Ventura County

In the middle of my living room a few Sundays ago, I went ape.

No, I didn’t start pounding my chest, smashing furniture or throwing luggage around. More accurately, I collapsed, a shadow of myself, conscious but unable to move or speak after enduring a 10-hour marathon of “The Planet of the Apes” movies.

Surely you know the ones I’m talking about--the original 1968 classic, of course, with the loin-clothed Charlton Heston snarling, “ Get your stinkin’ paws off me, you damn dirty ape!” And the sequel, “Beneath the Planet of the Apes.” And “Escape From the Planet of the Apes.” And “Conquest of the Planet of the Apes.” And “Battle for the Planet of the Apes.”

I watched them all in one sitting. Back to back. The Ultimate Ape Event. No, I was not trying to punish myself with some unique simian-related torture or participating in some sick film-kitsch ritual or even getting mentally prepared for the release Friday of the Tim Burton remake of the original. No dare or money was involved. My ordeal was an attempt to re-create what is still one of my most potent and cherished summertime memories from about 20 years ago, when my Cal State Northridge buddy Ken and I sat through an “Apes” marathon.

Being on the slightly nerdy side with no girlfriends--that’s a shocker, huh?--we camped out at the Sherman Theater in the San Fernando Valley, fortified by an endless supply of popcorn and soda. Other patrons came and went, but we hung in till the end, becoming instant experts on the whole “Planet of the Apes” saga. We found out how the apes gained control over the humans. We learned about the nuclear war that led to the destruction of civilization. We gained a greater appreciation for ape makeup.

Getting through all the films wasn’t difficult at all. We were so ready for any and all inquiries about the franchise. But no one seemed to have a great interest in the movies. What family and friends did want to know was, “Could you guys be bigger losers?” And “why would you do one of the most stupid things two guys could do?”

For years, whenever Ken would argue or criticize his younger sister or brothers about something or other, all they would have to say was, “Who are you to talk? You’re the moron who sat through five ‘Planet of the Apes’ movies,” and the discussion would be over.

Time marched on. I lost touch with my ape companion years ago, and the Sherman Theater is just a memory, demolished to make way for a much needed mini-mall. But the rosy recollection of that day has lingered. Filled with anticipation for the new “Ape” entry, I decided to reacquaint myself with the vintage films, most of which had been given to me recently on DVD. And I got the idea to try to re-create the marathon.

Though I lack a theater-size screen, I vowed to make the conditions in my place as close as possible to the late, great Sherman. The films would be shown in order, with no more than 15-minute breaks in between. Bathroom runs would only be allowed at intermissions--the films would continue uninterrupted once they started. All food would have to be of the snack bar variety--popcorn, candy, hot dogs. No vegetables, no nutrition, no Starbucks.

I thought for a few minutes about how to make my floors sticky but ultimately decided against it. Authenticity can only go so far.

Not wanting to go through the festival alone, I pondered whom I could recruit for the great adventure. My fellow TV reporter, Brian, salivated when I told him about my plan. Initially it seemed like a good idea--both Brian and I think “The Karate Kid Part 2” is one of the greatest movies ever made. But he blew it when he started going on and on about how the fourth movie was better than the other movies, and what the best parts of No. 3 were, and how bad the second movie was. Etc.

No way was I going to spend precious “Ape” time with some know-it-all hoarding his superior “Planet of the Apes” knowledge over me like a sword. I needed an innocent, a wide-eyed newcomer who would approach the festival with awe, wonder and freshness--and a thick skin that would withstand the ridicule of friends and co-workers.

I settled on Claudia, a health-conscious computer whiz who manages poll data at The Times, and a connoisseur of cinema good and bad. (She regards “The Bodyguard” the way others do “Citizen Kane.”) I knew she was worthy when she didn’t even flinch after her sister Penny told her she would pray for us the morning of the marathon.

“Bring it on!” Claudia declared.

Visitor Arrived Loaded With Goodies

P-Day arrived. I had a few butterflies in my stomach, but was filled with excitement. The sun was out, birds were singing.

Claudia came over in the early afternoon. She was loaded down with the equivalent of two backpacks, including what she called a huge “barrel o’ Red Vines,” about 80 small bags of Cracker Jack, dozens of cans of diet soda, around 20 boxes of microwave butter popcorn, cartons of bonbons and several packages of beef hot dogs and some gawd-awful thing called turkey franks.

“Um, we are not going on ‘Survivor,”’ I explained. “We’re watching monkey movies.”

