War of the Uninspired

On the day of October 30th, 1938, men, women and children fled their homes in terror because the nation was being attacked by the greatest threat humanity had ever faced: an enthused imagination.

The stimulant? A fictional a radio broadcast.

Spielberg on set

Yes, these people, caught up in a fit of sheer terror, had no intergalactic invaders to blame for their loss of control, just Orson Welles. The legendary auteur (at that time a member of the famous Mercury Theater) caused real pandemonium with his now infamous broadcast of “War of the Worlds” all because of a little acting ability and plenty of imagination. Ingeniously weaving his adaptation of the famous novel through a series of mock news reports, Welles managed to capture a personal level of terror that is often felt by each and every one of us whenever malevolence strikes.
Now, Steven Spielberg has attempted to capture that same feeling with his own adaptation of War of the Worlds, and it’s safe to say that while he may have created an entertaining film, he’s failed in the same arena Welles excelled in.
I honestly don’t think it’s unfair to criticize Spielberg in this regard; he tries several times throughout the film to capture that same sense of human terror, but he never quite succeeds. Instead of giving us 5-star generals and a hard-boiled war president as the film's leads, he builds the story up from the human point of view by introducing us to a shattered family in the form of Ray Ferrier, his daughter Rachel and his son Robbie. But despite this fundamental effort to capture terror where it is most strongly felt, Spielberg can’t help but fall back on his old tricks.
Yes, Spielberg may filter the story through a torn family but he also giddily shows us the aliens as soon as opportunity arises. (These aliens, by the way, are so formulaic in design that I’d just as soon see one walking down the street than be terrified of it.)
Herein Spielberg drops more cash on fancy computer effects for the alien war machines then Welles probably spent on all of his films combined. These alien war machines, or tripods as the film insists we call them, are truly terrifying when shadowed away by smoke and haze. But more often then not, Spielberg ruins the illusion by giving us plenty of crisp snapshots of the blasted things. He tries to be coy, but he just can’t do it. There’s one point in the film where Cruise’s character meets up with a gang of greedy, story-driven reporters who show him footage of the tripods attacking. M. Night Shyamalan tried this “secondary source” technique with great results when he showed us an alien captured by a video camera in Signs. In reality, that shot was probably just a guy in a rubber suit captured by an actual off the shelf video camera. Yet that’s why it was so chilling! Spielberg’s “footage" looks more like an ILM test model for the tripods.
Elsewhere in the film, Tom Cruise busies himself as usual by acting proficiently enough to carry the story along, unhindered by his recent media shenanigans; I honestly had no problems simply letting him fall into his roll. Along with Cruise we have Dakota Fanning, the prodigy child-actress who does a fantastic job of acting terrified (and since that’s really the only emotion she can effectively convey, this story is a perfect showcase of her abilities), Justin Chatwin who pulls off a sufficient performance if nothing else, and Tim Robbins who gives us something mildly besotted considering how little he had to work with. But, for a film that was touted to be built on a foundation of standout characters, there are no real standouts in the entire piece. True, the first half does a fantastic job of giving us the human characters we desperately need...then the second half throws them completely out the window.
The final flaw is a tone that is far too blatantly “dark!!!” to be effectively enjoyable. Instead of letting the atmosphere of the situation set the tone of the film, we’re given graphic moments of people vaporizing into dust or getting their blood sprayed across the land. Sure, it’s dark as heck, but not terribly inspired.
Spielberg should be praised for his visual accomplishments; that goes without question. And the visual effects beheld in the film are crafted most exquisitely. But these kinds of films simply aren’t Spielberg’s territory anymore. He used to own the blockbuster. Now, with a new generation of filmmakers leaving their imprint, it feels like he’s riding on the coattails of younger visionaries. We expect Shyamalan to swipe tricks from Spielberg, not vice versa.

After all the computer generated trickery, high paid actors and media scandals, Welles still owns the legacy for this story, all because he had a little acting prowess, some ingenuity, and of course, plenty of imagination. Let me know when Spielberg gets his back.