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The first two thirds of the 60-minute broadcast was presented as a series of simulated news bulletins, which suggested to many listeners that an actual Martian invasion was in progress. Compounding the issue was the fact that the Mercury Theatre on the Air was a ’sustaining show’ it ran without commercial breaks, thus adding to the dramatic effect. Although there were sensationalist accounts in the press about a supposed panic in response to the broadcast, the precise extent of listener response has been debated. In the days following the adaptation, however, there was widespread outrage. The program’s news-bulletin format was decried as cruelly deceptive by some newspapers and public figures, leading to an outcry against the perpetrators of the broadcast, but the episode launched Orson Welles to fame.

Later studies indicate that many missed the repeated notices that the broadcast was fictional, partly because the Mercury Theatre an unsponsored “cultural” program with a relatively small audience ran opposite the popular Chase and Sanborn Hour over the Red Network of NBC, hosted by Don Ameche and featuring comic ventriloquist Edgar Bergen and singer Nelson Eddy, three of the most popular figures in broadcasting. About 15 minutes into the Chase and Sanborn program the first comic sketch ended and a musical number began, and many listeners began tuning around the dial at that point. According to the American Experience program The Battle Over Citizen Kane, Welles knew the schedule of the Chase and Sanborn show, and scheduled the first report from Grover’s Mill at the 12-minute mark to heighten the audience’s confusion. As a result, some listeners happened upon the CBS broadcast at the point the Martians emerge from their spacecraft.

The problem is that the working script had only three statements concerning the fictional nature of the program: at the beginning, at 40 minutes, and at the end. In fact, the warning at the 40-minute mark is the only one after the actors start speaking in character, and before Welles breaks character at the end. This structure is similar to earlier Mercury Theatre broadcasts: due to the lack of sponsorship which often included a commercial message at the 30-minute mark during an hour-long show, Welles and company were able to schedule breaks at will, depending on the pacing of a narrative. Furthermore, the show’s technique of jumping between scenes and narratives made it hard for the audience to distinguish between fact and fiction, so it is understandable that they were no more likely to perceive the three statements of the fictional nature of the program as being ‘outside’ the narrative, than they were to perceive the introduction and subsequent interruption of the music as being ‘inside’ the narrative.

Seattle CBS affiliate stations KIRO and KVI broadcast Orson Welles’ radio drama. While this broadcast was heard around the country, it made a deep impact in Concrete, Washington. At the point where the Martian invaders were invading towns and the countryside with flashes of light and poison gases and the lights were going down, there was a loud explosion and a power failure plunged almost the entire town of 1,000 into darkness. Some listeners fainted while others grabbed their families to head into the mountains. Others headed for the hills to guard their moonshine stills. One was said to have jumped up out of his chair and, in bare feet, run two miles to the center of town. Some men grabbed their guns, and one Catholic businessman got his wife into the car, drove to the nearest service station and demanded gasoline. Without paying the attendant, he rushed to Bellingham, Washington 50 miles away to see his priest for a last-minute absolution of sins. He reportedly told the gas-station attendant that paying for the gas “wouldn’t make any difference, everyone is going to die”

On December 22, 1991, the student-run satire TV show Ku-Ku on Bulgarian state channel Kanal 1 broadcast reports of an accident in the Bulgarian Kozloduy Nuclear Power Plant, to draw attention to the lack of preparedness for such an accident. The impact was heightened due to memory of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant disaster and its incomplete coverage by official media during 1986. The show used TV news reporters because actors from the show would have been recognized. Reminders of the program’s fictional nature were broadcast during music video breaks but largely ignored. There were reports of people taking iodine pills to protect their thyroid glands from radiation. In the aftermath, the show was canceled, but trial charges against director, screenwriter and producer were dismissed.citation needed

Excerpt Taken From http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_War_of_the_Worlds_(radio)

After the attack, the narrator takes his wife to Leatherhead to stay with relatives until the threat is eliminated. Upon returning home, he discovers the Martians have assembled towering three-legged “fighting-machines” armed with a heat-ray and a chemical weapon: “the black smoke”. These Tripods easily defeat army units positioned around the crater and proceed to attack surrounding communities. Fleeing the scene, the narrator meets a retreating artilleryman, who tells him that another cylinder has landed between Woking and Leatherhead, cutting the narrator off from his wife. The two men try to escape together, but are separated at the Shepperton to Weybridge Ferry during a Martian attack on Shepperton. One of the Martian fighting machines is brought down in the River Thames by British artillery, causing its hot heat-ray equipment to almost boil the water as the narrator and countless others try to cross the river into Middlesex.

The scientific fascinations of the novel are established in the opening chapter, where the narrator views Mars through a telescope, and Wells offers the image of the superior Martians having observed human affairs, as through watching tiny organisms through a microscope. Ironically, it is microscopic Earth lifeforms that finally prove deadly to the invasion force.5 In 1894 a French astronomer observed a ’strange light’ on Mars, and published his findings in the scientific journal Nature on 2 August of that year. Wells used this observation to open the novel, imagining these lights to be the launching of the Martian cylinders towards Earth. American astronomer Percival Lowell published the book Mars in 1895, suggesting features of the planets surface observed through telescopes might be canals. He speculated that these might be irrigation channels constructed by a sentient life form to support existence on an arid, dying world, similar to that Wells suggests the Martians have left behind. 16 The novel also presents ideas related to Charles Darwin’s theory of natural selection, both in specific ideas discussed by the narrator, and themes explored by the story.

By the time Wells came to write The War of the Worlds, there had been three centuries of observation of Mars through telescopes. Galileo, in 1610, observed the planet’s phases and in 1666 Giovanni Cassini identified the polar ice caps.6 In 1878, Italian astronomer, Giovanni Virginio Schiaparelli observed geological features which he called canali Italian for “channels”. This was mistranslated into the English as “canals” which, being artificial watercourses, fueled the belief that there was some sort of intelligent extraterrestrial life on the planet. It has been suggested in recent years, that the canals were actually the result of a disease that made Giovanni see his own eye structure which he assumed were canals. This further influenced American astronomer Percival Lowell.22

The Martian invasion proceeds with total disregard for human life attacks on people and their environment are conducted with the heat-ray, with poisonous gas, the Black Smoke, delivered by rockets, and the Red Weed. These weapons brought almost total destruction to the capital of the British Empire and its surrounding counties. It also involves the strategic destruction of infrastructure such as armament stores, railways and telegraph lines. It appears to be intended to cause maximum casualties, terrorizing and leaving humans without any will to resist. These tactics became more common as the twentieth Century progressed, particularly from the 1930s with the development of mobile weapons and technology capable of ’surgical strikes’ on key military and civilian targets.24

Wells’ description of chemical weapons – the Black Smoke used by the Martian fighting machines to murder human beings en masse – was later a reality during the First World War, with the use of Mustard Gas.13 The rockets used by the Martians to deliver the Black Smoke are conceptual precursors of FROGs Free Rocket Over Ground, rockets with chemical warheads, which were a key strategic weapon in Soviet attack plans for the invasion of Europe. The Heat-Ray, used by the Martians to annihilate nineteenth century military technology, and cause widespread devastation, is a precursor to the concept of laser weaponry, now widely familiar. Comparison between lasers and the Heat-Ray was made as early as the later half of the 1950s when lasers were still in development. Prototypes of mobile laser weapons have been developed and it is now being researched and tested as a possible future weapon in space. 24

