Hullo all. It's no secret that I love the book The War of the Worlds to bits, that I was terrified of pylons believing them to be tripods as a kid and that Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds hovers ever between genius and total crap. What is a secret is that I've had this big interest in the 2005 film for some time, and have long itched to do a rambling critique of it. My first ever movie or TV critique in fact. Cripes. I hope you'll indulge me and give it a read, even if you do totally despise the movie. (Cue cries of, "Fuck me, I'm not reading all of that.")
So erm, here it is. Feel free to comment afterwards and stuff, in between parts and all. Even jokes would be appreciated, and Dimrill drawing disparraging pictures of Cruise deflecting heat-rays with his pearly-whites.
WAR OF THE WORLDS
A critique in a terrifyingly unspecified number of parts…
Introduction:
In 2005 War of the Worlds was released. Although garnering favourable reviews and a pleasingly chunky box office, it has subsequently been unfairly neglected in memory by the both the film going audience, film critics and fans of the genre. War of the Worlds was unlucky enough to be lumbered with a lead actor whose increasingly unbalanced off-screen antics left it ripe for a backlash, which was duly and unfairly unleashed. Though the sniping was primarily centred on Tom Cruise, garnering him a somewhat petty Golden Raspberry nomination for worst actor, director Steven Spielberg and writer David Koepp [1] came under a lot of flak as well. And though they made errors of judgement in the making of the film, and failed to make a solid gold science fiction classic, I think that people don’t realise how close they came.
For those reasons I’ll be looking at War of the Worlds and the things it got right, whilst acknowledging its mistakes that frustratingly caused the film to stumble in the latter half. I shall reveal the surprising freshness of the film and the unity it has with the apocalyptic 70’s film Invasion of the Bodysnatchers, and the lessons that need to be learnt from it by other filmmakers and the subsequent influence it had on ‘Cloverfield’.
The failings of the genre:
Tradition in American disaster movies is to follow a maverick and highly personable scientist who holds the key to the defeat of the natural phenomena, invader or monster. For example in the rather terrible 1998 film Godzilla Matthew Broderick plays Doctor Nick Tatopoulos, crushingly never uttering the words “Hi everybody!”. The film tediously follows Doctor Nick’s working out of the motives of Godzilla and how to defeat her, allowing the audience absolutely no tension as to whether she will be defeated or as to Doctor Nick’s survival. At no point does a nightmarish atmosphere arise, which is surely the point of a monster movie.
The same goes for Armageddon. The principles are introduced with their ‘can do’ ethos, trained to go into space and drill bombs into the asteroid and save the day. Since the camera leaps from landmark to landmark for the destruction sequences, and the characters remain resolutely part of the solution, again no tension is built. The script and direction has reduced the cast to such caricatures that no tears are shed at Bruce Willis’s sacrifice, except perhaps tears of uncomfortable embarrassment at his farewell speech.
The sister film Deep Impact fares a little better, focusing partly on pure civilians. Unfortunately it bogs itself down in soap plots and unlikely character decision making. Cripplingly it suffers from the same problem as Armageddon. We want the damn asteroid to hit already. Since the world will assuredly survive, a given due to the film striving to present the characters and civilisation as eminently likable, there is no tension.
Independence Day suffers the same problem as Godzilla. No matter how charming the double act between maverick scientist Jeff Goldblum and maverick jet fighter pilot Will Smith, the film is just plodding from set piece to set piece. Here is the breakdown of nearly every big budget science fiction disaster movie of the decade leading up to War of the Worlds.
1: Looming opening shot of sinister threat or a small action ‘uh-oh’ set piece. 2: Primary expert character’s home life observed and character quirks highlighted. Interpersonal relationship problems with romantic co-lead highlighted. 3: Expert called in to talk about / barges in upon authorities to warn about looming threat. Is ignored or listened to slightly too late. 4: Threat unleashes with pretty scenic destruction. Minor characters are killed off, sometimes with a quip. 5: Authorities realise things are serious as conventional responses fail. Send out expert to solve problem with mismatched team of companions. 6: Squabbling between lead and romantic co-lead immediately followed by mending of bridges in light of catastrophe. 7: A big plan announced. 8: More stuff blowing up to reassure audience. 9: Big plan enacted! 10: Stuff blows up - noble sacrifice by lead/lead survives and cheerily gets together with romantic co-lead.
And finally, unless it’s a natural disaster – THE END…. Or IS it?
