Mayhem and Meaning: What's Missing from War of the Worlds
by Dr. Marc T. Newman
July 1, 2005
(AgapePress) - Teleology is the philosophical study of purpose -- for example, in nature, design, or morality. Rick Warren's best-selling book, The Purpose Driven Life, would have been considered an unnecessary title at the beginning of the 20th century because people already believed that they had a purpose. The malaise that infected the late 20th century, and which continues unabated, comes from the loss of a sense of purpose among many in the West. We have become an a-teleological culture, but, I think, not an anti-teleological culture. We may not have a purpose, but we certainly are looking for one.Lack of purpose is why so many people are leaving Steven Spielberg's War of the Worlds (DreamWorks) remake with a hollow, unsatisfied feeling that I predict will dampen box-office receipts. What makes a movie a blockbuster is that people want to see it more than once. I cannot imagine wanting to sit through War of the Worlds again. And that is a shame, because Spielberg was given a story tailor-made for his kind of retelling. Unfortunately, in shifting War of the Worlds from a film about an attractive culture with transcendent underpinnings threatened by an unstoppable invasion to a film focusing on a self-centered derelict dad just trying to keep himself and his kids alive, Spielberg robs the films of catharsis and meaning -- no community, little love, and scant hope of transcendence.
MovieMinistry.com's analysis continues below
Publication of this analysis does not constitute endorsement of the film. MPAA has given this movie a PG-13 rating for frightening sequences of sci-fi violence and disturbing images. PluggedIn notes numerous instances of swear words and taking of the Lord's name in vain.
Community
Certainly there were attitudes prevalent in 1953 that are not worth preserving -- rampant racial prejudice for one -- and it is not my purpose to defend the 50s wholesale. But looking back on the original film version of War of the Worlds, the characters represented a likeable culture -- a way of life worth preserving. Viewers were drawn into, and identified with, people in the ensemble cast -- a doctor, a librarian, a minister, local law enforcement, and members of the military. Before the coming of the machines there were square dances and other emblems of community. Admittedly, the vision is idealized -- but it is attractive -- a culture worth fighting for.
Spielberg decides to turn War of the Worlds into a more personal story. Ray Ferrier is the central figure, and he is an unattractive mess. Work, for Ray, is a contentious place. His boss begs for some help, but Ray just walks on by citing labor union codes and setting the scene for an American culture in tension. Ray's home life, if it can be called that, mirrors his work life. A divorced father of two children, Ray forgets when he is supposed to be home to supervise them when his ex drops them off for the weekend. He has made no preparation for them. He is so disconnected from his daughter, Rachel, that when she seeks his support in the midst of the terror, begging him to sing her one of her lullabies, he doesn't know any them. The best he can muster is Little Deuce Coupe, a song by The Beach Boy's . In short, Ray is not a good man -- certainly not someone with whom audiences want to identify or support. Who would want to die for such a life?
Love
In the original War of the Worlds there is an improbable romance that buds between physicist Dr. Clayton Forrester and USC librarian Sylvia Van Buren. These two single people facing annihilation represent hope amid the ashes. As Sylvia's uncle, the local minister, marches out to his death, he commends the doctor to his niece. The relationship between Clayton and Sylvia is compelling to viewers who believe that love, marriage, and family are important. There is a warm affection between the pastor and his niece. The people in the town help one another through Civil Defense and the Red Cross. As the community faces perils together the audience pulls for them to make it because they represent a continuation of a culture of meaning and purpose.
The only person Ray loves, at least at the beginning of the film, is himself. Initially there does not appear to be a paternal bone in his body. The film is nearly devoid of any positive human feeling. The majority of the communication between father and children consists of bickering and passive aggression. While there is a primal sense of a desire to keep one's children alive, even there one child suspects that the only reason the three are headed to Boston is so that Ray can rid himself of his children and get back to serving himself -- a charge that goes, essentially, undenied. About all one can say about the relationships in the film is that they represent a cautionary tale about parental distance. Ray is unaware of his daughter's allergies. When Ray tries to sing to his daughter in her moment of need, his attempt is pathetic. We know that -- and from the look on his face, he knows it too. It is Ray's moment of turning, but it is little, and it comes very late.