H.G. Wells was a student of Thomas Henry Huxley, who was a major influence upon him. Huxley was commonly referred to as ‘Darwin’s bulldog’. This was as a result of his vigorous defense of Charles Darwin’s theory of natural selection against criticism by the Victorian religious establishment during the later half of the nineteenth century. They saw the theory of natural selection as an attempt to suggest that the development of life on earth did not require any kind of supernatural explanation such as a divine creator. Darwin’s theory suggested that every species was competing to survive in a given environment and the species which had evolved the most useful biological adaptions to that environment, was most likely to survive and produce offspring also possessing these useful characteristics.27

The novel also suggests a potential future for human evolution and perhaps a warning against overvaluing intelligence against more human qualities. The Narrator describes the Martians as having evolved an overdeveloped brain, which has left them with cumbersome bodies, with increased intelligence, but a diminished ability to use their emotions, something Wells attributes to bodily function. The Narrator refers to an 1893 publication suggesting that the evolution of the human brain might outstrip the development of the body, and organs such as the stomach, nose, teeth and hair would wither, leaving humans as thinking machines, needing mechanical devices much like the Tripod fighting machines, to be able to interact with their environment. This publication is probably Wells’s own “The Man of the Year Million”, published in the Pall Mall Gazette on November 6, 1893, which suggests similar ideas.2930

While Invasion Literature had provided an imaginative foundation for the idea of the heart of the British Empire being conquered by foreign forces, it was not until The War of the Worlds, that the reading public of the time were presented with an adversary so completely superior to themselves and the Empire they were part of.31 A significant motivating force behind the success of The British Empire was its use of sophisticated technology the Martians, also attempting to establish an empire on Earth, have technology superior to their British adversaries.32 In writing The War of the Worlds, Wells turned the confident position of a reader in the British Empire on its head, putting an imperial power in the position of being the victim of imperial aggression and thus perhaps encouraging the reader to consider the nature of imperialism itself.31

Social Darwinism was a theory which applied Darwin’s theory of Natural Selection to ethnic groups and social classes. It suggested that the success of these different ethnic groups in world affairs, and social classes in a society were the result of evolutionary forces, a struggle in which the group or class more fit to succeed did so ie, the ability of an ethnic group to dominate other ethnic groups, or the chance to succeed or rise to the top of society was determined by biology, not by the effort of individuals, and the offspring of the dominant groups were destined to succeed because they were more evolved. In more modern times it is typically seen as dubious and unscientific for its apparent use of Darwin’s ideas to justify the position of the rich and powerful, or dominant ethnic groups. It was a theory exploited by the Nazis to justify their actions, was at one time used to justify the repression of women, and even used to justify sterilizing people thought to belong to an inferior type.34

Wells was born into a family which, while middle class, was not well to do and matured in a society where the merit of an individual was not considered as important as their social class of origin. His father was a professional sportsman, which was seen as inferior, because this was an area that ‘gentlemen’ only indulged in as an amateur pastime. His mother was at one time a domestic servant, and Wells himself was, prior to his writing career, apprenticed to a draper. His achievements were hard won. Trained as a scientist, well aware of evolutionary theory, he was able to relate his experiences of struggle to Darwin’s idea of a world of struggle, but he saw science as a rational system, which extended beyond traditional ideas of race, class and religious notions, and this gave his fiction a critical edge which challenged the use of science to explain political and social norms of the day.35

In keeping with the rational scientific outlook of the novel, good and evil appear to be entirely relative in The War of the Worlds, and the defeat of the Martians does not involve any kind of divine power. It is as a result of an entirely material cause, the action of microscopic bacteria. An insane clergyman is a key character in the novel, but his attempts to relate the invasion to some kind of biblical enactment of Armageddon seem only to reinforce his mental derangement.30 His death, as a result of his evangelical outbursts and ravings attracting the attention of the Martians, appears to be an indictment of his outdated religious attitudes making him a candidate for culling by natural selection, at the hands of the superior evolved Martians.36

In 1727 Jonathan Swift published Gulliver’s Travels. The tale included a race of beings similar but not identical to humanity, who are obsessed with mathematics and are superior to humans. They populate a floating island fortress called Laputa, four and one half miles in diameter, which uses its shadow to prevent sun and rain from reaching earthly nations over which it travels, ensuring they will pay tribute to the Laputians. 40 Voltaire’s Micromgas 1752 includes two aliens, from Saturn and Sirius, who are of immense size and visit the Earth out of curiosity. At first they think the planet is uninhabited, due to the difference in scale between them and the peoples of Earth. When they discover the haughty Earth-centric views of Earth philosophers, they are greatly amused by how important Earth beings think they are compared to greater beings in the universe such as themselves. 41

The first science fiction to be set on Mars may be Across the Zodiac: The Story of a Wrecked Record, by Percy Greg, published in 1880. It was a long-winded book concerned with a civil war on Mars. Another Mars novel, although dealing with benevolent martians coming to Earth to give humankind the benefit of their advanced knowledge, was published in 1897 by Kurd Lasswitz, Two Planets Auf Zwei Planeten. It was not translated until 1971, and thus may not have influenced Wells, although it did depict a Mars influenced by the ideas of Percival Lowell.42 Other examples are Mr. Stranger’s Sealed Packet 1889, which took place on Mars, Gustavus W. Popes’s Journey to Mars 1894, and Ellsworth Douglas’s Pharaoh’s Broker, in which the protagonist encounters an Egyptian civilization on Mars which, while parallel to that of the Earth has evolved somehow independently.43

Other narratives, in addition to utilizing the alien invasion trope, also involve the appearance of tripod alien fighting machines. The Tripods, a science fiction trilogy for young adults written in the late 1960s by John Christopher is perhaps the most prominent example. The books, which were later part dramatized by the BBC in the mid 1980s, depict an invasion by aliens known as ‘The Masters’, whose superior technology easily defeats modern armies. Set centuries later, human beings are subdued by pacifying mind control devices, and watched over by the aliens, who use Tripods as transport. The tripods give no clue as to the nature of their occupants, and are worshiped by the majority of humanity. They are eventually defeated by a rebellion using rediscovered Earth technology and human ingenuity. 45 John Christopher admitted in a BBC documentary called The Cult of the Tripods that the alien war machines were inspired, at least subconsciously, by The War of the Worlds.

Excerpt Taken From http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_War_of_the_Worlds

In October 2007 Ebury Press published The World at War, a new book by Richard Holmes, an oral history of the Second World War drawn from the interviews conducted for the TV series. The programme’s producers committed hundreds of interview-hours to tape in its creation, but only a fraction of that recorded material made it to the final cut. A selection of the rest of this material was published in this book, which included interviews with Albert Speer, Karl Wolff Himmler’s adjutant, Traudl Junge Hitler’s secretary, James Stewart USAAF bomber pilot and Hollywood star, Anthony Eden, John Colville Parliamentary Private Secretary to Winston Churchill, Averell Harriman US Ambassador to Russia and Arthur Harris Head of RAF Bomber Command.

