War of the Worlds

A gritty, intense and supremely accomplished sci-fier about some distinctly unbenign alien invaders.

Exploring the dark side of his old films E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial and Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Spielberg more than does justice to the granddaddy of all alien-invasion tales, H.G. Wells' still terrifying novel published in 1898.

Steven Spielberg's reasonably entertaining rendering of the 1898 H. G. Wells novel is an elemental story of predator and prey.

With War of the Worlds [Spielberg] has made what is arguably one of the best 1950s science fiction films ever.

War of the Worlds is a big, clunky movie containing some sensational sights but lacking the zest and joyous energy we expect from Steven Spielberg.

A greatest-hits package from our greatest living entertainer, there is almost overmuch to admire here, but only the moments that aspire to post-9/11 relevance chill as well as thrill.

Bewildered, mildly optimistic, holding out the hope of salvation in spite of everything in a blasted, empty landscape, War of the World is, in the end, and perhaps despite its intentions, a fairly tentative assertion of hope for the future.

H.G. Wells wouldn't recognize his 1898 alien-invasion novel, The War of the Worlds, in Steven Spielberg's updated film version. But Wells could probably relate to the ensuing fear and panic.

There likely won't be a more gripping film this year than Spielberg's War Of The Worlds, which at its best glides along like choreography with a camera, slowly parsing out information while shrouding the rest in shadow and suggestion.

Rarely has the term 'Hollywood ending' been quite as appropriate, and seldom has a denouement of that nature come so close to tainting all that came before.

The film succeeds as pure sensation, an exacting distillation of fear.