Is George Pal’s The War of the Worlds ready to thrill again, or after forty years of George Lucas ray-zapping and spaceship-zooming, will a new generation of movie fans deem it a fossil? Veteran director Byron Haskin certainly gave the show everything he had, and the snappy screenplay moves the story forward like a house afire.
Even though it couldn’t boast movie stars, The War of the Worlds was “A-film” science fiction, made before Hollywood decided that spaceships and aliens were best left to the quickie producers. Expensive color Sci-fi productions of the early genre boom can practically be listed on the fingers of one hand: Destination Moon, When Worlds Collide, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, This Island Earth, Forbidden Planet. This ambitious Technicolor shocker was advertised as a class offering — the first posters showed only a gnarled claw clutching at the Earth from Outer Space. The intelligent & exciting adventure links H.G. Wells’ original tale with 1950s atom worries: will mysterious enemies threaten us with unopposable weapons of super-destruction? What could we do?

I have a lot to say about Criterion’s new Blu-ray, which displays the handsome digital restoration undertaken by Paramount Pictures in 2018. Special preview screenings were met with thunderous approval. TCM showed it once last year and an Australian disc surfaced a few months ago; it’s also available to stream. The Criterion mark of quality stirred up enthusiastic anticipation from the fans, the core boomer demographic for which TWOTW is a holy Sci-fi icon. Steven Spielberg was definitely deeply affected by George Pal’s Martian invasion; his 2005 remake is a fine piece of work.
One would have to have been raised on Mars to have never heard of The War of the Worlds. Vacationing Pacific Tech scientist Dr. Clayton Forrester (Gene Barry) is summoned when a meteor lands intact in a California forest. He meets attractive library specialist Sylvia Van Buren (Ann Robinson) at the impact site, and hangs around for it to cool off and permit further examination. The oddly shaped projectile is not a meteor, but the first of hundreds of alien landing craft, from which emerge gigantic hovering fighting machines. Armed with heat rays and disintegrator beams, the evil-looking machines are protected from attack by invisible force fields. They begin an all-out assault on human civilization. In a matter of days the entire world is overrun by the Martian invasion. Clayton and Sylvia rush to organize a scientific defense at Pacific Tech even as the battle front reaches downtown Los Angeles.
I had already read the book at age 13 but didn’t know that a movie had been made of The War of the Worlds. I first saw it in 1965 as a surprise feature on a kiddie double-bill, with Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors. It was in beautiful Technicolor — I think they must have struck new prints. The audience was soundly shaken by the sheer power of George Pal’s blitzkrieg from outer space. We weren’t accustomed to such effective filmmaking in monster movies or war movies. The sound track was a barrage of threatening explosions and weird noises. I remember vividly the nervous sensation when the unseen aliens were preparing to launch their attack, and the screams that accompanied the first blast of the heat ray. And when the alien crept into the crushed farmhouse, smaller kids were ready to cry.
In other words, the picture played the audience like an early Steven Spielberg thriller. It had emotional highs and lows and special effects that at the time simply looked real. We stared gaga-eyed at the scale of destruction. As the war machines crept down city streets their heat rays ignited buildings. Telephone lines smoked and melted. The Japanese The Mysterians (1959) had been very exciting, but only once or twice did it actually seem frightening for this small child. The War of the Worlds kept me at the edge of my seat for the entire running time, mouth agape.

The show’s motivating factor is war fear. Producer George Pal knew that terror personally, having been chased from Europe by threats of invasion. Americans hadn’t directly experienced such a trauma since our Civil War. H.G. Wells’ 1898 book was about much more than Martians. It predicted a coming century of Brave New Wars employing ever more lethal applications of technology. Pal’s movie version updates the story to the Cold War years and removes Wells’ mostly first-person point of view. But the basic outline is retained. The alien onslaught is “a rout of civilization, a massacre of mankind.”
The updating of the alien menace is brilliant. Albert Nozaki’s sinister fighting machines haven’t dated in terms of extra-terrestrial design appeal. They seem to fly, even though it is established that an invisible electronic tripod is substituting for Wells’ original mechanical legs. Charles Gemora’s makeshift Martian is a hideous crab-like biped with a three-hued color television camera for an eye. Wells’ investigatory tentacle becomes a spy camera that looks like the gladiator helmet of the God of War.
Swift pacing and jarring set pieces keep us on edge. Relatively serene passages alternate with intensely suspenseful or violent highlights. A nervous newsreel (shades of the other Welles’ Citizen Kane) is followed by a real estate tour of planets for possible Martian invasion, narrated by Sir Cedric Hardwicke. Frightening scenes at the landing site are inter-cut with fun at a bucolic square dance. Pal and Haskin bridge transitions with loud noises, as with the jarring cut to the alien landing craft just as the unscrewed lid slides to the ground like a heavy manhole cover. The big beachhead battle is given a masterful buildup of suspense and dread. We can feel the tension tighten as Lewis Martin’s pacifist preacher greets the alien vanguard; his altruism echoes Dr. Carrington’s goodwill gesture in Howard Hawks’ The Thing from Another World (1951). The War of the Worlds was nominated for best editing and sound effects, which peak at the dynamic moment when the battle commences. A yellow heat ray blast cuts to a red-tinted close-up of Ann Robinson screaming. Then Colonel Heffner (Vernon Rich) shouts “Let ’em have it!” and the barrage erupts. It’s a stunning sequence.

What is it about 1950s Sci-fi that makes us so eager to see ‘Earth’s puny weapons’ out-fought by death rays, or destroyed by giant robots? Here we watch the cumulative firepower of WW2 blast away to no effect whatsoever. The aliens sit behind their protective blisters for a few moments, as if relieved to learn that the opposition is still stuck in the age of gunpowder. When they cut loose with their counterattack, two kinds of rays (and their associated weird sound effects) blast forth in a cyclone of white-hot sparks and green ‘meson flux.’ It’s like taking a blowtorch to an ant’s nest.
The authorities dawdle before reaching the conclusion that’s has already been reached by every eight year-old boy in the audience… let’s nuke these bastards, and fast. A delegation of military brass and media descend on the La Puente hills to witness the end of the alien armada. George Pal’s visuals suggest a rather weird inversion of The Sermon on the Mount: crowds of locals await the blast, eager for atomic angels to exact retribution with fiery swords. The hardbitten Major General (Les Tremayne) responds to total failure by throwing a Four Star tantrum: “Guns, tanks, bombs – they’re like toys against them!”
[Note: La Puente is pictured as a rural wilderness, just 25 miles from L.A. City Hall. Today that part of Southern California, and a hundred miles beyond, is almost all solid suburbs.]
From that point forward the fate of the world rests in the Hands of God. Always gentle and sincere, George Pal found room in all of his films for devout Christian values. At times this was awkward, what with the Old Testament judgmentalism of When Worlds Collide, or the mutiny of the religious maniac in Conquest of Space. This picture’s miraculous conclusion is a divine intervention by way of natural selection. The alien leadership sent mixed signals about wearing masks, resulting in a rude surprise when the bad bacterial news began to circulate. Quoth Private Hudson, That’s it, man! Game over, man!
George Pal’s scripts weren’t politically sophisticated, but his films are always heartfelt. The emotional climax here is melodramatic in the extreme. Sylvia and Clayton reunite in a church, among helpless refugees cowering as war machines close in for the kill. The War of the Worlds has survived with only a few unintentional laughs, and its uplifiting finale is still impressive.



