he war on the screen during War of the Worlds was nothing compared to the war in my head as I watched it. When I go to the movies, there's usually a commentary track running—only instead of listening to the director droning on the special-edition DVD, it's my own thoughts rambling in the dark. It's rare that a film is so overwhelming that it leaves no space for me to be aware of myself engaged in sitting in the theater watching a movie—and War of the Worlds wasn't one of those.
So instead of adding another review of the film to the thousands out there, here are some excerpts from my internal commentary track:
I have never understood the public fascination with Tom Cruise. (Sorry, Oprah!) There has never been a screen performance in which I have fully trusted the character he's supposed to be. When, near the end of Jerry Maguire, he told Renee Zellweger, "You complete me," and women were melting in the audience around me, my response was to snort and think, "Yeah, right." Regardless of the characters he keeps playing, to me, they always seems the sort of people more interested in themselves than in anyone around them. Cruise's main flaw as an actor has always seemed to be an inability to fake sincerity.
So why am I even here, considering the fact that I tend to stay away from Tom Cruise movies, watching them, if at all, more out of a sense of duty than desire? It's all thanks to Steven Spielberg, of course. With War of the Worlds, the attraction of seeing a Spielberg film balanced out my disinclination to see another Cruise performance. But then, as the movie unspools, surprise—this time, Cruise isn't so bad in the role after all. This time, I believe him.
Why is it that in this picture, unlike any other film, I accepted him at face value? Why wasn't I thinking about Katie Holmes, or Scientology or any of his other roles in which I didn't accept him? Because this time, his character actually was the sort of person more interested in himself than in anyone around him. It's a rare actor who completely loses himself or herself in a role, and many top performances only occur when what the actor brings complements the role, when there's a convergence between the persona that inevitably leaks through and the words they're asked to say.
Just as I'd felt Warren Beatty's vague, confused, tentative screen personality most perfectly matched a role when he was the back-from-the-dead football player in Heaven Can Wait, so Tom Cruise's smirk finally found the right face in Ray Ferrier, a father who can't even bother to remember that his daughter has been allergic to peanut butter since birth. Finally, the patina of self-absorption makes sense, instead of fighting against the part. And War of the Worlds is the better for it.
Talking to myself
But Tom Cruise wasn't the only thing that my inner narrator kept chiming in about. It also had this to say:
Boy, that Dakota Fanning is a talented actress. I've been impressed with Fanning since first noticing her in Taken. She has a talent beyond her years, and I'm looking forward to watching those years catch up with that talent. Only ... I'm a little afraid for her as well. Hollywood has a reputation for eating its young, and I'd really hate to see her go the way of so many child stars and turn into a confused teen with an eating disorder. She's too good for that and deserves better. I'm hoping that those in charge of her life take good care of her, so that decades from now, she can fulfill her early promise, and be happy at the same time.
Could this film even have been made 10 or 20 years ago? I'm not so sure. Here we have a hero who is just a witness as events unfold around him, and who for all of his character's struggles to survive is but a passive participant in the defeat of the enemy. Not the sort of wish-fulfillment fantasy that most audiences want to see in their movies. Spielberg has said that the film is a response to 9/11, but I think that the box-office success of this film is a sign of our reaction to 9/11. We can accept being buffeted about by malignant forces and having the solution be out of our control in a way I'm not sure we could have five years ago.
Does anyone but me care that Gene Barry and Ann Robinson, stars of the original War of the Worlds, appeared in non-speaking roles as the grandparents at the film's end? Perhaps not, but nods like that matter to me, just as I appreciated it when Kirk Alyn and Noel Neill were given cameos in Superman or when Stan Lee sold hot dogs in the first X-Men flick. Our shared history matters, and a director who cares enough to pay homage to it might just care enough to make a decent film.
All of these thoughts, and many more, ran through my mind right in the multiplex as War of the Worlds flickered before me. You might think from all of the stray ideas that had time and space to occupy my brain that I didn't enjoy the movie. You'd be wrong. I did enjoy the film and would recommend it—that just happens to be the way my mind works. I suspect that the same is true for many of you. At least, I hope that it's true for many of you.
If not ... don't let me know. I'd like to be able to pretend, for a little while longer at least, that I can still pass for normal.
Scott Edelman started his trek to the editor-in-chief position at Science Fiction Weekly decades ago, when he began working as an assistant editor at Marvel Comics. Between these two positions, this four-time Hugo Award nominee in the category of Best Editor was the founding editor of the award-winning magazine Science Fiction Age, in addition to editing Sci-Fi Universe, Sci-Fi Flix and Satellite Orbit. Currently, he also edits SCI FI, the official magazine of the SCI FI Channel. His most recent short story appears in the new issue of The Journal of Pulse-Pounding Narratives.
