War of the Worlds: Excrement

Way back on July 20, 2005, I published the following review on cinekklesia. It generated a couple of comments, which I also post here, along with my lengthy response.

Many of my friends know that I am not a big fan of science fiction. In fact, one constant source of aesthetic friction in my household comes from my wife's inexplicable love of the Stargate series on the Sci-Fi cable network. (We no longer receive that network, but now that we have reinitiated our NetFlix account, I anticipate seeing Stargate Atlantis DVDs cluttering our mailbox soon.)

My critique of sci-fi stems from its constant potentiality. Many science fiction movies and television shows deal with profound existential questions, agonizing moral dilemmas, and perplexing scientific conundrums, so they have the potential both to enlighten and entertain us. However, so much science fiction is poorly produced that its highly charged themes get lost in a morass of mediocrity.

Take the Star Trek franchise. Almost every episode of every series, from the original to Voyager, is tailored to address some philosophical theme, whether overtly or discretely. However, with few exceptions, the characters addressing these themes are portrayed in an overly simplistic or contrived fashion, and I end up wondering how the shows' producers could have wasted such an opportunity. Even the camp of the original series eventually loses its charm. In fact, the most interesting aspect of Star Trek is sociological: watching diehard Trekkies convert the franchise into an all-encompassing lifestyle or, in more extreme cases, into a religion.

At this point, science fiction fans may scoff at my critique and suggest that my lack of appreciation stems from ignorance. If I knew more about sci-fi, if I read and studied it a bit more, then I would learn to appreciate it. This dynamic is true up to a point. For example, when I was a child, I didn't like dark chocolate, and my father told me that I merely had to "develop a taste for it." I thought he was being facetious, but it turned out he was right: I now prefer dark chocolate over other varieties. However, I've always liked milk chocolate and still do. In other words, not all good things in life have to begin as negative experience; on the flip side, not all bad things become enjoyable, no matter how much we "study" them. While I may "learn to appreciate" science fiction via repeated exposure, I also may never like the genre (and why should I risk sitting through hours of unenjoyable experiences that may produce no pleasurable outcome?).

My second critique of science fiction (and fantasy) stems from its exclusionary nature. Since sci-fi often involves the creation of alternate, all-encompassing universes/realities, one must be "in the know" in order to participate. Such exclusion is exacerbated by the intense focus on minutiae exhibited by fans of both science fiction and fantasy. Rather than discuss those profound philosophical questions that lie at the heart of a given work, fans often concentrate on such details as which alien race was introduced in the second movie, which dragon was killed in Book 4, etc. Such talk is meaningless and off-putting to an outsider who is more interested in what a given genre or work has to say.

At this point, committed fans of sci-fi/fantasy either will fume that my critiques are invalid since I'm clearly an ignorant boor ("Screw him. What does he know? Let's go play some D&D!"), or—if they despise Steven Spielberg's War of the Worlds (2005) as much as I do—fret that I'll use said movie as an example of sci-fi's shortcomings. Fear not, Gentle Trekkie, for I try to be a fair observer of the cinematic form, and I know that even the mere placement of Spielberg's latest project within the sci-fi camp would be both unfair and inaccurate. You see, War of the Worlds is so poorly constructed, written in such a contrived fashion, and directed in such a slipshod manner, that it deserves categorization in a separate genre, namely that of Excrement.

Why Excrement? Simply put, War of the Worlds is one of the worst movies I have ever seen. I do not write that for hyperbolic effect; I mean that simply and literally. Steven Spielberg violated me aesthetically, and I don't think that I ever can view him in the same light again. Before, he was just a mediocre cinematic craftsman, the unofficial co-founder (with George Lucas) of the Summer Blockbuster. Now, he is an aesthetic criminal.

You might say that my visceral reaction stems from unreasonably high expectations. What was I expecting? War of the Worlds is the proverbial Summer Blockbuster, after all. A friend who watched the movie with me and my wife was not nearly so affected as I; she said that she knew it was going to be bad and thus, got exactly what she wanted. Yet, I, too, walked into the theater with low expectations, simply looking for so-called "mindless entertainment," and as I have written before, I have no problem with films that don't "teach" me anything. However, in order for War of the Worlds to have "met expectations," I literally would have had to anticipate it being a 90-minute, single shot of a pile of dung sitting by the side of the road. In fact, if I had expected to spend $8.25 to see (again, literally) a pile of feces and ended up seeing what Spielberg actually produced, then my expectations actually would have been surpassed...though just barely.

