This is going to sound totally crazy, but here goes anyway...
I couldn't buy into WAR OF THE WORLDS.
Not because of the absurdity of invaders from outer space burying their death machines on planet Earth for one million years, waiting that long to activate them and not spending a few years researching our planet's microorganisms and developing vaccines against them...
Not because the towering tripods are vaporizing thousands upon thousands of people, when the aliens are here to harvest our blood (so why disintegrate everyone?)...
Not because Spielberg weakens and loses his nerve, letting Tom Cruise's son survive. The lad turns up at the end. He's staying with his mother at Gene Barry's house in Boston. This happy reunion is tacked on after a hugely emotional moment when we all thought the boy had decided to run headlong into the advancing tripods because he had to die facing them, instead of running away... He's an American, dammit!
No, what I can't buy into is that these events are taking place in a parallel universe where no one has ever heard of the story THE WAR OF THE WORLDS. Not once in the entire film does anyone say, "Hey, this is just like what H.G. Wells predicted in his novel THE WAR OF THE WORLDS!" Nor does anyone observe: "Remember that old Orson Welles radio play – the Martian invasion broadcast that had half the population of the Eastern Seaboard heading for the hills? It was just like this, like what is happening before our very eyes! Welles was predicting the end of humanity!"
So for this simple reason, I couldn't suspend disbelief.
But WAR OF THE WORLDS is a good picture anyway. Summer popcorn fun at the air-conditioned multiplex. Everything Welles hated in the modern-day cinema. Go see it anyway.