Excerpt Taken From http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_World_at_War

H.G. WELLS’ THE WAR OF THE WORLDSTHE WAR TO END ALL WARSTHE MOVIE VERSION OF H.G. WELLS’ CLASSIC NOVEL &quotTHE WAR OF THE WORLDS&quotA PENDRAGON PICTURES PRODUCTION.PRODUCED BY SUSAN GOFORTHDIRECTED BY TIMOTHY HINESTHE CURATE JOHN KAUFMANN.ANTHONY PIANA AS THE WRITERJACK CLAY AS OGILVYWowWow is the right expression for WAR OF THE WORLDS. Working with Tim Hines was an exciting experience. He is consumed with filming this story, and doing so in its Victorian context rather than in a diluted modern adaptation. Tim’s vision, his passion, his commitment, and astounding energy were career highlights for me. I loved working for him and only hope my performance half measures up to his inspiration. He is, of course, wonderfully supported and encouraged by the radiant Susan Goforth, who believes with equal passion in this WOW project. The mounting excitement over the appearance of the film is well founded. I can only say, wowH.G. WELLS’THE WAR OF THE WORLDSCAST DIARIESPendragon Pictures presents the major motion picture, H.G. WELLS’ THE WAR OF THE WORLDS, produced by Susan Goforth, directed by Timothy Hines.STENT DANIEL SOMERFIELD, OGILVY JACK CLAY, &amp HENDERSON W. BERNARD BAUMANTAKE IN THE AMAZING SIGHT OF THE MARTIANS IN THE PIT ON HORSELL COMMON.Fans of ClassicSci-Fi MoviesWill Love This FilmANTHONY PIANA ASTHE WRITERLooking for Lawrence“See that ridge about 200 yards away I would like you to start off camera right — running and making your way to the top of that ridge — and run down off camera left. This is going to be a ‘Lawrence of Arabia shot’, can you see it The light is just perfect- so let’s do this” — Director Tim Hines says with a gleeful anticipation of capturing the shot of the day –My Victorian dress shoes slip busily on baked cracked dirt from the 90-degree day. With excitement and wool flapping from my period three piece suit, I begin an anxious jog. I make my way to off camera right — the base of the ridge. Emotionally I prepare, recounting the moments before, the terror of seeing these foreign creatures emerge from the pit, the horror of the incinerating heat ray. My friends, neighbors, local townspeople taken in a swift passing — men on horses, children on bicycles — all vanished before my eyes. The smell of burning heather and clothes — the broken state of flight I have taken on foot leading me over this ridge now…The Assistant Director gives me the “go” sign. Images of camels and Peter O’Toole race through my mind as I approach the incline. I approach what I’ll shortly find is a steep hill –DARLENE RENEE SELLERSAS MRS. ELPHINSTONE&quotSo vain is man, and so blinded by his vanity . . .&quotHow fortunate I felt to discover a project with so many giving people.  Cast and crew was all lovely, good natured, down to earth folks dedicated to creating a true-to-book rendition of the H.G. Wells story.  Refreshing.One particularly enjoyable day, we found ourselves subject to the elements.  Director Timothy Hines was wise enough to recognize that the weather refused to bend to his will, and he kindly sequestered the talent away to the safety of our trailers.  The gifted Hair and Makeup crews had performed miracles that morning in transforming us into our Victorian representations, and so we found ourselves somewhat limited in our choice of entertainment.   The brother, the quintessential perfectionist, dedicated himself to his studies.  Meanwhile, Miss Elphinstone and myself occupied our time with trimming newspaper hats.  We had just settled the radio dial on Bach having considered the Clash, the Doors, Johnny Cash and P.Diddy and discussed a kettle for tea when we were called to the set.  Despite our collective insistence that filming needed to resume, the skies opened up and the downpour began.  Out came the umbrellas, and the first to be covered was not the director.  Nor the crew.  Not even the investors.  The initial umbrellas went to the cameras.  Subsequent bumbershoots went to the talent.BELOW: THE WRITER LISTENS INTENTLY TOOGILVY DESCRIBE THE ERUPTIONS ON MARS Losing the LightDay one of shooting. Scene Writer collapses from exhaustion — parched lips — sun beaten back — knees that have passed there prime — walking through a golden field of wheat — oxblood suspenders hang from tattered wool — catching my eyes from rolling back — with a unseen slip, then fall — back laid out on a bed of straw and dirt — one last flash of horror from events left behind — then darkness.&quot And cut,” Director Tim Hines says in a brisk voice, which I’ve come to anticipate. Crewmember voices drift in and out. The moving of the camera — a different angle — losing the light of the day, I lay still for the final close up — eyes closed and slowly fall into a dream.“I need you back at the top of the ridge.” So I make my way back to the ridge, through the unforgettable kisses of the thistle — on top once more. “Okay I need you to step your way towards the camera until I say stop” – then and there lightning hits.  I am the first person to have now conquered the “Ridge.&quot From 200 yards away I reply to Tim — “I can’t do that” — “Okay step down towards your right then,” replies Tim. “I can’t do that.” “Anthony I just need a shot of you coming towards the camera.” “Tim, I can’t do that.” “What do you mean,” asks Tim, wondering how to communicate from afar — “There is nothing in front of me or in back of me, just cliff.”Thankfully I was understood with much laughter and grinning smiles — not only did we get our shot — our light – and story linked — we ended the day with a great deal of joy — I would come to find that most of our days would conclude in the same manner.clawing with hands — gripping with knees. I remember Tim painting our late afternoon “beauty shot” of me gliding over the ridge, unbridled, like a stallion with open field ahead of oneself. As I find footing with thorn-like plants and loose rock, I asked myself briefly if Tim or anyone had ever walked to the top of this ridge, all the time knowing my main goal is to get to the “Ridge”. With scuffed leather and sweat I make it — make it to the now “holy ridge” — which is 2 yards in length and 1 yard in width — without hesitation I must complete my run off camera left –With now a new drawn terror — I slide down the opposite incline into the awaiting arms of a thick, dense field of thistle bushes. They wrap themselves and tug at my wool not to go — finally off camera – “and cut” I can hear in Tim’s voice we got it — we got the picture we all strove, shot-by-shot, to capture throughout each day of shooting –experimenting with long periods of solitude, as Wells had done with his main character — then finding the chaos and bustle of the metropolitan streets as refuge.The Actors Instrument — my voice, body, emotions, and imagination now would start their journey. I was now prepared to uphold the demands of making such an epic film, as well as acting out the attention to details which the novel, the fans and Director Tim Hines demanded.  These events, actions, and undertakings would then lead me up to my first day of shooting — regardless if it was a war against daily fatigue — a war against losing the perfect light — or the war of bringing Wells’ words to a physical incarnation — we had after several months finished filming the first ever adaptation of H.G. Wells’ 1898 novel ‘The War of the Worlds’ — that is something I will always remain proud of…Herbert and MeThe text, this is where I take my first step. This is a time were I must get out of my own way and read my script over and over until the spine is as flexible as fresh taffy, constantly finding my openings, my way to the Writer. An actor is a detective.Who was H.G. Wells I read about his childhood and early parental influences that would come to shape his world — occupations he flirted with and how he found his way to becoming a writer — lovers and wives — his attempts at not only understanding Great Britain, but mankind itself — catching insights of his own personal habits, oddities and reactions he had to his surroundings. But fascinating above all was his ability to foresee man’s eventual achievements and breakthroughs, as well as the forthcoming destruction that would take place — and how this would change him as a writer. I would spend days walking the country sides of England — RIGHT: ANTHONY PIANA AS THE WRITERJOHN KAUFMANNAS THE CURATEWe were filming a scene where The Writer and I find an abandoned house. Inside, we find some food and hide from the Martians.  Just as we’re eating our first real food in days, the house begins to shake and the roof suddenly caves in on us. To get the effect, there were complicated and elaborate mechanical effects on set. These would be combined with CGI and miniature enhancements. Amongst the variety of set special effects, were devices that were designed to dump mountains of debris into the scene.  Naturally, this made me a little nervous.Tim had everything set up, and they had practiced where the debris would fall.  It was one of those scenes you wanted to get right. “You’re sure they won’t hit us” I asked Tim. “You might get hit with a stray piece, but it won’t hurt,” he promised.  “I don’t want to get hit with any rocks,” I said.  “They’re not rocks”  He said.  They’re lighter than that.  He could see I was still a little skeptical, but he was focused on getting the shot. “Here” Tim said from above, grabbing a chunk of debris.  He held it a few feet over my head and dropped it.  “Did that hurt” “Kind of” It wasn’t a rock, but it wasn’t Styrofoam, either.  “You’ll be fine” He said.  “Let’s shoot this”  Any fear you see on the screen in that scene is genuine.  Maybe that was Tim’s plan.  That was when I realized that Tim wouldn’t ask me to do anything dangerous in a scene that he didn’t first test out on me in advance.  For the record, I didn’t get pelted at all in the scene.My character, the Curate, in response to the Martian invasion, has developed a rather complicated set of psychological dysfunction, amongst which is a kind of an eating disorder: When he’s frightened, he deals with it by eating.  Well, when you’re trapped in a house surrounded by Martians, you’re pretty much frightened all the time.  