Spielberg's Latest Accrately Envisions Mental State At Time of Supreme Crisis
by Sam Tribiano
War of the Worlds cannot be compared with the likes of Empire of the Sun, Schindler's List, Jaws, Saving Private Ryan and E.T., the American master's five great films, but anyone who attempts to dismiss it as a trivial commercial pot-boiler on par with brainless summer movies is missing the film's art and it's implications.
The film paints a dizzying and feverish mind at a time of crisis and devastation as it follows the beleaguered hero (played effectively by Tom Cruise, an actor I've never thought much of as his voice betrays his physical actions. Born on the 4th of July was an exception though.) As viewers, because of Spielberg's effectiveness at building dramatic intensity, we experience what Ray Ferrier experiences, and it is indeed shocking, breathtaking and nightmarish. With the aid of stock company Spielberg alumni, editor Michael Kahn and cinematographer Janusz Kaminski, the director achieves amazing documentary authenticity with appropriate grain, circular pans and a frantically active soundtrack. This is a thinking man's interpretation of a film that could have been made in the 50's when sci-fi was at its height, but only could have been made as well as it was because of Spielberg.
The film follows Ray and his kids from New Jersey to Boston (enroute two cities are partially destroyed by the alien visitors) and at that final location we have the best set-pieces that artfully emulate some of the scariest scenes of the George Pal/Byron Haskin minor classic the film purportedly emulates. Of course the film has nothing to do with the famous Orson Welles radio broadcast of the H. G. Wells classic novel, but it's main storyline is used by Spielberg to accurately present panic and hysteria in its purest form.
It was suggested during my second viewing of the film on Friday night with Maestro Lucibello and Robert McCartney (I had seen it first on Thursday with Lucille and all the kids; Melanie came for a second helping on Friday) by McCartney that the film was a kind of reversed Close Encounters, in which the aliens who beckon are welcoming, beautific and harmonious. In The War of the Worlds the giant alien walking machines emit a theatre-shaking metallic honk before commencing the carnage. It is the appropriate sound of death from above. In past films Spielberg's "nice" aliens have been replacements for absent dads. Now the dad really has to be a dad.
In any case, Spielberg's orchestration of the film is remarkable. He builds tension by altering weather patterns at the outset: darkened skies, suddenly emerging clouds and lightening bolts. But the lightening keeps striking the same place and the eerie quiet that follows--with only the jingling of wind chimes and the distant barking of dogs--wipes the grin off Ray's face. His daughter asks if if all will be OK and he answers "I dunno, I dunno." John Williams has his least involved score with some ambient and subliminal accompiment, yet its the silence that and the alien sounds that place the film in the proper aural sphere.
Spielberg's "humanism" is again on display (remember the desparate crowds in Empire of the Sun) in the scenes where they hijack automobiles and attack each other. Their underlining desparation and terror are in the forefront.
The "human" struggle between Cruise and an over-the-top Tim Robbins in the film's showcase scene with the snaking alien probe and the sudden stillness and devastation that followsis the most unforgettable aspect of the film. The bookends read by Morgan Freeman are eloquent and literary and are a perfect match.
The film is a science-fiction masterwork of the first rate and will with time I believe be indoctrinated into the canon of the great films of its genre of all time.
War of the Worlds cannot be compared with the likes of Empire of the Sun, Schindler's List, Jaws, Saving Private Ryan and E.T., the American master's five great films, but anyone who attempts to dismiss it as a trivial commercial pot-boiler on par with brainless summer movies is missing the film's art and it's implications.
The film paints a dizzying and feverish mind at a time of crisis and devastation as it follows the beleaguered hero (played effectively by Tom Cruise, an actor I've never thought much of as his voice betrays his physical actions. Born on the 4th of July was an exception though.) As viewers, because of Spielberg's effectiveness at building dramatic intensity, we experience what Ray Ferrier experiences, and it is indeed shocking, breathtaking and nightmarish. With the aid of stock company Spielberg alumni, editor Michael Kahn and cinematographer Janusz Kaminski, the director achieves amazing documentary authenticity with appropriate grain, circular pans and a frantically active soundtrack. This is a thinking man's interpretation of a film that could have been made in the 50's when sci-fi was at its height, but only could have been made as well as it was because of Spielberg.
The film follows Ray and his kids from New Jersey to Boston (enroute two cities are partially destroyed by the alien visitors) and at that final location we have the best set-pieces that artfully emulate some of the scariest scenes of the George Pal/Byron Haskin minor classic the film purportedly emulates. Of course the film has nothing to do with the famous Orson Welles radio broadcast of the H. G. Wells classic novel, but it's main storyline is used by Spielberg to accurately present panic and hysteria in its purest form.
It was suggested during my second viewing of the film on Friday night with Maestro Lucibello and Robert McCartney (I had seen it first on Thursday with Lucille and all the kids; Melanie came for a second helping on Friday) by McCartney that the film was a kind of reversed Close Encounters, in which the aliens who beckon are welcoming, beautific and harmonious. In The War of the Worlds the giant alien walking machines emit a theatre-shaking metallic honk before commencing the carnage. It is the appropriate sound of death from above. In past films Spielberg's "nice" aliens have been replacements for absent dads. Now the dad really has to be a dad.
In any case, Spielberg's orchestration of the film is remarkable. He builds tension by altering weather patterns at the outset: darkened skies, suddenly emerging clouds and lightening bolts. But the lightening keeps striking the same place and the eerie quiet that follows--with only the jingling of wind chimes and the distant barking of dogs--wipes the grin off Ray's face. His daughter asks if if all will be OK and he answers "I dunno, I dunno." John Williams has his least involved score with some ambient and subliminal accompiment, yet its the silence that and the alien sounds that place the film in the proper aural sphere.
Spielberg's "humanism" is again on display (remember the desparate crowds in Empire of the Sun) in the scenes where they hijack automobiles and attack each other. Their underlining desparation and terror are in the forefront.
The "human" struggle between Cruise and an over-the-top Tim Robbins in the film's showcase scene with the snaking alien probe and the sudden stillness and devastation that followsis the most unforgettable aspect of the film. The bookends read by Morgan Freeman are eloquent and literary and are a perfect match.
The film is a science-fiction masterwork of the first rate and will with time I believe be indoctrinated into the canon of the great films of its genre of all time.