Spielberg Declares War

Steven Spielberg is a great director; you’ll get no quarrel from me on that point. He does, however, have an uncomforting penchant for trying to send audiences home with the warm fuzzies. When the movie is “E.T.” I’m not really one to complain, but when it’s say “Minority Report” or “Saving Private Ryan” it isn’t exactly a trait that makes me smile. Great, near-perfect films can be undone by one mismanaged final, that last scene pivotal to making sure audiences maintain all goodwill generated in the proceeding 120 minutes.

Problem is, Spielberg’s insistence on making sure everyone is happy has a tendency to mar otherwise great movies. As much as I adore “Saving Private Ryan,” those ponderously maudlin bookends come perilously close to destroying an otherwise stellar motion picture. With “Minority Report,” Spielberg took film noir into the world of sci-fi, but instead of going for that perfect “Woman in the Window” or “Double Indemnity” black finish the director instead insisted on a coda filled with marital bliss, surprise pregnancy and a junkie miraculously cleaning up to become a hero. And yet, both still retained the majority of their magnificence, somehow remaining potent and effective even with such hackneyed conclusions.

Now comes the director’s latest – and at a reported $185 million his most expensive – out-of-this-world adventure, the acclaimed craftsman tackling the mother of all science fiction tales H.G. Wells’ masterpiece of human terror “War of the Worlds.” Those expecting the cute and cuddly aliens of “E.T.” or “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” be prepared for a shock, these invaders aren’t interested in being friends. No, these guys want Earth for their own, laying the seeds of conquest quietly for thousands of years in order to stage the perfect assault on our perfectly pleasing little planet. As one character points out late in the film, “This isn’t an attack, it’s an extermination.”

To erstwhile New Jersey dockworker and perennial kid Ray Ferrier (love-struck Oprah couch jumper Tom Cruise), stuck with his two children Robbie (Justin Chatwin) and Rachel (Dakota Fanning), the end of the world is suddenly an opportunity to grow up and take care of things having nothing to do with himself. Suddenly, and for the very first time, Ray’s kids come first, the estranged parent intent on doing everything he can to get his two loved ones back into the arms of their mother (and his ex-wife) Mary Ann (Miranda Otto). She’ll know what to do, the best way to protect them, and the best Ray can even remotely hope to do is to get them back to her.

Easier said then done. The aliens, protected in giant mechanical tripods apparently invulnerable to all human attacks, are single-mindedly laying waste to everything around them. Human beings disintegrate into burnt up cloud of dust after coming into contact with one of the invader’s energy beams, while entire building and superhighways are laid ruin in horrifically destructive nanoseconds. The true danger, however, might not be the one presented by the mechanized army devastating the countryside, but from humanity itself as it chaotically trembles to terrified pieces in the wake of this new and unstoppable threat.

The genius of “War of the Worlds” is that it is not seen through the eyes of the fighting forces, that it doesn’t rest on the shoulders of someone battling the aliens first-hand, but instead follows a perfectly normal man struggling only to save his family. Ray Ferrier spends the entire picture packing up his two kids and running away from the conflict. He is not interested in joining the cause. He has no idea as to how to bring down the mechanical menace and, besides, he’s not about to risk the lives of his children on foolish delusions of grandeur and glory.

Spielberg and writers Josh Friedman and David Koepp have constructed something superlative here, fleshing out Wells’ legendary tale masterfully and updating it into the present with surprisingly deft aplomb. Nothing seems forced or out of place, everything meshing together so tightly the goose pimples start forming right from the very beginning. The director has always been able to build tension magnificently (just re-watch “Jaws,” “Duel,” “Raiders of the Lost Ark” or “Jurassic Park”) and that doesn’t change here. The beauteous lightning storm setting the stage for the initial attack is sublime, while the emergence of the first tripod in the middle of a cluttered New Jersey street is downright terrifying. From there, “War of the Worlds” takes off, Cruise’s Ferrier realizing almost immediately the focal point of his entire life must change from his own needs to that of his children.

For mass audiences, I’m not sure this almost entirely internal approach to a summer blockbuster is going to work which is disappointingly unfortunate. The simple fact is that those going in expecting something akin to “Star Wars” or (God help them) “Independence Day” are going to be sorely disappointed. Sure, there is action and special effects galore (a sequence on a ferry boat is beyond spectacular), but the main thrust here is the story of people just trying to survive. In fact, the director and his writers stop things completely in their tracks altogether to descend into the basement of a deranged shell-shocked survivor chillingly played by Tim Robbins. Personally, I found this completely brilliant, scary and surreal in all the best ways. It is the movie’s unquestionable highpoint, the main character coming to realize he might have to dehumanize himself completely in order to make sure his little girl survives. The question is, of course, will audiences numbed to death with summertime swill feel the same?

Technically this take on Wells’ classic is a triumph. The magicians at ILM have outdone themselves. From the destruction of Jersey to visualizing the climactic viral showdown their work here is extraordinary. Longtime collaborators, cinematographer Janusz Kaminski and editor Michael Kahn, do some of their best work ever, helping Spielberg hold things together with such seamless ingenuity they might as well dust off space for another Oscar now. Personally, one my favorite moments revolved around the dusting of the human characters by the tripods, people evaporating so volcanically Joss Whedon will probably stand up and cheer the very moment he sees it.

Cruise, ignoring his recent idiotic ramblings on the “Today” show and his histrionic love declarations for fiancée Katie Holmes, is wonderful as Ray. The actor has never shied from playing inherently unlikable characters, Ferrier fitting square in the same mold as Frank T.J. Mackey (“Magnolia”), Charlie Babbitt (“Rain Man”) and David Aames (“Vanilla Sky”). While it isn’t quite up there with his best work (personally I’m partial to both “Born on the Fourth of July” and last year’s “Collateral”), it is still strong, Cruise diving into all of Ray’s grey areas with forceful self-confidence. He’s in nearly every single scene, Spielberg putting the weight of the entire production square on Cruise’s shoulders and the actor does not disappoint. Best sequence: Ray looks into a mirror his clothes and body covered in wintry paper-thin dust with his children looking on in disgust, sickeningly coming to the realization he’s saturated in the remains of many of his own friends and neighbors. Cruise is magnificent, maneuvering through the picture’s highs and lows effortlessly and with supreme confidence.

If only the same could be said for Spielberg himself. As wondrous as “War of the Worlds” is, the entire thing is practically undone by a final minute so inane and disappointing I can’t imagine walking out of the theater feeling any worse. Just before heading into the cellar with Robbins, Ray is forced to make a “Sophie’s Choice” style decision that really can only be made (or fathomed) deep within the midst of war. It is a potent moment, stirring and gut wrenching in all the best ways giving the picture a depth and pathos it as to that point only hinted at. But then Spielberg ruins things in the final seconds; undoing it all because of his unfathomable desire to create the happiest ending possible.

I almost don’t know what to say. Endings like these hurt “Saving Private Ryan,” “Minority Report,” “Empire of the Sun” and “Always” but never quite to the point I questioned liking them in their entirety. But the conclusion of “War of the Worlds” does just that. The more I stew on it, the longer this final gestates in my belly, the angrier and more upset I become. Even the appearance of Gene Barry and Ann Robinson (the protagonists of George Pal’s classic 1953 version) doesn’t make me any happier, this cop-out of a denouement enough to make me steam well past boiling. As it is, I admire the brilliance of the majority of this picture to no-end; it’s just that pesky literal ending I walked out wanting to declare war on.

Film Rating: êê1/2  (out of 4)