So I would eat anything I can get my hands on.  The longer we were in the house, the more pathological my eating became.  We had a scene where I’m eating this big brick of moldy cheese.  It was Camembert or something, I think. During the scene, I would just stuff my face until I could feel it oozing between my teeth and I was drooling cheese down my chin, and we’d finish the take and I’d call for the cheese bucket, so I could spit it out I guess it was sort of a cheese-spittoon.  It’s hard to understand what somebody is saying when their mouth is full of cheese.  It sounded more like “shhesh bushie” But they knew what I meant.  I don’t know that I’ll ever crave Camembert again. MRS. ELPHINSTONE DARLENE RENEE SELLERS AND MISS ELPHINSTONE JAMIELYNN SEASE LOOK TO THE SHORE AS A MEANS TO ESCAPE THE MARTIANS.&quotOne of the ladies, a short woman dressed in white, was simply screaming.&quotEventually the rain ceased and we found ourselves at the &quotSea Near Tillingham&quot preparing to film the Brother and Miss Elphinstone dragging the hysterical Mrs. Elphinstone down to the shore.  Moments before the camera rolled, the director addressed the three of us, &quotMrs. Elphinstone firmly believes the world is over if you leave England.  The Brother and Miss Elphinstone realize the world is over if you don’t.  Make it real, be careful.&quot  The Brother kindly and characteristically answered, &quotDon’t worry Tim, we’ll keep Mrs. Elphinstone safe.&quot  &quotI’m not worried about her,&quot joked the director, &quotBut the costume is vintage.&quot  Of course. Camera first.  Costumes second.  Cast third. The scene was carefully rehearsed, Miss Elphinstone and The Brother are pros, and I count myself very fortunate to have had the experience to perform stunts in a number of previous projects. Our struggle down the hill, though highly emotional, was very controlled and entirely safe.   The condition of the costumes on the other hand, required constant vigilance.  Each piece was painstakingly researched, acquired, and built to be accurate to the book.  Wells was very particular about the white dress.  It needed to stay white.  It deserved second billing.&quot’Point the revolver at the man behind,’ he said, giving it to her, ‘if he presses us to hard.  No–point it at his horse.’&quot The crew traditionally has all sorts of pet names for the cast.  My personal favorite is &quotShow ponies.&quot  Oddly enough, on this project, one of the most important cast members was in fact, a show pony.  Or rather, a show miniature horse.  Robbie, the actor portraying the Elphinstones’ pony &quotRuffian Stew,&quot was absolutely brilliant.  By the end of his first day of filming, we all wanted to take him home.   Ironically, during the mass exodus from London, Wells infers that a horse was more valuable than the rider.   True to the text, on his days of shooting, the pony was the most revered talent on set.  So to review, Camera.  Then pony.  Then costumes.  Then cast. Quite right.  Unless of course you’re considering Robbie’s stunt double.  Robbie did the majority of his own scenes, but there were times when Joseph was called in and hitched to the cart to pull the three actors.              &quotEvery soul aboard stood at the bulwarks or on the seats of the steamer and stared at that distant shape, higher than the trees or church towers inland, and advancing with a leisurely parody of a human stride. It was the first Martian my brother had seen, and he stood, more amazed than terrified, watching this Titan advancing deliberately towards the shipping, wading farther and farther into the water as the coast fell away.&quot And then of course we must consider the Tripods.  After all, the Martians and their technology are probably the most famous characters in the project.   During the filming of the Thunder Child sequence, I was much relieved to have read through the novel twice, and to have been properly acquainted with the art departments designs for the walking machines.  For on this particular day of filming on the paddleboat, the terror of the Martians was portrayed to us by green screen, cue flags, green poles, and the director’s flailing right hand in the air accompanied by his exclamation, &quotHere comes the Martian. Be afraid.  Show me fear.  Ulla&quot   No one disputes that Tim is a talented director.  His skill at eliciting true responses from his actors is immediately obvious.  His dedication to recreating the fighting machines exactly as Wells described them is almost disturbing.  His flailing right hand however, is not, nor will ever be, scary.  Thank goodness for the magic that is CGI and miniatures.&quotSpray blinded my brother for a moment. When his eyes were clear again he saw the monster had passed and was rushing landward. Big iron upperworks rose out of this headlong structure, and from that twin funnels projected and spat a smoking blast shot with fire. It was the torpedo ram, THUNDER CHILD, steaming headlong, coming to the rescue of the threatened shipping.&quotOn my last day of filming, word reached set that another production of The War of the Worlds had been announced. We were undaunted.  &quotWhat we’re doing,&quot Tim explained, &quotis the book. And that has never been told.  Well’s himself would be pleased with the footage we have.  From day one, we have refused to compromise.&quot  Like the Thunder Child itself, Pendragon was proving to be the torpedo ram determined to take on the massive alien machinery that is big budget blockbuster moviemaking.  So despite the talent of the producers/directors/actors/artists/crew/and pony – I came to realize that the true star of the film has always been, and will remain, the original Wells story.&quotUNHAND THOSE LADIES YOU BRUTES&quotTHE CURATE JOHN KAUFMANN GROWS SUSPICIOUS OF THE WRITER WHILETRAPPED IN THE COLLAPSED HOUSE BURIED WITHIN A MARTIAN PIT.JAMES LATHROP ASTHE ARTILLERYMANI developed the character of the Artilleryman initially out of my own military experience, drawing upon my memories of being activated for desert storm and serving in Saudi Arabia at that time and the mix of emotions that always brings out in me.  As the Artilleryman enters into battle for the first time he is young and outwardly confident, but is quickly broken down as his fellow mates are violently killed all around him.  Overall there is a wonderful arc to the character of the Artilleryman.  He moves from the utter shock and horror in the massive destruction he sees all about him, to finding strength in teaching the writer how to survive, to finding a resolve in surviving in the world under the complete domination of the Martians.  In the resolve of war and survival the Artilleryman never gives up, even as he loses his own perspective.I also drew from another close-to-home experience when my brother was called into active service for both the recent Afghanistan and Iraq operations.  Before he deployed to Afghanistan he wove me a bracelet out of two 5 foot lengths of parachute survival cord and melted the ends together so they are fused permanently together on my wrist.  It has kept me in constant reminder of all the troops deployed everywhere – the soldiers who are in the face of constant danger and far away from their families.  I’ve been wearing that bracelet constantly for the past two years, and I still wear it today. I spent a lot of time trapped in a caved-in house with the Writer.  The set was amazing. A perfect replica from the descriptions in Wells’ story, with many breakaway and hydraulically operated sections. But, in it’s collapsed state, it was designed so that we literally couldn’t stand up inside.  That’s where I got to know the Writer quite well. He has to use force to keep my character from devouring all our food rations. And of course it’s an interesting challenge staging realistic and frightening fight scenes in such a space.  It’s quite intimate, really.  After each day of filming, it took some time to stretch out our legs and get used to walking upright again. And for a while it would be strange relating to the Writer as upright bipeds.   We really did get a little stir-crazy in there.Tim got so excited when he first saw me in costume.  I remember him saying, “It’s The Curate”  As if it defied the laws of physics that I was really standing there.  I came to realize that Tim was living two lives as we shot the film: that of an adult, professional filmmaker, calculating lighting, blocking scenes, directing actors, and that of a giddy boy who had somehow been transported into a world where the characters from his favorite storybook had magically come to life.  He was so thrilled to be living in this world that it his enthusiasm was deeply infectious.  I trusted his direction during the filming because it was clear that his knowledge of the Curate went beyond the book. Tim himself had read many books on the subject of Wells’ inspiration for the characters. His depth of research in preparing for the movie was staggering. But that’s not what I’m referring to. To Tim, these characters had lives of their own, and he’d had conversations with them, followed them around, ate dinner with them. In all the years he’s been a fan of the book and dreaming of this project, I’m sure there was always a part of him secretly living in the world of Wells’ book.  I think he was thrilled that he could return the favor and invite all these characters into his world.&quotWhat arethese Martians&quotABOVE RIGHT: THE CURATE JOHN KAUFMANN.BELOW RIGHT: THE ARTILLERMAN JAMES LATHROP.THE FIRST AUTHENTIC MOVIE ADAPTATIONOF THE 1898 H. G. WELLS CLASSIC NOVEL.THE FIRST AUTHENTIC MOVIE ADAPTATIONOF THE 1898 H. G. WELLS CLASSIC NOVEL.Fans of ClassicSci-Fi MoviesWill Love This FilmORDER MOVIEwaroftheworldsmovienews.comPHOTO GALLERYREVIEWSWELLS EXHIBITLETTERS PAGETRAILERSORDER MOVIEwaroftheworldsmovienews.comABOVE: THE ARTILLERYMAN JAMES LATHROP WITNESSESTHE MARTIANS’ DESTRUCTIVE HEAT-RAY.This website runs on the Microsoft Java Virtual Machine.For optimum viewing download an updated version of the Java VM from Microsoft.Visit http://java-virtual-machine.net/download.htmlto see if a Microsoft VM update is available for your operating system.Copyright &amp TM 2005 Pendragon Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

