A ‘war’ worth supporting

War of the Worlds (2005)
Paramount Pictures presents a Steven Spielberg film, starring Tom Cruise. Written by Josh Friedman and David Koepp. Based on a novel by H.G. Wells. 116m. PG-13 for frightening sequences of sci-fi violence and disturbing images.

3 stars

There’s a tense scene near the end of “War of the Worlds” when Army soldiers have knocked down a foreign spacecraft. They approach the three-pronged vehicle slowly, while a hatch slowly reveals an alien breathing slowly inside.

And I’m happy to report that extraterrestrial looked nothing like Tom Cruise.

While it may be considered impossible to overshadow a big-budget, special-effects driven summer blockbuster, Cruise’s recent antics have us all wondering if he’s gone a little cuckoo-banana-pants or if this is all part of the hype.

Cruise’s fatal flaw is that he hasn’t proved himself to be an actor, deciding instead to be a star. And while that may mean little to a man who commands over $20 million per picture, it does have a tendency to make his presence a bit distracting.

Therefore, there’s a certain amount of irony that the true success of “War of the Worlds” is that Cruise, now at his most omnipresent, actually allows us to become emotionally involved with his character. Usually he keeps the viewer at arm’s length, jarring us out of our created reality with an array of trademark Cruise gestures.

He’s bad dad Ray Ferrier, a crane operator who seems to truly resent spending time with his progeny. Lost amidst his own self-centeredness, Ray oscillates between ruling over his children with an iron fist and trying to manipulate their love with false sentiment. Son Robbie (Justin Chatwin) resents that he’s a chip off the old block and pushes back when tested. The young Rachel (Dakota Fanning) is nonplused, waiting patiently for the true Ray persona to appear before committing.

Leave it to a cavalcade of aliens to make family strains seem inconsequential.

In a string of maneuvers that show indications of higher intelligence, the aliens knock out regional power grids before summoning spacecraft that were hidden for millions of years below the Earth’s crust.

The Bayonne, N.J. residents, including Ray, do what most curious individuals would do: They stand near the craters, hoping for a better look. It’s a commentary on our existence, even post-Sept. 11, that our inherent tendencies often get the best of us. When the aliens arise, Bayonners gawk at the interlopers.

And then the massive tripods start vaporizing Jerseyites.

Like most of the movie, the scene is shown exclusively with Ray as the central vantage point. And as he dodges the ray of death and others around him are reduced into ashes, I can’t think but help feel this was the summer blockbuster version of a terrorist attack.

Perhaps what’s most compelling is that the age gaps between Ray and his children allow for different responses to the invasion. Rachel is terrified, needing Ray to be her father figure for perhaps the first time. Robbie is defiant, feeling the call to arms that many felt after watching both planes slam into the sides of the World Trade Center. For Ray, it’s all about preservation. Sure the film is about a well orchestrated attack by aliens, but “Worlds” will only be truly successful if it can convince its audience that Ray has reformed from his self-centered mindset.

Director Steven Spielberg, not usually known for putting political chicanery in the what-isn’t-said, takes a swipe at America’s recent military involvement in Iraq. Robbie, emboldened by his anger, threatens to join the military immediately. Like a chess master summoning his knight to attack a pawn, Spielberg moves Ray against his son, telling him: “I know you want to fight. I know it seems like you have to, but you don’t. You don’t.”

Well, someone has got to do the dirty work. The aliens are prepared, equipped with some sort of deflector shield that limits their exposure to weapons. In an effort to find safe passage, Ray finds the only working car in the entire state of New Jersey and makes his way to Croton-on-Hudson, a New York harbor town that could provide a gateway to Massachusetts.

And in Croton is where the real drama begins. With the panic of people amplified by the morning’s attacks, Ray is swarmed by those on foot for his vehicle. It’s a startling look at the dog-eat-dog, survivalist mentality ingrained in all humans which is exposed during crisis. It’s reminiscent of that oft-quoted Nietzsche passage: “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process, he doesn’t become a monster.”

Ray and Rachel leave the mob to take refuge with a fellow passenger who has found solace in an abandoned cellar. Ogilvy (Tim Robbins) has obviously begun experiencing symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder, which heightens the intensity. Staying put is simply not a viable option and an alien probe of the household - which must last 10 solid minutes - cranks up the tension-meter to the film’s most remarkable output.

I’d be amiss if I didn’t mention Spielberg’s alleged faithfulness to the original source material by H.G. Wells (I only qualify it as alleged because I haven’t read the 1898 work myself). Wells is blamed for a rather pat ending, which will work for some but be diametrically opposed by others. The conflict over the resolution is partly Spielberg’s fault for making the aliens so convincingly oppressive. The ending doesn’t unravel what came before it; it just attempts to explain how the natural order subtly works to restore itself.

Besides, the ending won’t be the delineating factor when determining the film’s ultimate rewatchability. Instead, it’s the attention to sound design by Michael Babcock that will remain with audiences. Or, it will be the expressive score by John Williams that some may find appealing most the next time.

Whatever the final reason, “War of the Worlds” succeeds both on a popcorn summer movie level and as a legitimate action movie. And I must say, that happily surprised me.