Faster than speeding brain-candy; more powerful than a Scientology lawyer; able to leap off furniture in a single bound. Look! Up in the sky "it's a bird; it's a plane" no, it's Tom Cruise fleeing from aliens who are destroying Earth in massive three-legged SUV's. See? Tom was right after all; the aliens really are coming to get us. And now, thanks to SuperTom, we know exactly what to do when the aliens attack; go to Boston. Why? I dunno - I guess getting a contact high from Ted Kennedy is certain death to aliens with heads shaped like Flying Nun hats. We all knew Ted was good for something. So welcome to War Of The Worlds, or as it might be titled: Alien-Implemented Eminent Domain (thanks a lot, Supreme Court).
Here is the plot of War Of The Worlds in a little tripod: aliens attempt to exterminate Earthlings. Angry ET Orkin Plan ensues.
Simultaneously flashy and tediously annoying, War Of The Worlds begins with the disembodied voice of Morgan Freeman (who has played God once before). Freeman informs us that as we went about our daily humdrum lives, evil forces from far away were plotting to destroy us with rude, arrogant, ugly creatures who seek to annihilate anyone who is not on their team. No Shiite, Morgan; I've see the Al Qaida on the news. I half expected the aliens to pop out of their death machines and yell "Allah akbar! Down down Boosh! Lu-lu-lu-lu-lu!"
The PC nonsense blasts out like a death-ray when Tom's ex-wife drops off his two insolent offspring; one full of teenage angst, the other a little know-it-all brat - both in need of major attitude adjustments (which they get in spades very soon). Not that single-parent Tom is much of a Father. While tossing a baseball back and forth in the backyard, the teenybopper boy argues boldly with his Dad and "borrows" his car without asking. The pre-teenybopper girl tells her father, "That's no way to get through to him." Thanks, kid; when I need advice from a 10-year-old, I'll let you know.
Parents are often not a good thing, especially if that parent is a single father. Fathers are men. Men cannot be trusted. Men do things like start wars, cut down trees, scratch their privates in public and drill for oil (like that awful Boosh family). Men are bad – vote for Hillary. Because we all know it takes a village and you don't need parents at all if you put your trust in Publik Skools and Big Brother Guv'mint. I know this, because Hollyweird tells me so.
Mo' otherworldly PC invades immediately after the aliens attack. We see fleeing Americans pointing guns at each other, fighting each other and generally letting mob rule. Other Americans wander aimlessly through the amber waves of grain, wondering where to go. This is the liberal view of the average American; lost sheep that need government guidance. Not a single citizen militia arises. Even the military seems powerless.
Without the benevolent Big Brother Guv'mint to provide sustenance, Americans are doomed. We as Americans are not self-sufficient, inventive nor resourceful. The Guv'mint does all that for us and that is as it should be. We need to raise taxes and also to realize that the money the Guv'mint has is theirs, not ours and they know better what to do with it than we do. I know this, because Hollyweird tells me so.
Leftists forget (or plainly deny) that moments after 9/11, Americans of all stripes pulled together without much help from the Feds. People volunteered; neighbor helped neighbor; so-called-self-proclaimed "minorities" stopped hyphenating their Americanism. For a moment there, there were no "African-Americans", "Italian-Americans", "Mexican-Americans", etc. We were all simply Americans. The liberals stood by in stunned silence - and waited for the furor to die down. While conservatives hunted down and killed terrorists, liberals gave terrorists ACLU attorneys. Sadly the average American, too busy to notice, has all but forgotten what transpired in 2001.
Later Tom and his bratty daughter take refuge in a basement and there they meet Mr. Consummate Socialist himself, Tim Robbins ("Harlan"). Robbins looks way out of place playing a countrified, shotgun-toting rube. One thing that does speak to typecasting in this redneck role is that "Harlan" is looking to save only his own red neck – and that is particularly indicative of a Hollyweirdo. And then there's a very uncomfortable child-molestation reference. Eventually Tom takes a shovel to him, and well - as the Dixie Chicks once said (before they, too, went nuts) "Earl had to die." Even worse, Harlan totes a rifle (oh nooooooo!) and drinks peach schnapps (insert fainting sound here) and wants to bag himself one of them there ET critters.
Bad white rifle-toting country boys! Bad bad bad!
Imagine the squealing from the left if "Harlan" was a black man from the inner city carrying a Saturday night special, or an Hispanic/Asian woman or a Jewish guy wearing a yarmulke (ohmygawd NO!). Nope, the bad guy has got to be a whitey, cuz them whitey's is crazy, don'tcha know. So whack away with the shovel, Tommy boy - hit 'em twice.
Come to think of it, other than a background player here and there, there are no brutha's in War Of The Worlds at all. Perhaps the aliens got them first. I can see the New York Times headline now: WORLD TO END TODAY; MINORITIES WILL SUFFER MOST.
Imagine the hushed tones in the movie audience if they showed the invaders blowing up buildings in New York City - hmm.
There are some really cool things to see in War Of The Worlds. See a really cool 1968 Mustang. See a really cool flaming train. See really cool Wizard Of Oz tornadic cloud formations. See Auntie Em get vaporized. See New Jersey get its ass kicked (okay, that part was fun). See Tom Cruise put the whack on Tim Robbins (that part was fun, too). See bigass stomping alien tripod gizmos, complete with bloody-goo sprayers, death-ray shooters and foghorn hooters (I gotta get me one of those). See Gene Barry and Ann Robinson, stars of the original 1953 movie, in a cameo as Snotty Mommy's mother and father. See Steven Spielberg himself in the crowd walking up to the ferryboat. See stuff blow up. See more stuff blow up. See a whole lotta stuff blow up.
Like all movies in this genre, War Of The Worlds is rife with implausibilities. Such as, if the aliens were so technically advanced, why didn't they realize Earth air was toxic to them? All electrical and battery-operated devices were rendered inoperable - so why did cameras and video equipment work? How come three people can hide behind a 4-foot mirror and the high-tech alien sensor-thingy didn't see them? Why didn't the aliens attack the upper-crusters in Cambridge? Why would anyone being chased by fast-moving, unstoppable death machines try to escape on a slowpoke ferryboat? Where's Scotty when you really need him? Oh yeah, God beamed him up.
War Of The Worlds has 4 of the 5 Bachelor B's. Blood (sprayed all over), Beasts (part spider monkey, part cockroach) Bashes (aliens smashin stuff up real good) and Bombs (aliens blowin stuff up real good). No Breasts. Where's Paris Hilton when you really need her?
Limp-wristed feelm crit-teeks will no doubt decry the lack of ahk-tors emoooting and the plethora of CGI destruction, but as usual they miss the whole point. When we the huddling masses who live in the "fly-over zones" go to a film titled War Of The Worlds, we expect to see aliens blowing stuff up and chasing humans around. We want gunfire, laser beams and creepy creatures. We do not want to see overpriced pontificating heads babbling to one another. Which brings me to another point; there is no reason for Tom Cruise to be in this film at all. Basically all Tom does is run willy-nilly with aliens in hot pursuit. Heck, even Ben Stiller could've done that - and cheaper, too.
Besides, if you want to see the real alien invasion, go to Taco Bell in East L.A.
I give War Of The Worlds three and a half Capitalist Dollar Signs.