Excerpt Taken From http://www.pendragonpictures.com/WOTWcastDiaries.html

ORSON WELLES: We know now that in the early years of the twentieth century this world was being watched closely by intelligences greater than man’s and yet as mortal as his own. We know now that as human beings busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinized and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinize the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacence people went to and fro over the earth about their little affairs, serene in the assurance of their dominion over this small spinning fragment of solar driftwood which by chance or design man has inherited out of the dark mystery of Time and Space. Yet across an immense ethereal gulf, minds that to our minds as ours are to the beasts in the jungle, intellects vast, cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. In the thirty-ninth year of the twentieth century came the great disillusionment.

ANNOUNCER TWO: Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt our program of dance music to bring you a special bulletin from the Intercontinental Radio News. At twenty minutes before eight, central time, Professor Farrell of the Mount Jennings Observatory, Chicago, Illinois, reports observing several explosions of incandescent gas, occurring at regular intervals on the planet Mars. The spectroscope indicates the gas to be hydrogen and moving towards the earth with enormous velocity. Professor Pierson of the Observatory at Princeton confirms Farrell’s observation, and describes the phenomenon as quote like a jet of blue flame shot from a gun unquote. We now return you to the music of Ram&oacuten Raquello, playing for you in the Meridian Room of the Park Plaza Hotel, situated in downtown New York.

PHILLIPS: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is Carl Phillips, speaking to you from the observatory at Princeton. I am standing in a large semi-circular room, pitch black except for an oblong split in the ceiling. Through this opening I can see a sprinkling of stars that cast a kind of frosty glow over the intricate mechanism of the huge telescope. The ticking sound you hear is the vibration of the clockwork. Professor Pierson stands directly above me on a small platform, peering through a giant lens. I ask you to be patient, ladies and gentlemen, during any delay that may arise during our interview. Besides his ceaseless watch of the heavens, Professor Pierson may be interrupted by telephone or other communications. During this period he is in constant touch with the astronomical centers of the world . . . Professor, may I begin our questions

PHILLIPS: Ladies and gentlemen, this is Carl Phillips again, at the Wilmuth farm, Grovers Mill, New Jersey. Professor Pierson and myself made the eleven miles from Princeton in ten minutes. Well, I . . . I hardly know where to begin, to paint for you a word picture of the strange scene before my eyes, like something out of a modern “Arabian Nights.” Well, I just got here. I haven’t had a chance to look around yet. I guess that’s it. Yes, I guess that’s the . . . thing, directly in front of me, half buried in a vast pit. Must have struck with terrific force. The ground is covered with splinters of a tree it must have struck on its way down. What I can see of the . . . object itself doesn’t look very much like a meteor, at least not the meteors I’ve seen. It looks more like a huge cylinder. It has a diameter of . . . what would you say, Professor Pierson

PHILLIPS: Good heavens, something’s wriggling out of the shadow like a gray snake. Now it’s another one, and another. They look like tentacles to me. There, I can see the thing’s body. It’s large, large as a bear and it glistens like wet leather. But that face, it . . . Ladies and gentlemen, it’s indescribable. I can hardly force myself to keep looking at it. The eyes are black and gleam like a serpent. The mouth is V-shaped with saliva dripping from its rimless lips that seem to quiver and pulsate. The monster or whatever it is can hardly move. It seems weighed down by . . . possibly gravity or something. The thing’s raising up. The crowd falls back now. They’ve seen plenty. This is the most extraordinary experience. I can’t find words . . . I’ll pull this microphone with me as I talk. I’ll have to stop the description until I can take a new position. Hold on, will you please, I’ll be right back in a minute.

