It is 1991. The world is a brutal, neon-soaked police state where cats and dogs are extinct, wiped out by a space-borne plague. Humans, desperate for companionship and cheap labor, have turned to apes. But these aren’t pets. They are slaves. This is the grim reality of Conquest of the Planet of the Apes, a movie that feels less like a sci-fi sequel and more like a fever dream of social unrest.
Honestly, it’s a miracle this movie even got made.
Released in 1972, it’s the fourth film in the original pentalogy. Most franchises start to lose steam by the fourth installment. They get silly. They get cheap. While Conquest definitely had a lower budget than its predecessors—you can literally see the jumpsuits from other Fox sci-fi productions—it compensated with a raw, visceral anger that none of the other films possessed. It didn’t want to entertain you; it wanted to indict you.
The Birth of Caesar and the Death of Hope
The story picks up years after Escape from the Planet of the Apes. We follow Caesar, the son of Cornelius and Zira, who has been raised in secret by the circus owner Armando, played by the legendary Ricardo Montalbán. Caesar is the only talking ape on Earth. He’s intelligent, empathetic, and increasingly horrified by what he sees in the city.
The city itself is a character. Filmed largely at the then-new Century City complex in Los Angeles, the architecture is cold, brutalist, and oppressive. It looks like a future that hates people.
When Armando is killed while trying to protect Caesar’s identity, the last link to Caesar's humanity—or at least his kindness toward humans—snaps. He’s sold into slavery, working under the cruel Governor Breck. This isn't just a plot point; it’s a grueling sequence of humiliation. Caesar watches his kind being beaten, conditioned with Pavlovian cruelty, and forced into menial labor.
It’s uncomfortable to watch. It’s supposed to be.
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The director, J. Lee Thompson, didn't shy away from the parallels to the 1965 Watts Riots or the ongoing civil rights struggles of the era. He used handheld cameras and news-style cinematography to make the ape uprising feel like something you’d see on the six o'clock news. It felt real. It felt dangerous.
Why the Script Had to Change
Here is something many people forget: the version of Conquest of the Planet of the Apes you probably saw on TV or DVD isn't the one the filmmakers originally intended.
Test audiences in Phoenix were absolutely terrified by the original ending. In the unrated cut, the apes don't just win; they brutally murder Governor Breck. Caesar delivers a blood-curdling speech about the fall of man, basically promising a reign of fire and blood. It was a nihilistic, R-rated conclusion to a film series that had, up until then, been marketed heavily to children through lunchboxes and action figures.
The studio panicked.
They forced a re-edit. They used close-ups of Caesar’s eyes—filmed later—and dubbed over Roddy McDowall’s lines to give Caesar a change of heart. Instead of calling for the total destruction of humanity, he preaches a sort of "wait and see" mercy. If you watch the theatrical cut closely, you can see the back of Caesar’s head while he’s speaking because the dialogue doesn't match the original mouth movements.
Even with the softened ending, the film is bleak.
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The Practical Magic of John Chambers and Roddy McDowall
We have to talk about Roddy McDowall. The man is a titan.
Playing an ape isn't just about wearing a mask; it’s about a complete physical transformation. McDowall understood the soul of Caesar. He conveys more through a slight tilt of the head or a narrowing of the eyes than most actors do with their whole bodies. In Conquest, he has to play Caesar as a man (or ape) pretending to be less than he is. He’s hiding his intelligence. He’s masking his rage.
The makeup, designed by John Chambers—who won an honorary Oscar for the first film—had to hold up under intense scrutiny. Because the budget was tight, the background apes wore simple pull-over masks, but the primary actors had complex appliances that allowed for real emotional range.
It’s incredible how well it holds up. Today’s CGI Planet of the Apes films are technical masterpieces, but there is something tactile and sweaty about the 1972 masks that feels more "present." You can smell the smoke and the desperation through the screen.
A Mirror to 1972 (and 2026)
Science fiction works best when it isn't about the future at all.
Conquest was a response to the American psyche of the early 70s. The Vietnam War was dragging on. Cities were centers of racial and economic tension. The film took those anxieties and filtered them through a lens of talking chimpanzees and gorillas. It asked a very simple, very terrifying question: What happens when the oppressed finally have the power?
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Governor Breck represents the banality of evil. He isn't a mustache-twirling villain; he’s a bureaucrat. He believes the hierarchy is natural. He believes the system is necessary for "order." When Caesar finally leads the revolt, it’s messy. It’s not a clean, heroic battle. It’s a riot in the streets.
People often compare Conquest to the 2011 reboot Rise of the Planet of the Apes. While Rise is a great film, it’s much more of a "hero’s journey." Caesar in Rise is a leader who wants freedom. Caesar in Conquest is a revolutionary who wants justice, and he isn't entirely sure if justice can exist without revenge.
Facts and Production Realities
- The Budget: Around $1.7 million. For context, the original 1968 film cost nearly $6 million.
- The Location: Century City, California. The futuristic look was basically just the existing architecture of the time, which says a lot about 1970s design.
- The Rating: It was the only film in the original series to originally receive a PG rating in the US, despite being arguably the most violent. This was largely due to the last-minute edits to Caesar's speech.
- The Continuity: The film creates a bit of a bootstrap paradox. Cornelius and Zira come from a future where apes rule, but their arrival in the past provides the very catalyst (Caesar) that causes the ape uprising in the first place.
How to Appreciate Conquest Today
If you’re going to revisit Conquest of the Planet of the Apes, you need to watch the unrated "Director’s Cut" if you can find it. The difference is night and day. The original ending restores the thematic weight of the story. It turns the film from a standard sci-fi flick into a Shakespearean tragedy.
You should also pay attention to the color palette. The humans wear drab, uniform colors—mostly black and grey—while the apes are color-coded by their roles:
- Chimpanzees in green.
- Gorillas in red.
- Orangutans in orange.
This visual hierarchy reinforces the rigid, caste-based society the humans have created, which the apes ironically adopt in the later films.
Steps for a Deep-Dive Viewership
Don't just watch it as a standalone movie. To really "get" what J. Lee Thompson was doing, follow this path:
- Watch the 1968 Original first. You need the context of what the world becomes to understand why the "conquest" is so inevitable.
- Look for the Century City landmarks. If you've ever been to LA, recognizing the structures adds a layer of eerie "real-world" groundedness to the fiction.
- Compare the endings. Watch the theatrical ending on YouTube, then watch the unrated version. Notice how the music and the editing try to trick your brain into feeling a hope that isn't actually on the screen.
- Read up on the 1971-1972 social climate. Understanding the specific fears of that era makes the film's "police state" imagery much more potent.
This isn't just a movie about monkeys with machine guns. It’s a film about the breaking point of a society. It’s uncomfortable, it’s cheap around the edges, and it’s hauntingly relevant. It remains the most daring entry in a franchise that has never been afraid to tell us that we might just be our own worst enemies.