And that’s all we got. A rehashed script tweaked for different threats. Even the characters stayed the same. At least Mars Attacks was a comedy, though The Core does earn bonus points for having a witty script and a bonkers imaginative Jules Verne vibe. So as you can see naturalism in disaster or sci-fi movies were dead. The filmmakers never graduated from the cheesy but fun Irwin Allen class, but at least Irwin Allen had big budget stars to kill off. Usually the crooked property developer. With Ernst Borgnine for laughs.
So it was a bit of a shock to find that War of the Worlds dismissed that generic style. The film primarily is a chase movie, with the threat ever on the heels of the protagonists. Compare to the above list, where the threat calmly allows time to have counters planned and deployed against it. War of the Worlds is a psycho with an axe bursting into your house as you run upstairs to lock yourself in the bathroom. The other flicks would have the psycho camping out on your lawn and occasionally lobbing bricks through your window while you assemble a big gun to shoot him in his stupid head.
Instead of these inferior disaster movie efforts, War of the Worlds takes a good look at the start of the under-rated 1970’s classic remake of Invasion of the Bodysnatchers, which opens with the ordinary Donald Sutherland and Brooke Adams leading normal lives and continues with an increasingly threatening and hostile environment forcing them on a terrified, hysterical and sleepless run. This is what War of the Worlds does, and it is such a relief to have it played out instead of the gumpf listed above. The only difference is that Invasion of the Bodysnatchers has the punch of there being no sanctuary at the end. Instead War of the Worlds gradually loses steam as the chase slackens and sanctuary becomes obtainable, which is a mistake I shall discuss later.
But the influence is an important one, and Bodysnatchers is strong in naturalism. It also reflects John William’s score in the near subliminal eerie throbbing that permeates the early scenes of mounting tension. The leads aren’t heroes and they have no answers, because they’re just people caught in horrifying events, which is what disaster movies need to be.
The film in message and technique:
The film opens with a narration from the novel by Morgan Freeman, acknowledging the strong link to the material. The narration takes place over stock footage of humanity at work, play and prayer around the world. Ironically whilst fan-pleasing, this coupled with the ending narration serves to slightly weaken the film, lending it an omnipresent narrator however briefly, reinforcing the fact that it is but a story.
Fortunate then that composer John Williams is already at work. Lending an eerie sustained pitch over the narration, he follows with an echoing, cold, brutal clang over the opening title. The following score is to prove one of William’s most effective and perfectly suited for the film. Non-existent except in the form of eerie sustained pitches when mounting unsettling tension is required, Williams even reigns it in for the action sequences, never letting the music overwhelm. The horror has to be in the ambience and the visuals, not the score. His most effective weapon is a glissando shriek as people get disintegrated and buildings are torn apart, as if the very last cry of human life or the sound of a energy pulse ripping through the air. Up to the first attack there is not one moment of music score. All music heard is diegetic, that is to say, what would be playing naturally in the environment, from natural sources - for example car stereos, television, etc. This heightens the sense of naturalism. We are not in a movie, we are real life.
Mary Ann drops her kids off with irresponsible divorced dad Ray Ferrier, who never actually seems quite as irresponsible as the film would have us believe. The meeting is fractious, especially since Tim is there – who against type seems a stand-up guy, and to whom Ray acts like an arse. It plays out naturally however. There are no histrionics and they clearly have some affection still for each other whilst it’s made clear that the chances of them getting back together are zero. The dialogue is sparse and to the point. She then leaves for Boston, presenting Ray with his goal later on in the film.
Up to the actual invasion War of the Worlds plays against its genre by limiting the build up and the foreboding. A news report citing strange activities in Russia is skipped through in favour of Spongebob Squarepants. Rachel orders vegetarian food and complains of a splinter. In a neat and subtle bit the scene displays the only bit of foreshadowing in that she explains that the body will naturally push the splinter out, the efforts of Ray unneeded. This sets up the theme of the invader rejected by Earth naturally, regardless of the efforts of man.
So far there have been no scenes with scientists, generals or politicians. The setting is entirely a suburban one without landmarks in a blue collar neighbourhood. This is entirely in contrast to its genre neighbours.
War of the Worlds opening normalcy heightens the growing tension before the opening assault. Previously films had not allowed this tension to develop due to clearly setting out the character roles and thus giving the audience a set of concrete expectations as to what would happen. War of the Worlds basically says, ‘here’s some people’ and leaves it at that. Yes, we know that Ray is going to strive to save his children and take them to Boston, but we know nothing besides that. Since his goal is the basic natural urge of all fathers to protect their children, there is nothing special in this and therefore we are given an agreeably unnerving blank slate as to what is to come next.