“You always have to be prepared,” Claudia replied.

She took her position on the couch, while I hunkered down on the recliner, remote controls and Cracker Jack strategically within reach.

At 2:10 p.m., the first images flickered on the screen and the marathon was off and running. “Planet of the Apes” was a breeze, of course, a bit slow but still exciting after many viewings. We didn’t even giggle at the unlikely romance between Heston’s Taylor and the shapely, voiceless and scantily clad human Nova. The ending is still a stunner, rusted Statue of Liberty and all. We wrapped up about 4:10 p.m.

“This is gonna be easy, just like the last time,” I thought.

The festival resumed 20 minutes later with 1970’s “Beneath the Planet of the Apes,” and very quickly it became apparent that maybe this was not such a good idea after all. “Beneath” starred James Franciscus as an astronaut sent on a mission to find Taylor. A rehash of the first film is supplemented by a tedious plot involving a race of mutants and their worship of a nuclear missile. They sing hymns to the missile. Bad acting and bad special effects, combined with the bad food, made me a bit woozy.

“This is like a bad ‘Star Trek’ episode,” complained Claudia at 5:43 p.m. I said nothing. Like Nova, I was speechless with dread.

After “Beneath,” we needed a longer break and a couple of hot dogs (Claudia had those turkey dogs, which I don’t think really count) to shake off the effects and fortify ourselves for 1971’s “Escape to the Planet of the Apes.” In this one, the apes, Dr. Cornelius (Roddy McDowall) and his pregnant wife Dr. Zira (Kim Hunter) make their way back in time to 20th century Los Angeles. They and baby Milo become the target of sinister forces suspicious of apes that talk.

While much better and lighter in tone than “Beneath,” the lack of any substantive food and the sensory overdose of actors wearing fur were beginning to take their toll on my body and mind. By 7:45 p.m., my stomach began aching and my head started into a slow spin. Claudia did not seem to be struggling as much, but she was fidgeting. There were signs of strain.

At one point, she got up and went into the bathroom. Moments later, I heard, “Ohmigod!” I ran to see her looking in the mirror, pulling up her eyelid. Half her right eye was rich with crimson.

“Now look what happened!” I said, horrified. “These films have killed your eye!” I kept offering to take her to a doctor, but Claudia insisted she wasn’t in pain, only that a blood vessel had apparently burst. She was a trouper. She wasn’t going to let a little potential blindness stop her from reaching our goal.

“Let’s roll this film before I bleed to death!” she said as I put in 1972’s “Conquest of the Planet of the Apes” at 8:40 p.m.

“Conquest,” regarded by “Apes” fans to be the best of the sequels, was indeed quite watchable. The film stars McDowall as Caesar, playing the son of the character he played in the previous “Apes” movies. Caesar leads an ape revolt against humans who have turned apes, which were formerly pets, into slaves.

Though much more entertaining than “Beneath,” the weight of completing the marathon was wearing on me. I became more cranky. I started fighting with Claudia over bonbons and Cracker Jack. I was weak, physically and mentally. I needed real food.

I needed a real life.

After “Conquest” came to a close, I was ready to throw in the towel. I was monkeyed out, willing to accept defeat. But my honor was at stake, so with the last morsel of strength I could muster, I put in 1973’s “Battle for the Planet of the Apes.” It was 10:20 p.m.

The plot had something to do with a militant ape played by Claude Akins and a conflict with Caesar and the tragic death of his son and humans being corralled like cattle. The dependable Roddy McDowall returned. Whatever. At this point, I didn’t care.

At 11:47 p.m. the final credits scrolled.

“We did it!” Claudia said, jumping from the couch and doing a red-eyed victory dance. I could only whimper, “no mas, no mas.” I crawled to the DVD player and gratefully switched it off.

I’m currently in recovery, and Claudia’s eye returned to its usual brightness after a few days. However, I am no longer eager to see the new “Planet of the Apes.” I may have to wait for it to hit the video stores. And if anyone tries to take me, I know what I’ll say:

“Take your stinkin’ paws off me....”

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Ranking the ‘Apes’ Adventures

On the Braxton Banana scale, here are the ratings for the “Planet of the Apes” films--5 being best:

“Planet of the Apes”41/2 bananas

“Beneath the Planet of the Apes”2 banana peels

“Escape From the Planet of the Apes3 bananas

“Conquest of the Planet of the Apes”4 bananas

“Battle for the Planet of the Apes”2 bananas