War of the Worlds Not Spielberg’s Story but Good Movie

Throughout his highly-touted directorial career, Steven Spielberg has transported his audiences from fantasy to stark reality, from the historically imperative to the futuristically bewildering. He is known as a storyteller, the best of our time, but what people fail to forget is that, in most cases, he is telling the stories of others.

In the past, he has taken the stories of Peter Benchley (Jaws), Alice Walker (The Color Purple), J.G. Ballard (The Empire of the Sun), Michael Crichton (Jurassic Park) and Philip F. Dick (Minority Report) and transcended the powerful words on their pages to deliver their visions brilliantly on the screen. He is the voice of the story, not its creator. But in being that voice, in supplying a vision, an image, a stream of credibility to what is written as fiction, there simply has never been anyone better.

In tackling the epic H.G. Wells novel, War of the Worlds, Spielberg bites off not only a piece of literary history, but a piece of mainstream history as well. The idea of invasion by extra-terrestrial beings isn’t new to us, and although we’ve seen it on the big screen dozens of times in different manifestations, it was Wells’ novel that may have started it all.

In 1938, the world was given its first glimpse of how the human race would react in such a frightening scenario when Orson Welles’ radio play adaptation of the book came across to listeners as a news report, inciting people to hit the streets, cock their gun barrels, cower in cellars and push the brink of mass hysteria.

But as much as Welles’ unintentional joke reminded us all how small we are, Spielberg’s effort casts an even darker reminder by bringing the story to our time, by providing it realism in the face of the unfathomable, by imploring upon us the notion that even armed with weapons of mass destruction and the advancements of technology, we should not be convinced that our intelligence toes the line of superiority.

There are lots of folks worried about Tom Cruise lately, wondering more whether or not he should be dealing with Nurse Ratched and the loony bin rather than laser-toting tri-pods. But Cruise, despite his recent turn toward apparent insanity, plays the role of Ray Ferrier with great humility, which is the only way it would work. He becomes the perfect vehicle through which to witness the horrifying spectacle Spielberg unleashes.

He is a father, and a historically incompetent one at that, who at the end of the day, through all his own fears, doubts and despair, wants nothing but the safety of his children. This innate behavioral function is perhaps best exposed when he is forced with a decision about what to do with the hysterical Ogilvy (Tim Robbin’s character that differed vastly from the novel’s version), whose boisterous need to eliminate the enemy after losing his own family puts Cruise and his daughter at risk.

Ferrier’s kids handle the invasion with the same confused hysteria that should be expected by children as something unfolds in front of them that they don’t understand. Dakota Fanning turns in a wise performance as Cruise’s youngest, whose pre-teen neurosis are already evident before the strange lightning storms that trigger total chaos some five minutes into the film.

But perhaps overlooked is the strong performance of Justin Chatwin, who plays 15-year old Robbie Ferrier, a typically angst-ridden teen whose anger at his father and the world turns into anger toward the attackers, which reminds us that despite fear, the human race will defend itself, as any animal would. Cruise is forced into an agonizing decision regarding his son, who wants to leave his father and sister to fight with the military.

Visually, this film makes Independence Day, the former gold standard of alien invasion flicks, look like The Little Shop of Horrors. The explosions and destruction recall Spielberg’s work on Saving Private Ryan, while the awesome site of the enemy in their towering vehicles of annihilation brings back memories of Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind and the smartness of Minority Report.

The action moves quickly and hectically to agree with the plight of its players, who must move quickly amongst turmoil to avoid being destroyed. Viewers are made to feel as if they are a part of the hoard of people fleeing for their lives, and it only slows down enough to keep you involved with one family, as they at times cleverly strive for survival.

Those who have never read the H.G. Wells classic may find the ending of this film hurried, and somewhat inexplicable, and if I had one beef, it’s that the murderous pace to the film slows down too quickly, and then quietly nudges you off the ride.

But in staying true to the simplicity of what overcomes the invaders in Wells’ book, Spielberg does him credit, because the story is not about war in so much as it is about possibilities. It asks us what we really know. It endeavors not so much to prepare, but to enlighten. And in today’s day and age, when the horrors of war and terrorism alluded to briefly in this film are so prevalent, we could all use a little enlightenment.