George Pal's "War of the Worlds" shouldn't work, but it does. Transplanting H.G. Wells' Martian invasion from the English Home Counties, circa 1898, to Southern California, early 1950s, seems ill-advised enough. But larding the story with religious sensibility must have set poor H.G. spinning in his grave. The movie's air of can-do American gumption and prayerful Christianity is about as far from the mental universe of the original novel as can well be imagined. One scene even includes a square dance! But no matter: "War of the Worlds" is good, clean sci-fi fun, happily unencumbered by Earnest Messages or Weighty Philosophical Considerations.
My favorite "War of the Worlds" moment comes just before the fighting begins. Observing the Martians' landing zone from a sandbagged bunker, General Mann (Les Tremayne) intones, "They'll probably move at dawn." Never has a film cliché been delivered with such perfect pitch! And sure enough, the fighting begins right on schedule with the incineration by heat ray of the saintly Pastor Collins (Lewis Martin). The troops surrounding the landing zone are routed with great slaughter, and the next thing you know, civilization itself is on the point of collapse. Not even the atom bomb, delivered by the US Air Force's Flying Wing, can arrest the progress of the invasion. In the end, of course, the Martians are defeated—by terrestrial germs, provided courtesy of God's wisdom.
The special effects? Okay, there's nothing special there, but their very crudity lends the movie a certain period charm. The acting? Gene Barry, Ann Robinson and the rest of the cast do well enough in their undemanding roles. Don't expect much in the way of character development—like the SF pulps from which it draws inspiration, "The War of the Worlds" isn't too interested in the inner lives of its characters. It's simplistic, sensational, shallow, wide-eyed, unintentionally funny in spots—and isn't that what we sometimes want in a movie? I'll take this one over the elephantine Spielberg/Cruise version any day.
My favorite "War of the Worlds" moment comes just before the fighting begins. Observing the Martians' landing zone from a sandbagged bunker, General Mann (Les Tremayne) intones, "They'll probably move at dawn." Never has a film cliché been delivered with such perfect pitch! And sure enough, the fighting begins right on schedule with the incineration by heat ray of the saintly Pastor Collins (Lewis Martin). The troops surrounding the landing zone are routed with great slaughter, and the next thing you know, civilization itself is on the point of collapse. Not even the atom bomb, delivered by the US Air Force's Flying Wing, can arrest the progress of the invasion. In the end, of course, the Martians are defeated—by terrestrial germs, provided courtesy of God's wisdom.
The special effects? Okay, there's nothing special there, but their very crudity lends the movie a certain period charm. The acting? Gene Barry, Ann Robinson and the rest of the cast do well enough in their undemanding roles. Don't expect much in the way of character development—like the SF pulps from which it draws inspiration, "The War of the Worlds" isn't too interested in the inner lives of its characters. It's simplistic, sensational, shallow, wide-eyed, unintentionally funny in spots—and isn't that what we sometimes want in a movie? I'll take this one over the elephantine Spielberg/Cruise version any day.