Hence, we really need a new category in the arts, one that allows us to describe a piece of trash as it really is without sullying other works in its genre. Even though I am not a science fiction fan, I am fair enough to know that sci-fi aficionados should be up in arms over Spielberg merely attempting to associate War of the Worlds with other sci-fi productions. More generally, I suggest that the entire movie industry reconsider whether War of the Worlds be allowed categorization under the broader headings of "film," "motion picture," or even "barely tolerable human artifact."

Thus, Excrement. I call on scholars, critics, and regular, everyday consumers of the arts to start using this new genre in their discussions of culture. It would help us to see that the effects of vile aesthetic creations transcend categories and degrade us all. War of the Worlds not only chips away at any progress science fiction may have made as a genre; it chips away at all of humanity.

There is one benefit behind Spielberg's current "film." It teaches us humility. As the Titanic and Hindenburg reminded us of the limits of our technological prowess and as World War I showed how Western Civilization had not overcome its petty hatred and squabbling, War of the Worlds reminds us that for all of our "progress" in the arts, we so easily regress — not just to the level of mediocrity but to the level of Excrement. Ecclesiastes is right: "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun" (Ecc. 1:9). Humanity always has been capable of producing excrement, and we still are. Thank you, Mr. Spielberg, for reminding us of this timeless truth.

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Comment # 1

Gosh, golly, Kevin! You've invited so many different kinds of rebuttals from so many different kinds of people (including your wife)!

I think I'll withhold my thoughts on sci-fi and fantasy and start with a question: what exactly don't you like about the movie? You make a few gestures at Star Trek, but mention absolutely no details from Spielberg's film. Or did its feces-factor so befuddle your senses that all you can do is gasp and cough out a desperate curse? Pick the, uh, "crap" out of your nose, take a deep breath, and give us Part 2, eh? - Paul Marchbanks

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Comment # 2

Wow, your review sure left us hanging! You had that title that was sure to suck us in, but then never told us why you thought the movie was excrement. Or perhaps you've done so consciously...as a way to create a subtle parallel between your review and the movie? - Herb

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My Response

Paul poses a fair question: What, exactly, in War of the Worlds raised my ire? My review was both a brief meditation on science fiction and an attempt to give form to my visceral reaction to Spielberg's production; however, I wholly admit that it did lack some specifics. I'll try to (briefly) rectify that by focusing on my two primary critiques.

First, War of the Worlds suffers from the malady of being an action scene looking for a movie. After a brief introduction of the main characters, the alien invasion begins, Ray Ferrier (Tom Cruise) et al take off in a stolen van, cities are destroyed, people scream and die. The plot is thin (action is the plot), character development is non-existent, and Spielberg provides no background, context, or lead-up. It's just action, which is not only exhausting but annoying. If Spielberg had nothing more to say than "Wow! Alien invasion is scary stuff!" then he should have waited until something more substantial entered his creative mind.

Paul, I wholeheartedly agree with your sentiments in your own review of this film. We need to be reminded of God's sovereignty, wrath, and power. We need to remember that God cannot be mocked (Gal. 6:7) and that our entire existence is owing to His will and pleasure. Unfortunately, War of the Worlds is not a good vehicle to remind us of the value of fear (godly or otherwise) because its near constant stream of violence and "suspense" eventually leads to immunity and boredom. After a few scary moments at the beginning, I just became tired of the non-stop action and spent much of the rest of the movie looking at my watch, waiting for the credits to roll.

If one wants to learn the value of fear, then I recommend Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho. I remember watching it in 1998, when I was a cynical, snarky 23-year-old (as opposed to my current status as a cynical, snarky 30-year-old) and anticipating being amused at the relatively benign content that freaked out average moviegoers in 1960. The laugh, however, was on me: Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) scared me silly, largely because Hitchcock masterfully built the fear and suspense associated with his character to a fever pitch. Psycho's subtle examination of what can frighten us taught me more about fear and human vulnerability than Spielberg's War of the Worlds ever could.

My second main critique of the film stems from its flat, contrived characters that produced absolutely no level of sympathy in me. For example, Robbie (Justin Chatwin) was just an annoying punk kid whose nadir came when he selfishly insisted on abandoning his family so that he could watch (join in?) the military's fight against the aliens. That apparently was something he "had to do." Why? What good would that have done? Why was that even written into the script? Dakota Fanning's considerable talents were wasted by Spielberg et al as they had her spend at least one-third of the movie screaming in an annoyingly high pitch; as such, I didn't feel pain for her — I received pain from her. As for Tom Cruise's portrayal of Ray Ferrier, I just didn't "feel" the anguish of a father trying to protect his children. (In fairness, this failure was a function of Josh Friedman's and David Koepp's flat, plotless script.)

Thus, I hope that I have answered Paul's fair and honest question by providing some specific reasons for my absolute dislike of War of the Worlds. As for Herb's comment: it's cute but ultimately nothing more than a cheap shot.