It's okay to fear illegal aliens

Rating: 7/10 (7 July 2005)

It's nice to see Steven Spielberg having fun, which is pretty much the only point of "War of the Worlds." Unburdened by much in the way of politics, statements, or overarching motifs (aside from a few evocations of 9/11), Spielberg has made a theme park of destruction that can be summed up in one word: crap. Lest that sound like a criticism, though, I'll clarify; "War of the Worlds" is quite thoroughly entertaining crap, made as well as you'll ever see it. It's fitting that the father of the summer blockbuster (with "Jaws") has now supplied a film that is one off the purest imaginable examples of the term.
Thematically speaking, I've always found Spielberg a maddening filmmaker, with his tendencies toward pathos and pandering. Yet technically he has few equals, and it's the little boy in him who is at the helm of "War of the Worlds." The film has no plot, beyond giant metal alien tripods  reminiscent of Spielberg's own creepy arachnid sentinels from "Minority Report"  emerging from underground and demolishing everything in sight. Anything more would get in the way, in this case. There are plenty of satisfying long shots of spidery pods laying a big hurt on civilization, but what's most gratifying about "War of the Worlds" is Spielberg's rediscovery of the power of suggestion. Much of the action is seen partially-framed, in reflection, or in a receding background. A giant foot or pale, ghostly light rolling over a hillside is far more intense and suspenseful than endless CGI frippery.
Oddly enough, "War of the Worlds" maintains its appeal through its sheer single-mindedness. There are no cuts to the war room here, no bold presidential directives issued through gritted teeth, and no hardscrabble resistance fighters who figure out a way to Bring The Bastards Down through old-fashioned human ingenuity. Tom Cruise's bum of a divorced dad spends most of the film having no idea what to do, or how to placate his screaming kids. Indeed, "War of the Worlds" lets few of its characters get beyond a mad dash for survival. Tim Robbins lends a few good scenes as a would be savior of humanity who's not as together as he seems, and Cruise is efficient in his role as harried father, little to it as there is. The star here, though, is Spielberg himself, and long time cinematographer Janus Kaminski, who provides his signature washed out, blue steel look that accentuates the gloom. The only serious misstep is the decision to showcase the creatures behind the invasion, the poison apple of alien flicks that few avoid eating. They're kept to a minimum, and are fine as these things go, but are a needless distraction better left to the imagination. At least they don't look like Arabs.
Overall, though, "War of the Worlds" is extremely good at what it does, and smartly keeps its focus limited. Like Orson Welles and company in the 30s, Spielberg has brought us his apocalypse at a time of heightened xenophobia. It was the Germans then and, well, just about anybody now. Allegory aside, "War of the Worlds" doesn't penetrate to the core of the human condition. But if you're slogging through one of those long, humid, frustrating summer days in which nothing, not even one measly car, gets crushed, catapulted, or vaporized, then this is your movie.