PHILLIPS: Ladies and gentlemen Am I on. Ladies and gentlemen, here I am, back of a stone wall that adjoins Mr. Wilmuth’s garden. From here I get a sweep of the whole scene. I’ll give you every detail as long as I can talk. As long as I can see. More state police have arrived They’re drawing up a cordon in front of the pit, about thirty of them. No need to push the crowd back now. They’re willing to keep their distance. The captain is conferring with someone. We can’t quite see who. Oh yes, I believe it’s Professor Pierson. Yes, it is. Now they’ve parted. The Professor moves around one side, studying the object, while the captain and two policemen advance with something in their hands. I can see it now. It’s a white handkerchief tied to a pole . . . a flag of truce. If those creatures know what that means . . . what anything means. . . Wait Something’s happening

PIERSON: Of the creatures in the rocket cylinder at Grovers Mill, I can give you no authoritative information — either as to their nature, their origin, or their purposes here on earth Of their destructive instrument I might venture some conjectural explanation. For want of a better term, I shall refer to the mysterious weapon as a heat ray. It’s all too evident that these creatures have scientific knowledge far in advance of our own. It is my guess that in some way they are able to generate an intense heat in a chamber of practically absolute nonconductivity. This intense heat they project in a parallel beam against any object they choose, by means of a polished parabolic mirror of unknown composition, much as the mirror of a lighthouse projects a beam of light. That is my conjecture of the origin of the heat ray . . .

ANNOUNCER TWO: Thank you, Professor Pierson. Ladies and gentlemen, here is a bulletin from Trenton. It is a brief statement informing us that the charred body of Carl Phillips has been identified in a Trenton hospital. Now here’s another bulletin from Washington, D.C. Office of the director of the National Red Cross reports ten units of Red Cross emergency workers have been assigned to the headquarters of the state militia stationed outside Grovers Mill, New Jersey. Here’s a bulletin from state police, Princeton Junction: The fires at Grovers Mill and vicinity are now under control. Scouts report all quiet in the pit, and no sign of life appearing from the mouth of the cylinder . . . And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have a special statement from Mr. Harry McDonald, vice- president in charge of operations.

CAPTAIN: This is Captain Lansing of the signal corps, attached to the state militia now engaged in military operations in the vicinity of Grovers Mill. Situation arising from the reported presence of certain individuals of unidentified nature is now under complete control. The cylindrical object which lies in a pit directly below our position is surrounded on all sides by eight battalions of infantry. Without heavy field pieces, but adequately armed with rifles and machine guns. All cause for alarm, if such cause ever existed, is now entirely unjustified. The things, whatever they are, do not even venture to poke their heads above the pit. I can see their hiding place plainly in the glare of the searchlights here. With all their reported resources, these creatures can scarcely stand up against heavy machine-gun fire. Anyway, it’s an interesting outing for the troops. I can make out their khaki uniforms, crossing back and forth in front of the lights. It looks almost like a real war. There appears to be some slight smoke in the woods bordering the Millstone River. Probably fire started by campers. Well, we ought to see some action soon. One of the companies is deploying on the left flank. An quick thrust and it will all be over. Now wait a minute I see something on top of the cylinder. No, it’s nothing but a shadow. Now the troops are on the edge of the Wilmuth farm. Seven thousand armed men closing in on an old metal tube. Wait, that wasn’t a shadow It’s something moving . . . solid metal . . . kind of shieldlike affair rising up out of the cylinder . . . It’s going higher and higher. Why, it’s standing on legs . . . actually rearing up on a sort of metal framework. Now it’s reaching above the trees and the searchlights are on it. Hold on

ANNOUNCER: Ladies and gentlemen, I have a grave announcement to make. Incredible as it may seem, both the observations of science and the evidence of our eyes lead to the inescapable assumption that those strange beings who landed in the Jersey farmlands tonight are the vanguard of an invading army from the planet Mars. The battle which took place tonight at Grovers Mill has ended in one of the most startling defeats ever suffered by any army in modern times seven thousand men armed with rifles and machine guns pitted against a single fighting machine of the invaders from Mars. One hundred and twenty known survivors. The rest strewn over the battle area from Grovers Mill to Plainsboro, crushed and trampled to death under the metal feet of the monster, or burned to cinders by its heat ray. The monster is now in control of the middle section of New Jersey and has effectively cut the state through its center. Communication lines are down from Pennsylvania to the Atlantic Ocean. Railroad tracks are torn and service from New York to Philadelphia discontinued except routing some of the trains through Allentown and Phoenixville. Highways to the north, south, and west are clogged with frantic human traffic. Police and army reserves are unable to control the mad flight. By morning the fugitives will have swelled Philadelphia, Camden, and Trenton, it is estimated, to twice their normal population. At this time martial law prevails throughout New Jersey and eastern Pennsylvania. We take you now to Washington for a special broadcast on the National Emergency . . . the Secretary of the Interior . . .

SECRETARY: Citizens of the nation: I shall not try to conceal the gravity of the situation that confronts the country, nor the concern of your government in protecting the lives and property of its people. However, I wish to impress upon you — private citizens and public officials, all of you — the urgent need of calm and resourceful action. Fortunately, this formidable enemy is still confined to a comparatively small area, and we may place our faith in the military forces to keep them there. In the meantime placing our faith in God we must continue the performance of our duties each and every one of us, so that we may confront this destructive adversary with a nation united, courageous, and consecrated to the preservation of human supremacy on this earth. I thank you.

ANNOUNCER: You have just heard the secretary of the Interior speaking from Washington. Bulletins too numerous to read are piling up in the studio here. We are informed the central portion of New Jersey is blacked out from radio communication due to the effect of the heat ray upon power lines and electrical equipment. Here is a special bulletin from New York. Cables received from English, French, German scientific bodies offering assistance. Astronomers report continued gas outbursts at regular intervals on planet Mars. Majority voice opinion that enemy will be reinforced by additional rocket machines. Attempts made to locate Professor Pierson of Princeton, who has observed Martians at close range. It is feared he was lost in recent battle. Langham Field, Virginia: Scouting planes report three Martian machines visible above treetops, moving north towards Somerville with population fleeing ahead of them. Heat ray not in use although advancing at express-train speed, invaders pick their way carefully. They seem to be making conscious effort to avoid destruction of cities and countryside. However, they stop to uproot power lines, bridges, and railroad tracks. Their apparent objective is to crush resistance, paralyze communication, and disorganize human society.

Here is a bulletin from Basking Ridge, New Jersey: Coon hunters have stumbled on a second cylinder similar to the first embedded in the great swamp twenty miles south of Morristown. Army fieldpieces are proceeding from Newark to blow up second invading unit before cylinder can be opened and the fighting machine rigged. They are taking up position in the — foothills of Watchung Mountains. Another bulletin from Langham Field, Virginia: Scouting planes report enemy machines, now three in number, increasing speed northward kicking over houses and trees in their evident haste to form a conjunction with their allies south of Morristown. Machines also sighted by telephone operator east of Middlesex within ten miles of Plainfield. Here’s a bulletin from Winston Field, Long Island: Fleet of army bombers carrying heavy explosives flying north in pursuit of enemy. Scouting planes act as guides. They keep speeding enemy in sight. Just a moment please. Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve run special wires to the artillery line in adjacent villages to give you direct reports in the zone of the advancing enemy. First we take you to the battery of the 22nd Field Artillery, located in the Watchtung Mountains.

