- The War of the Worlds original movie poster - image courtesy of Cinemasterpieces
SPOILER ALERT IN EFFECT, for those don't already know how this story ends.
Watching The War of the Worlds from the perspective of someone born in the later 20th Century feels awfully disadventageous. After all, many who saw the film during its 1953 premiere had a clear memory of the landmark 1938 radio performance by Orson Welles, which inadvertently deceived roughly one million listeners into thinking that an actual alien invasion had begun.
A lack of commercial breaks meant to simulate actual news broadcasts succeeded beyond all expectation, and Welles' rarely-surpassed orating skills certainly make the broadcast a spine-tingling experience even for those aware of its fictitious nature.
Although hindsight indicates the panic to have been less widespread than newspapers of the time suggested (typical of manipulative media, the industry felt threatened by radio, and was happy to exploit the situation), it was nevertheless substantial to many, and the perfect storm of circumstances imbued the tale with an unshakable urban mythos.
Fittingly, Steven Spielberg would reflect on those same feelings of panic when he filmed his own take on the novel in the shadow of an altogether more devastating case of media-fueled terror: the attacks of September 11th.
Alas, even removed from the war-ravaged society that first saw The War of the Worlds hit theaters, the film retains much of its finely tuned shock and awe. The opening titles evoke a theatrical newsreel, bombarding the viewer with the devastation of both World Wars before ensuring that the even more dire threat of invaders from elsewhere is about to commence.
An overview of the solar system inexplicably skips Venus in the planetary lineup, but the effect is the same: Earth is the most habitable and resource-rich of the local heavenly bodies, and the martians are on their way to claim it.
The filmmaking style fittingly suggests the exuberance of radio pulp drama, pitched for maximum consumption and terror: exaggerated supporting characters and bold technicolor vistas are indicative of the film's larger-than-life, broadly-appealing nature.
The story, set primarily in California, is effectively simple. A meteor crashes to Earth in unusual fashion, skidding without leaving much of a crater, and before long reveals itself to be hollow and host to several alien crafts.
A noble Pastor (Lewis Martin) attempts peaceful contact with the beings piloting the ships and is quickly sent to his maker for the effort, his death justifying the military's subsequently futile attempts to halt the invaders. The initial battle between man and martian is an awesomely sustained montage of a seemingly unstoppable force, and more are on their way the world over.
The special effects are still remarkable today, despite the minor tragedy that is DVD technology, which doesn't disguise wires nearly as well as a celluloid print. Yes, you can see what sustains the alien ships, but movie magic lets you get away with such things, and The War of the Worlds was - and still is - a tremendous technical achievement.
The main character of the film is one Dr. Clayton Forrester (Gene Barry), whose name would later serve as the moniker of a mad scientist on the satirical series Mystery Science Theater 3000.
The War of the Worlds occasionally flirts with camp, but even amidst the more crackerjack elements of the film are substantial jolts of unearthly fear (particularly the brief encounter with one of the martians), culminating in a third act in which all hope for humanity seems lost.
Regrettably, this effectiveness is dented by a climax that feels like a rush to the finish, with Cecil B. DeMille-inspired religious overtones that smack of holier-than-thou condescension instead of the simply profundity of a greater unknown (if God made the germs that killed the aliens, didn't He make the aliens, too?). The War of the Worlds is understandably well-remembered, but its status as a high classic seems more incidental than earned.
The War of the Worlds. Dir. Gordon Douglas. Perf. Gene Barry, Ann Robinson, Les Tremayne, Bob Cornthwaite, Sandro Giglio, Lewis Martin, Housely Stevenson Jr., Paul Frees. Paramount Pictures, 1953. Running Time: 85 min.