Like 9/11 broke upon us without any forewarning and with mounting horror, so the events in the movie break upon the audience. Whilst in every other movie listed above the main characters know what the threat is from the beginning, Ray has no clue other than it’s a big tripod and its trying to kill him and his kids. He isn’t a scientist and he has no time to analyse. The raw response is flight or fight, and against this unimaginable menace fighting clearly isn’t an option. Because the camera keeps closely focused on Ray, and never wanders to show us what he cannot see, we only know what he knows and as he feels panic and fear, so do we. We both don’t know what is coming – we both don’t even know what is happening.
The film kicks off proper when Ray finds that his son has stolen his car. He emerges from his house to find people looking up at the sky. A strange cloud has formed, as eerie as a tornado-spawning super cell. Again there is no music except the passing thumping bass of a slowly moving car. No one knows what is going on.
It’s this scene that highlights the genius behind War of the Worlds cinematography. Spielberg chooses a muted colour palette for a more realist feel, much as he did with Saving Private Ryan and Band of Brothers. Rather than the sepia touch to denote an older time, he instead opts for a cold feel with metallic colours. Its alienating and the colour of a coming storm. His shots in this scene are low to the ground, looking up. A great weight hangs in the sky and everything once again is tightly focused in upon Ray and his neighbours, emphasising their vulnerability. People take photos as people do, and yet upon their faces there is that anxiety and yet a nervous excitement of the spectacular. It’s time to say that the extras work in War of the Worlds is unusually strong. The background people and the crowds behave realistically, and everyone has a destination and an action and an expression. Rather than having CGI hordes plummeting out of skyscrapers, having Times Square taxi cabs smashed around them whilst making stupid quips, War of the Worlds treats each extra like a human being. They’re not meat for the FX grinder, we see ourselves in them. They have stories like Ray, and it’s all the more horrifying when they die through not having the same pure luck as he does. Ray runs into the back garden down a side alley. You hear the swinging gate hitting the chain link fence in the wind and the pacing is natural, real-time. In the gardens families look up. Ray notices the unworldly nature of the phenomenon, but it fails to move him. He speaks matter-of-factly to his neighbour, who holds a baby in her arms.
“That is so weird.” “What?” “The wind is moving away from the storm.”
Ray calls to his daughter, and they watch. Then the lightning begins to strike, sans thunder. Excellently, on the second strike you can hear car alarms beginning to sound.
“That’s enough weather for me,” says Ray’s neighbour anxiously as her baby begins to cry. They’ll both die later as a truck smashes through their house, exploding in a massive fireball. These are people.
As Ray and Rachel run back into the house and hide under a table, the mobile camera and lighting reinforce how flimsy their house is. The silence that follows is unnatural; there are no more car alarms. It’s now that Ray discovers that everything electric and motorised is out. An inspired move that closes in and greatly simplifies his world, and is very unnerving.
He goes outside and meets his son Robbie. The camera work keeps them at a distance, part of the crowd as extras and open car doors get in way of shot. John William’s music quietly kicks in with some menacing tones and discordant ambience with a few cello strings, before fading away again. Robbie goes back inside, Ray too freaked out to properly chastise him. As he proceeds to the location of the lightning strikes he meets Manny the car salesman, and asks Ray what he thinks is wrong with the cars. Ray is seen earlier with an engine on his kitchen table, so we know he knows his stuff. “Try replacing the solenoid,” suggests Ray, which Manny knew all along. It’s now clear that the lightning came with electromagnetic pulse, which effects plugged in solenoids. Replace and you can get a car working again. Information is passed quickly in this film and as naturally as the writers can manage. There are no big ‘scientist explains all’ speeches and for the most part detail is skipped, since when giant killer tripods are after you who cares about the inns and outs of matter transference, interstellar travel and alien weaponry. (Except when the film commits a major sin later.)
On his way to the intersection where the lightning hit theories are bandied about as to the freak weather and electrics, such as solar flares. The point is: unlike in other movies, everyone is ignorant, there are no experts. And it is at the intersection, where the movie leaves the realm of the unnerving and enters the land of nightmare.
Coming up next:
The definitive invasion, the horror of the alien. (“I agree,” - The Daily Express.)
[1] Josh Friedman contributed the first three drafts of the film, which David Koepp substantially redrafted. Koepp's involvement has somewhat ecclipsed Freidman's, which Josh has been pretty sporting about on his blog. For the sake of brevity, I shall refer to the script as Koepp's, to save on finger strain. And also in revenge over Friedman inflicting the Sarah Connor Chronicles upon us.
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