The original film did show humanity at its worst -- when mobs attack a bus and a truck carrying scientists who are transporting, ironically, the equipment they believe is necessary to save the world. But the old film had many other scenes of people working together to achieve a common good. In Spielberg's film the only sensations viewers feel are panic and despair. The only person who actually tries to do something to help his fellow humans is Ray's son, Robbie. When a ferry pushes off early to avoid the oncoming machines, Ray protests, but Robbie is the one who leaps up on the ramp to pull stragglers to safety. It is a turning point for him, and later he decides to fight rather than flee. Beyond these small scenes it is mob behavior that rules. The only person who offers Ray shelter turns out to be a lunatic every bit as dangerous as the alien machines. The interaction brings out animality, not humanity, in Ray.
Transcendence
The major difference between the 1953 version of the film and its latest incarnation is the role played by religion. In the original film it was central -- in the latest film it is nearly entirely absent.
Early in the 1953 War of the Worlds we are introduced to Sylvia's uncle, Dr. Collins, the pastor of the community church. His theology is a little suspect, but his heart is in the right place. Pastor Collins makes the assumption that if a civilization is more technologically advanced that it must be "nearer the Creator," and so he tries to make contact with the invaders. He is not entirely without doubts -- as he approaches the craft he is reciting the 23rd Psalm. The pastor becomes one of the early casualties. But the emphasis on religion does not end there. Late in the film, as disaster seems inevitable, people are huddled together in many churches invoking the name of God and praying for divine intervention. And they get it. As the alien craft approaches the church it stumbles and crashes. All over the world the invaders are failing. As the Martian arm falls from the portal of the machine, a doctor on the scene diagnoses the cause of death, septicemia -- a blood infection. He says, "After everything men could do has failed -- the Martians are being killed by the littlest things that God, in His wisdom, has put upon the earth." Then the church choir and the parishioners break into the hymn Now Thank We All Our God.
There is a stunning lack of transcendent vision in Spielberg's retelling. Death and destruction lurk at every corner -- yet no one is seen praying or calling out to God. When Rachel becomes hysterical, all her older brother Robbie can offer is a psychological exercise that helps Rachel create some "safe space" -- cold comfort when you are being chased by aliens with death beams that turn humans to dust. The only appearance of a church is in an early scene when the alien craft first appears -- tearing Grace Lutheran in two. The only reference to God occurs at the end of the movie in a voice over by Morgan Freeman (I guess one could argue that Mr. Freeman played God in Bruce Almighty) in which he repeats the doctor's line, cited above. But having a narrator recognize God, when none of the characters do, comes across as odd and tacked on for the sake of historical continuity between the two versions.
The first film ends with a group of congregants thanking God for His deliverance. The second film ends with Ray walking down an empty street and then depositing his daughter with his ex-wife and her new family. Which vision do you find more uplifting?
Where to Go From Here
Spielberg's War of the Worlds fails to move because it lacks meaning. The humanity it reveals is ugly, alienated, and mostly morally vacuous. For that reason viewers are more inclined to be amazed at the special effects than they are to pull for that culture's survival. And this is telling, because the culture that Spielberg is lensing is a significant part of our own.
Philosopher Peter Kreeft, commenting on C.S. Lewis' The Abolition of Man, observed, "The most radically new feature of our civilization is not technology, its newly powerful means, but the lack of a summum bonum, an end. We are the first civilization that does not know why we exist." Spielberg's War of the Worlds does little to alleviate our questioning. The first film's characters found resolution in acknowledging the omniscience of God in providing for the needs of humanity. The best the characters in the second film can do, ending voiceover notwithstanding, is chalk up their survival to dumb luck. The film points up Hollywood's continuing inability to realistically dramatize faith in a contemporary context.
Thomas Frentz, rhetorical and cultural critic, argues that one of the ways to reclaim our teleology -- our sense of moral purpose -- is to go back and revisit our old stories, find out where we went wrong, and then move forward. I would suggest that in this instance a fitting place to return would be the 1953 version of War of the Worlds to see if viewers can recapture their sense of community and their ultimate, utter dependence on the grace of Almighty God.
Marc T. Newman, PhD (marc@movieministry.com) is the president of MovieMinistry.com -- an organization that provides sermon and teaching illustrations from popular film, and helps the Church use movies to reach out to others and connect with people.