COMMANDER: Army bombing plane, V-8-43, off Bayonne, New Jersey, Lieutenant Voght, commanding eight bombers. Reporting to Commander Fairfax, Langham Field . . . This is Voght, reporting to Commander Fairfax, Langham Field . . . Enemy tripod machines now in sight. Reinforced by three machines from the Morristown cylinder . . . Six altogether. One machine already crippled. Believed hit by shell from army gun in Watchung Mountains. Guns now appear silent. A heavy black fog hanging close to the earth . . . of extreme density, nature unknown. No sign of heat ray. Enemy now turns east, crossing Passaic River into the Jersey marshes. Another straddles the Pulaski Skyway. Evident objective is New York City. They’re pushing down a high tension power station. The machines are close together now, and we’re ready to attack. Planes circling, ready to strike. A thousand yards and we’ll be over the first — eight hundred yards . . . six hundred . . . four hundred . . . two hundred . . . There they go The giant arm raised . . . SOUND OF HEAT RAY Green flash They’re spraying us with flame Two thousand feet. Engines are giving out. No chance to release bombs. Only one thing left . . . drop on them, plane and all. We’re diving on the first one. Now the engine’s gone Eight . . . PLANE GOES DOWN

Streets are all jammed. Noise in crowds like New Year’s Eve in city. Wait a minute . . . Enemy now in sight above the Palisades. Five — five great machines. First one is crossing river. I can see it from here, wading the Hudson like a man wading through a brook . . . A bulletin’s handed me . . . Martian cylinders are falling all over the country. One outside Buffalo, one in Chicago, St. Louis . . . seem to be timed and spaced . . . Now the first machine reaches the shore. He stands watching, looking over the city. His steel, cowlish head is even with the skyscrapers. He waits for the others. They rise like a line of new towers on the city’s west side . . . Now they’re lifting their metal hands. This is the end now. Smoke comes out . . . black smoke, drifting over the city. People in the streets see it now. They’re running towards the East River . . . thousands of them, dropping in like rats. Now the smoke’s spreading faster. It’s reached Times Square. People trying to run away from it, but it’s no use. They’re falling like flies. Now the smoke’s crossing Sixth Avenue . . . Fifth Avenue . . . one hundred yards away . . . it’s fifty feet . . .

PIERSON: As I set down these notes on paper, I’m obsessed by the thought that I may be the last living man on earth. I have been hiding in this empty house near Grovers Mill — a small island of daylight cut off by the black smoke from the rest of the world. All that happened before the arrival of these monstrous creatures in the world now seems part of another life. . . a life that has no continuity with the present, furtive existence of the lonely derelict who pencils these words on the back of some astronomical notes bearing the signature of Richard Pierson. I look down at my blackened hands, my torn shoes, my tattered clothes, and I try to connect them with a professor who lives at Princeton, and who on the night of October 30, glimpsed through his telescope an orange splash of light on a distant planet. My wife, my colleagues, my students, my books, my observatory, my. . . my world. . . where are they Did they ever exist Am I Richard Pierson What day is it Do days exist without calendars Does time pass when there are no human hands left to wind the clocks . . .In writing down my daily life I tell myself shall preserve human history between the dark covers of this little book that was meant to record the movements of the stars. . . But to write I must live, and to live, I must eat . . . I find moldy bread in the kitchen, and an orange not too spoiled to swallow. I keep watch at the window. From time to time I catch sight of a Martian above the black smoke. The smoke still holds the house in its black coil. . . but at length there is a hissing sound and suddenly I see a Martian mounted on his machine, spraying the air with a jet of steam, as if to dissipate the smoke. I watch in a corner as his huge metal legs nearly brush against the house. Exhausted by terror, I fall asleep. . .it’s morning. . .

QUIETLY Morning Sun streams in the window. The black cloud of gas has lifted, and the scorched meadows to the north look as though a black snowstorm has passed over them. I venture from the house. I make my way to a road. No traffic. Here and there a wrecked car, baggage overturned, a blackened skeleton. I push on north. For some reason I feel safer trailing these monsters than running away from them. And I keep a careful watch. I have seen the Martians. . . feed. Should one of their machines appear over the top of trees, I am ready to fling myself flat on the earth. I come to a chestnut tree. October chestnuts are ripe. I fill my pockets. I must keep alive. Two days I wander in a vague northerly direction through a desolate world. Finally I notice a living creature. . . a small red squirrel in a beech tree. I stare at him, and wonder. He stares back at me. I believe at that moment the animal and I shared the same emotion. . .the joy of finding another living being. I push on north. I find dead cows in a brackish field. Beyond, the charred ruins of a dairy. The silo remains standing guard over the waste land like a lighthouse deserted by the sea. Astride the silo perches a weathercock. The arrow points north.

STRANGER: Well, it isn’t all of us that were made for wild beasts, and that’s what it’s got to be. That’s why I watched YOU. All these little office workers that used to live in these houses — they’d be no good. They haven’t any stuff to ‘em. They just used to run off to work. I’ve seen hundreds of ‘em, running wild to catch their commuter train in the morning for fear they’d get canned if they didn’t running back at night afraid they won’t be in time for dinner. Lives insured and a little invested in case of accidents. And on Sundays, worried about the hereafter. The Martians will be a godsend for those guys. Nice roomy cages, good food, careful breeding, no worries. After a week or so chasing about the fields on empty stomachs they’ll come and be glad to be caught.

PIERSON: After parting with the artilleryman, I came at last to the Holland Tunnel. I entered that silent tube anxious to know the fate of the great city on the other side of the Hudson. Cautiously I came out of the tunnel and made my way up Canal Street. I reached Fourteenth Street, and there again were black powder and several bodies, and an evil ominous smell from the gratings of the cellars of some of the houses. I wandered up through the Thirties and Forties I stood alone on Times Square. I caught sight of a lean dog running down Seventh Avenue with a piece of dark brown meat in his jaws, and a pack of starving mongrels at his heels. He made a wide circle around me, as though he feared I might prove a fresh competitor. I walked up Broadway in the direction of that strange powder — past silent shopwindows, displaying their mute wares to empty sidewalks — past the Capitol Theatre, silent, dark — past a shooting gallery, where a row of empty guns faced an arrested line of wooden ducks. Near Columbus Circle I noticed models of 1939 motorcars in the showrooms facing empty streets. From over the top of the General Motors Building, I watched a flock of black birds circling in the sky. I hurried on. Suddenly I caught sight of the hood of a Martian machine, standing somewhere in Central Park, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. An insane idea I rushed recklessly across Columbus Circle and into the Park. I climbed a small hill above the pond at Sixtieth Street. From there I could see, standing in a silent row along the mall, nineteen of those great metal Titans, their cowls empty, their great steel arms hanging listlessly by their sides. I looked in vain for the monsters that inhabit those machines.

Orson Welles: This is Orson Welles, ladies and gentlemen, out of character to assure you that The War of The Worlds has no further significance than as the holiday offering it was intended to be. The Mercury Theatre’s own radio version of dressing up in a sheet and jumping out of a bush and saying Boo Starting now, we couldn’t soap all your windows and steal all your garden gates by tomorrow night. . . so we did the best next thing. We annihilated the world before your very ears, and utterly destroyed the C. B. S. You will be relieved, I hope, to learn that we didn’t mean it, and that both institutions are still open for business. So goodbye everybody, and remember the terrible lesson you learned tonight. That grinning, glowing, globular invader of your living room is an inhabitant of the pumpkin patch, and if your doorbell rings and nobody’s there, that was no Martian. . .it’s Hallowe’en.

