy." So, it seems that it is not enough for America's Satanic Darwin worshippers to poison our impressionable children's minds with saucy tales of sex and carnage (often concurrent) that don't even credit their inspiration – the Bible. Nor is it enough for them to use big-budget movies to proselytize the shocking heresy that we are descended from apes. Now, they must foist on our youth the deplorable notion that we will one day return to such a hirsute state – as if the cycle of evolution-devolution is perpetual – and it is only the luck of the draw if you are born during an epoch where you can wear a backless dress without looking like Alec Baldwin.

Well, no one should be surprised that this film has all the heart and appeal of Tom Cruise's human-claymation performance in Eyes Wide Shut. You know you are off to a bad start when you realize that the headline-grabbing NRA president Charlton Heston has been replaced by the crotch-grabbing Calvin Klein underwear model Marky Mark (who is now going by another name, presumably as part of an FBI cheesy-model relocation program). While I adore Charlton Heston, and both of his facial expressions, I am left to wonder why -- between the two actors -- it was Chuck, and not Marky, who was given a loincloth to wear.

In closing, I must caution parents about the most vulgar aspect of an otherwise vile film. There are several digital forays into the scatological, which brings vivid meaning to the coarse secular expression "going ape sh-t." I will not burden you with seamy details, but clearly these devolved humans have abandoned their more civilized instincts to thoroughly chew their food. If, however, the Motion Picture Association had any backbone, it would require this film to be marketed with the image of such fecal material – if only as an honest portent of what awaits any True Christian™ who has the misfortune to purchase a ticket to this secular rubbish advertising the spurious concept of evolution. After all, if we are supposedly descended from Neanderthals, why are they still living in Mississippi?



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