Defeatism
I saw the remake of War of the Worlds last summer, and I didn't like it. When it came out on DVD some months later, I bought it, thinking it couldn't be as bad as I remembered. And I was right--it was worse.
Nonetheless, I've seen it a couple of times since buying it, because there's something about it I couldn't put my finger on that bothered me. That something compelled me to watch, in the same way that an insect bite compels me to scratch. And I think I've finally figured out what it is that bothers me. (Note: Spoilers follow.)
War of the Worlds is a celebration of defeatism. It's a song of praise to those who give up, who don't believe anything is worth fighting for, who want to do nothing more than hide and hope some deus ex machina comes along to make things better. There's no point to anything that Tom Cruise's character does, except to escape from everything. He wants to run away, and keep running, even though it's pretty clear that there really isn't anywhere to run to. He's playing for time, until some Ultimate Authority in Power comes along to make everything bad stop happening, preferably through magic, not through sacrifice and hard work. Hugs, maybe.
I understand that it is necessary, dramatically, to have the aliens seem completely omnipotent. They have to be seen as a creditable threat. Fair enough; this was the case in both H.G. Wells' novel and George Pal's 1953 film. In both previous cases, the aliens were creatures which could not be stopped by the hand of man. Resistance, to coin a phrase, is futile.
But only in this version is fighting back seen as utterly stupid or insane. Wells' narrator was an observer, only directly involved in a couple of main Martian sequences (the first landing and the ruined house), but the characters in Pal's film never gave up the struggle, futile though it might be. Here, the idea of fighting back is embodied in two characters--Justin Chatwin, who plays Tom Cruise's son, and Tim Robbins, who plays the owner of a half-wrecked house where Cruise finds shelter. (We do see some soldiers bravely going into the fray, but we never meet any of them as characters.)
Chatwin's not much of an actor, his main expression seems to be a toothy sneer. (He reminds me a bit of Ed Grimley.) His desire to fight the invaders (never referred to as Martians, by the way) is presented as wrong-headed, selfish and un-thought-through. He abandons his younger sister (to whom he is devoted, and vice versa) because he wants to snarl at the aliens and...who knows. Sneer them to death. I have to wonder if Chatwin was cast because his flat acting would make his desire to fight seem less valid to the audience (to contrast with Tom Cruise’s “run and hide” idea).
Robbins' character is more problematic. At first, he's seen as a strong, confident person, someone who is not going to go meekly into defeat. Despite the loss of his entire family, he doesn’t escape into despair but remains galvanized and is looking out for his fellow humans. Where the rest of humanity has turned into a ragtag band of dog-eat-dog refugees, he offers Cruise shelter. But it’s for a purpose. He’s going to survive, and he's going to fight back, to take the world back from the invaders. When the alien machines begin prowling around the house, Cruise meekly asks why Robbins offered them shelter if they’re only delaying their capture. (Cruise’s alternatives aren’t spelled out, but the only other option to the cellar seems to be more running and more hiding.)
Robbins blurts out some vague plan of coming up from underneath the aliens, defeating them from below. He vaguely thinks Cruise should help to fight back. But Robbins’ mumble-mouthed delivery and Spielberg’s kinetic camera here seem to say that this is an idea that shouldn’t be seriously considered. Indeed, this scene is followed by a brief creepy one where Robbins promises Cruise’s daughter that he’ll “take care” of her if anything happens to Cruise.
It’s the first indication that Robbins is a pretty damn crazy guy, and possibly something of a pervert. His idea of using strategy against the aliens quickly goes out the window as he gets more unhinged--when he wants to attack an alien probe with a hand ax, and later, shoot the actual creatures themselves with a shotgun. Both are incredibly short-sighted acts certain to get everyone killed for a very small measure of revenge. (He's prevented in both cases by Cruise's pleading desire to stay silent and safe.)
While we might, at first, see Robbins’ character as a focal point for audience sympathies (he wants to take action), Spielberg piles on the craziness until finally, Robbins “snaps” and starts yelling, risking exposure to Cruise and his daughter. And for the only time in the film, Cruise takes decisive, no turning back action—he kills Robbins so that he can remain safe and hidden. He takes action against his fellow man so that he won’t have to choose to oppose the invaders. I'm not sure what kind of message this is supposed to send, but I find it hard to believe there isn't one. Spielberg's been enamored of Messages with a capital M for decades, now; it’s been a while since he made anything that was “mere” entertainment.
Of course, the shadow hanging over any “sudden sneak attack” movie like this is September 11, 2001. It’s hard not to draw parallels, which is why the movie’s message of “if something bad happens, run away and hide until it’s all better again” is so troubling. More troubling still is the notion that it’s better to destroy those who want to fight back, rather than risk reprisals from those who attacked in the first place. The greatest enemies we face are our courage, our resolve, our unwillingness to be cowed. In short, the enemy is who we are; the enemy is not those who would kill us. That’s the capital M Message.