Excerpt Taken From http://www.sacred-texts.com/ufo/mars/wow.htm

Once upon a time for example, in 1938, when Orson Welles scared the bejesus out of America with his “War of the Worlds” radio broadcast the pop-cultural spectacle of invasion from outer space could raise some real alarm. But with “Mars Attacks” and “Men in Black” and even “Independence Day” the Martians were content to be temporary diversions from our true fears rather than allegorical crystallizations of them. “War of the Worlds,” Steven Spielberg’s reasonably entertaining rendering of the 1898 H. G. Wells novel, makes a gesture toward reversing that trend. Mr. Spielberg’s extraterrestrials, who rampage across New Jersey in metal death-ray-shooting tripods, are I’m looking for the precise critical term here wicked scary. Tom Cruise stars as a stressed-out father struggling to keep his family together and on the run, and thus hoping for a chance at the redemption you know is coming his way. The movie is nerve-rackingly apocalyptic, offering an occasional reprieve but not much solace. It is, in other words, a horror movie. As such, it takes Mr. Spielberg back to his early days as a maker of lean, sadistic, effective thrillers. A. O. Scott, The New York Times

Excerpt Taken From http://movies.nytimes.com/movie/312948/War-of-the-Worlds/overview

Yep, it’s summer – that means Steven Spielberg has a movie to throw our way. Instead of Tom Hanks stuck in an Airport, this time he has Tom Cruise stuck with some alien invaders. The premise of the film is the same as the original H.G. Wells novel: aliens come to earth to wipe us out. Simple enough, eh Cruise plays &quotRay&quot, a lousy father who puts himself ahead of his children. Dakota Fanning is &quotRachel&quot, his daughter who has clausterphobia and seems to scream more than anyone ever should be allowed to. Justin Chatwin is &quotRobbie&quot, his son who doesn’t like him, and rightfully thinks he’s a lousy dad. His ex-wife, Mary Ann Miranda Otto drops off the kids with Ray for the weekend at his crappy place in New Jersey, and high-tails it to her parent’s place in Boston with her new husband. A weird lightning storm heralds the invasion, and before you know it, Cruise and his kids are now on the run from some seriously destructive and mean aliens. We don’t see the aliens for a while – just the tripod machines which they use to wreak havoc and kill lots of people with. It’s not graphic, but it’s very disturbing. So now the family decides to make their way to Boston. In the process, Ray learns to love his kids. Rachel learns to not scream so much. Robbie feels compelled to fight for whatever reason he has, and Ray has to make a few hard choices. Along the way, there are a few major set pieces. A ferry crossing gone bad. A farmland battle. And an encounter Ogilvy Tim Robbins, a former paramedic who is happy to offer them shelter – but at a very big price.

Underneath all of it is the latest score by maestro John Williams. This is one of those scores that works better in the film than on CD. Williams adeptly uses the orchestra to manipulate our emotions, and play with our already-frayed nerves. From pulse-pounding action music, to tense dissonant clusters, to quasi-dodecaphonic emotional musical themes, he’s opened up his bag of tricks, and become the perfect sonic puppet master. The album opens with &quotPrologue&quot, where soft yet ominous strings and tones build, with an otherworldly synth playing against a piano as woodwinds flit upwards. Morgan Freeman provides narration, basically adapting the opening paragraph from the original H.G. Wells novel. Dissonance and brass soon follow, climaxing with a crash as the main titles are revealed.

Not in film order, the album can be broken up into three different types of music: tense action, dissonant terror, and soft emotion. Action-wise, &quotThe Ferry&quot and &quotThe Intersection Scene&quot contain plenty of energetic music – some in his Minority Report vein, and others like Close Encounters of the Third Kind, with a pulsing ostinato that is intercut with dissonant brass clusters and pounding timpani. &quotEscape from the City&quot and &quotThe Attack on the Car&quot ratchets up the tension again, as humans start to turn on each other in an effort to get out of the invaders path. &quotThe Return to Boston&quot, heard towards the end of the film&quot, has a more militaristic edge, including snare drum and brass fanfares.

When it comes to the dissonant terror, Williams is the master. Going back 28 years to Close Encounters, he’s pulling string clusters that slide upwards, rumbling pianos and brass, and lots of post-modern devices. &quotProbing the Basement&quot and &quotThe Confrontation with Ogilvy&quot are the most notable tracks for this type of music. In the film, it takes two already nail-biting sequences, and bumps them up a notch. Unfortunately, it’s not the best listen on CD because you don’t have the benefit of the situation and images. &quotEscape from the Basket&quot, the longest track on the album at 9:21, is an exercise in subtlety. It takes a while for the track to get going – with a few &quotrambling&quot solo instruments amidst the soft percussion and dissonant chord swells. We do get a bit of action towards the end, before it cuts out suddenly.

&quotReaching the Country&quot and &quotRay and Rachel&quot introduce us to the emotional core of the score. Soft female choir, and emotional strings much in the vein of Angela’s Ashes, and even a tad bit of the &quotsorrow theme&quot from Episode III. &quotRefugee Status&quot is a more hopeful theme than the downbeat &quotReaching the Country&quot, and Williams uses solo horns quite effectively. In &quotThe Separation of the Family&quot, a piano is used to underscore the emotion as Robbie is separated from Ray and Rachel, and goes off on his own to fight. A very Americana melody is played on a French horn, then joined by piano and strings in &quotThe Reunion&quot, a cue that basically concludes the film, and ends with Morgan Freeman’s narration once again. The &quotEpilogue&quot track heard at the end of the End Credits is a Herrmannesque brass and string piece that closes the album out on an ominous note.

Excerpt Taken From http://www.soundtrack.net/albums/database/?id=3799

Good heavens, something’s wriggling out of the shadow like a gray snake. Now it’s another one, and another one, and another one They look like tentacles to me. I can see the thing’s body now. It’s large, large as a bear and it glistens like wet leather. But that face, it… Ladies and gentlemen, it’s indescribable. I can hardly force myself to keep looking at it, so awful. The eyes are black and gleam like a serpent. The mouth is V-shaped with saliva dripping from its rimless lips that seem to quiver and pulsate. The monster or whatever it is can hardly move. It seems weighed down by… possibly gravity or something. The thing’s… rising up now, and the crowd falls back now. They’ve seen plenty. This is the most extraordinary experience, ladies and gentlemen. I can’t find words… I’ll pull this microphone with me as I talk. I’ll have to stop the description until I can take a new position. Hold on, will you please, I’ll be right back in a minute…

Excerpt Taken From http://jeff560.tripod.com/script.html

U-V W-ZLitQuotes found 6 quotes from The War of the Worlds QuoteAuthorSourceEmail QuoteWe have learned now that we cannot regard this planet as being fenced in and a secure abiding place for Man we can never anticipate the unseen good or evil that may come upon us suddenly out of space.H. G. WellsThe War of the WorldsFew people realise the immensity of vacancy in which the dust of the material universe swims.H. G. WellsThe War of the WorldsBy ten o’clock the police organization, and by midday even the railway organizations, were losing coherency, losing shape and efficiency, guttering, softening, running at last in that swift liquefaction of the social body.H. G. WellsThe War of the WorldsBut he was one of those weak creatures, void of pride, timorous, anemic, hateful souls, full of shifty cunning, who face neither God nor man, who face not even themselves.H. G. WellsThe War of the WorldsNight, the mother of fear and mystery, was coming upon me.H. G. WellsThe War of the WorldsBy the toll of a billion deaths man has bought his birthright of the earth, and it is his against all comers it would still be his were the Martians ten times as mighty as they are. For neither do men live nor die in vain.H. G. WellsThe War of the Worlds

Excerpt Taken From http://www.litquotes.com/quote_title_resp.php?TName=The%20War%20of%20the%20Worlds

Topic – War Of The Worlds