intergalactic road show of antique clichés

Rating: 4/10 (13 August 2005)

A few years ago, Stephen King's alien-takeover novel "Dreamcatcher" was transformed into a feature film, meeting with as much success as a 900-page novel condensed to a 2-hour run time could. As a whole, it was uneven, but not without ambition, a brisk pace, and well-drawn characters. This kind of low expectation is quite unusual for a filmmaker of Steven Spielberg's caliber and a screenwriter of David Koepp's skill (ironically, he gave us last year's underrated King adaptation, "Secret Window"); to combine these two talents for a summer-ready adaptation of H.G. Welles' "War of the Worlds" must have sounded ideal on paper, and with Tom Cruise leading the cast, how could it possibly fail? I don't know what's more bothersome--that the summer movie season has passed with very few memorable entries (save for "Land of the Dead" and "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory"), or that a film as hollow as "War of the Worlds" is still playing after all this time. Though I suppose its success is no mystery as far as escapist fantasy is concerned--Spielberg's and Cruise's name recognition aside, it is a film that delivers exactly what audiences want--big, fantastic spectacle pixellated with elastic-looking CGI effects. But that's not the problem--I have voluntarily put my brain on the shelf for many summer senses-obliterators (I even enjoyed "The Rock," for Christ's sake) that jettisoned plot and character in favor of rapid-fire action and thrills..."War of the Worlds," however, is such a stilted, empty experience that even the sight of tripods towering over cities and reducing scampering earthlings to ash loses its bite well before the film is over.
In a bit of opening narration that seems lifted from a '50s B movie, it is revealed that "unsympathetic" aliens are gearing up for an attack on our planet because they're so darned jealous of our "advanced" ways (though watching this movie in advance might have saved them the trouble). This setup is about all the 'plot' we get, thus allowing Spielberg free reign to indulge special effects for the remainder of the film. We are introduced to Ray (Tom Cruise), a divorced, blue-collar dock worker who is given the kids for the weekend--Robbie, the ersatz-rebellious son, and Rachel (Dakota Fanning), the endlessly screeching, wild-eyed daughter. His ex-wife is pregnant with #3 and married to a well-dressed, clean-shaven #2. Cruise's house, intended to reflect his 'neglectful father' persona, is messy and cluttered, with a refrigerator full of spoiled food. After some teeth-gnashingly clichéd 'bonding time' with his children, we witness a bizarre electrical storm that stops all magnetic devices (but has no effect on digital cameras!), followed by an introduction to the tripods that is admittedly awe-inspiring.
Unlike "Signs," where a martian invasion didn't overwhelm the human story, and in a way became an extension of it, "War of the Worlds" insists on cramming 'family values' down our throat. Sure, those aliens are nasty buggers, but the story is really about a Father Trying To Better Himself In The Face Of Impending Doom, and the triteness of this is not helped by an unconvincing Tom Cruise (who is driven to murder at one point) or Dakota Fanning's shrill daughter (she serves as a great argument against procreation, however). Tim Robbins shows up halfway through in a pointless role that echoes his "Mystic River" shtick, but gives Cruise an opportunity to show some Fatherly Courage. When son Robbie inexplicably heads into the military mêlée on a hillside, only to show up without a scratch at film's end, is an infuriating, cheap (and illogical) attempt to milk some feel-good tears. In a film where we're left staring at the increasingly uninteresting tripods or the sappy familial drama, we quickly run out of things to hold our interest (when, in the best-case scenario, all aspects of a movie should envelop the audience completely) and devolve into a chorus of "Is it over yet? Is it over yet...?" At least in "Mars Attacks!" the badness of the overall product was part of the fun. In "War of the Worlds," we are asked to suspend disbelief as the tripods descend a hillside toward a farmhouse where Robbins, Cruise, and Fanning are hiding. Why it seems to take days for the tripods to arrive is anyone's guess. More questionable is why the martians, who level cities without a second thought, inspect the farmhouse with a tentacled 'eye' and snoop around the basement where our heroes are hiding--in addition to them looking for antiques to sell on the intergalactic market, the answer is obvious: the scene kills some time, and allows our handsome protagonist to keep living (this can also be applied to Cruise's uncanny skill in avoiding the path of lasers during the opening attack). After all, nobody--the producers most of all--wants a bankable star like Tom Cruise to be felled by martians, unless it's in a softly-lit, dramatic sequence that might earn a nod from The Academy.
To his credit, Spielberg busily dresses scenes with lots of visual flair, as if to compensate for the clunky script, but his efforts aren't enough (the film looks grimy and unappealing). Also, the constant references to 9/11 and terrorism come off as a cheap attempt to lend the story some modern-day relevance (it worked a lot better in "Land of the Dead," man). Though "War of the Worlds" has moseyed toward a generous box office take, it's a hollow ride, with thrills that aren't thrilling, characters that inspire no sympathy, and visual ingenuity that inspires more yawns than gasps. By the end, I was nostalgic for the cinematic junk food of "Dreamcatcher," "Signs," "Mars Attacks!" and "Independence Day"... Okay, maybe not "Independence Day," but you get the idea...