And that bothers me. It's a viewpoint that seems disconnected from the real world. Granted, War of the Worlds is a fantasy film. But aren't they all?
Nonetheless, I've seen it a couple of times since buying it, because there's something about it I couldn't put my finger on that bothered me. That something compelled me to watch, in the same way that an insect bite compels me to scratch. And I think I've finally figured out what it is that bothers me. (Note: Spoilers follow.)
War of the Worlds is a celebration of defeatism. It's a song of praise to those who give up, who don't believe anything is worth fighting for, who want to do nothing more than hide and hope some deus ex machina comes along to make things better. There's no point to anything that Tom Cruise's character does, except to escape from everything. He wants to run away, and keep running, even though it's pretty clear that there really isn't anywhere to run to. He's playing for time, until some Ultimate Authority in Power comes along to make everything bad stop happening, preferably through magic, not through sacrifice and hard work. Hugs, maybe.
I understand that it is necessary, dramatically, to have the aliens seem completely omnipotent. They have to be seen as a creditable threat. Fair enough; this was the case in both H.G. Wells' novel and George Pal's 1953 film. In both previous cases, the aliens were creatures which could not be stopped by the hand of man. Resistance, to coin a phrase, is futile.
But only in this version is fighting back seen as utterly stupid or insane. Wells' narrator was an observer, only directly involved in a couple of main Martian sequences (the first landing and the ruined house), but the characters in Pal's film never gave up the struggle, futile though it might be. Here, the idea of fighting back is embodied in two characters--Justin Chatwin, who plays Tom Cruise's son, and Tim Robbins, who plays the owner of a half-wrecked house where Cruise finds shelter. (We do see some soldiers bravely going into the fray, but we never meet any of them as characters.)
Chatwin's not much of an actor, his main expression seems to be a toothy sneer. (He reminds me a bit of Ed Grimley.) His desire to fight the invaders (never referred to as Martians, by the way) is presented as wrong-headed, selfish and un-thought-through. He abandons his younger sister (to whom he is devoted, and vice versa) because he wants to snarl at the aliens and...who knows. Sneer them to death. I have to wonder if Chatwin was cast because his flat acting would make his desire to fight seem less valid to the audience (to contrast with Tom Cruise’s “run and hide” idea).
Robbins' character is more problematic. At first, he's seen as a strong, confident person, someone who is not going to go meekly into defeat. Despite the loss of his entire family, he doesn’t escape into despair but remains galvanized and is looking out for his fellow humans. Where the rest of humanity has turned into a ragtag band of dog-eat-dog refugees, he offers Cruise shelter. But it’s for a purpose. He’s going to survive, and he's going to fight back, to take the world back from the invaders. When the alien machines begin prowling around the house, Cruise meekly asks why Robbins offered them shelter if they’re only delaying their capture. (Cruise’s alternatives aren’t spelled out, but the only other option to the cellar seems to be more running and more hiding.)
Robbins blurts out some vague plan of coming up from underneath the aliens, defeating them from below. He vaguely thinks Cruise should help to fight back. But Robbins’ mumble-mouthed delivery and Spielberg’s kinetic camera here seem to say that this is an idea that shouldn’t be seriously considered. Indeed, this scene is followed by a brief creepy one where Robbins promises Cruise’s daughter that he’ll “take care” of her if anything happens to Cruise.
It’s the first indication that Robbins is a pretty damn crazy guy, and possibly something of a pervert. His idea of using strategy against the aliens quickly goes out the window as he gets more unhinged--when he wants to attack an alien probe with a hand ax, and later, shoot the actual creatures themselves with a shotgun. Both are incredibly short-sighted acts certain to get everyone killed for a very small measure of revenge. (He's prevented in both cases by Cruise's pleading desire to stay silent and safe.)
While we might, at first, see Robbins’ character as a focal point for audience sympathies (he wants to take action), Spielberg piles on the craziness until finally, Robbins “snaps” and starts yelling, risking exposure to Cruise and his daughter. And for the only time in the film, Cruise takes decisive, no turning back action—he kills Robbins so that he can remain safe and hidden. He takes action against his fellow man so that he won’t have to choose to oppose the invaders. I'm not sure what kind of message this is supposed to send, but I find it hard to believe there isn't one. Spielberg's been enamored of Messages with a capital M for decades, now; it’s been a while since he made anything that was “mere” entertainment.
Of course, the shadow hanging over any “sudden sneak attack” movie like this is September 11, 2001. It’s hard not to draw parallels, which is why the movie’s message of “if something bad happens, run away and hide until it’s all better again” is so troubling. More troubling still is the notion that it’s better to destroy those who want to fight back, rather than risk reprisals from those who attacked in the first place. The greatest enemies we face are our courage, our resolve, our unwillingness to be cowed. In short, the enemy is who we are; the enemy is not those who would kill us. That’s the capital M Message.
And that bothers me. It's a viewpoint that seems disconnected from the real world. Granted, War of the Worlds is a fantasy film. But aren't they all?
posted by BeckoningChasm at 10:09 PM
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