Ah, the end of the world as we know it. Or so it would seem, if the first thirty minutes of War of the Worlds is any indication. Steven Spielberg’s newest big bang blockbuster martian movie depicts the demise of earth and all humankind at the hands of extraterrestrial intelligences “far greater than our own”. Despite the illogical premise and execution of said extermination, this special effects extravaganza wins points on pure Spielbergian style, giving moviegoers the kind of popcorn fare that reminds one of a younger Spielberg’s first major movie debut back in 1975.
War of the Worlds is unlikely to scare people out of the water (or theatres) like Jaws did (though Tom Cruise’s latest publicity antics might), but it’s sure to attract crowds, and for the simple fact that it offers us a chance to be voyeurs to an apocalypse of sorts. Humankind’s erasure from the planet is always a cathartic experience, though to endure it alongside someone like Dakota Fanning surely is unjust and cruel. Nevertheless, Spielberg shows enough carnage, as well as the depths of human ignobility and insanity, to pull dated material out of the B-movie sci-fi into a passable treatise on human connection and the need, however grim and tenuous, to simply stay alive.
Ray Ferrier (Tom Cruise) braves the wilds of fatherhood from a distance as the movie begins, showing up late to pick up his kids Robbie (Justin Chatwin) and Rachel (Dakota Fanning) for a stint as “weekend dad”. Strange reports of lightning disabling electrical devices presage an intense storm, leaving tiny craters in the street. Ray checks it out. What begins is the most astonishing series of events, culminating in the emergence of huge tripod machines, which proceed to wipe out hapless tourists and residents with a “death ray”, crushing cars and buildings, and generally making nuisances of themselves.
Thus begins an incredible journey of sorts, with Ray, Robbie, and Rachel dodging martians and men, doing their best to stay alive whilst enduring the family drama that accompanies teenage sons and creepy Dakota Fanning daughters. Their destination is Boston, where Ray can drop them off with their mother. Spielberg uses the brilliant conceit of the father who simply wants his life to go on as normally with as little interference from his children as possible to shape the family drama as a microcosm of humanity in a time of need. The invasion draws panic out of everyone, who all, to a man (including our hero Ray) act out of raw, industrial selfishness. What begins as an extraterrestrial invasion becomes a morality play (albeit simplified and hardly serious–it is a Hollywood blockbuster, not a Sunday School lesson).
The script is peppered with little digs at everything from our terrorist paranoia to class warfare to the Bush doctrine of “us versus them”, to the intensity of distance between people in our mechanized and no-fault divorce world. Here’s the good news: Spielberg is smart enough to really throw out the stops on visuals, which are, I readily admit, sensational. Every frame containing something impossibly cool and stunning is a testament to a genius director’s visual panache. And from the moment the aliens first arrive, the film is a well-paced action thriller, with enough sequences to keep you on your edge. If not terrifying, there’s something vaguely menacing and unnerving about the way in which humankind loses its dominion, even more so than Independence Day sought to capture.
The character performances are fairly engaging. Cruise is, despite his recent shenanigans, a proven star with acting chops. He doesn’t stretch far here, though he’s still solid. Dakota Fanning, as annoying as she might be onscreen in movies like Hide and Seek, is playing her role to a fine pitch. We’ve come to expect child actors to display a kind of adult prescience and responsibility when placed in a big movie like this. Fanning does no such thing, and as a result is both eerily vulnerable and compelling. She is convincing, quite simply. Tim Robbins shows up as a farmer who lends his basement to Ray and Rachel, and it’s hard not to see his performance as an unsubtle parody of a Republican with guts and glory on his mind. As such, he’s less interesting and more hackneyed than any other character (including the irritating and cliche’d rebellious teenage son).
As for the plot…well, the story draws from the original H.G. Wells story, which is set in the late 1800’s England, and served as an indictment of European colonialism. This adaptation retains the tone, if not all the details, of the original work, including the very basic plot holes that tend to make a deep reading or viewing sort of ironic and funny. For instance, if Mars does indeed possess a terrible and patient intelligence far greater than our own, and if it had studied us for years, as the text and movie both claim, wouldn’t it be familiar with the very engine of its own demise (I’ll remain vague so as not to give away the ending)? And when conducting a mass extermination of humans, wouldn’t a vast atomic or biological weapon be more fitting and efficient than a microwave death beam operated by mechanical walking camera stands?
Finally, the ending is also pure Spielberg–in this case, not a good thing. What might have been played as almost Godardian cinema is instead treated like a 7th Heaven family reunion show. Cheese flows liberally in these kinds of scenes, and Spielberg, for some warped reason, continues to throttle his wonderful efforts with the asphyxiating and unrealistic sap endings. This is the only blatantly inexcusable fault of War of the Worlds.
But do not dwell on these matters, for they make popcorn stale and soft drinks flat. This is a movie for people who need to see humankind nearly wiped out, if for nothing else, than to make themselves feel better about being alive. If only for a short time.
Fringe Rating: out of 5