I genuinely look forward to Steven Spielberg projects despite his sentimental tendencies and his mainstream reputation for syrupy endings. A true cinephile and well versed film geek who continually references shots within his encyclopedic cinematic database, Spielberg understands the language of film and consistently creates entertaining movies. As evidenced by recent projects A.I. and Minority Report, Spielberg can head into darker regions and provocatively handle science fiction material with his usual energetic flare. That's why I was eagerly anticipating his re-make of War of the Worlds. What other director would be more suitably prepared to infuse new life and 21st century sensibilities into the Byron Haskin's classic adaptation of H.G. Wells' 19th century novel?

Alas, the most entertaining aspect of my multi-plex experience was the trailer for Peter Jackson's upcoming re-make of King Kong. Hopefully, this won't be the same kind of techno-clunker that Spielberg has fashioned—a shameless self referencing narrative that is long on Michael Bay style special effects pyrotechnics (erupting streets, exploding buildings, and vaporized humans) but falls way short on ideas, character development, and creative wonderment. In total contrast with earlier Spielberg creations, E.T. and Close Encounters of the Third Kind, that illustrated his long held fascination with the heavens and other worlds that exist out there.

To characterize this as a "post 9/11" film and indicative of Spielberg's "darker side" misses the point. Scale down the blood count, and you essentially end up with a made for television extravaganza that spoon feeds the audience nothing but science fiction baby food. Taking no risks, Spielberg relies on cliché, regurgitated pap derived from test audiences, and another loud John Williams musical score to cover up the fact that his re-make is much ado about nothing.

The opening narration by Morgan Freeman (speaking of cliché), over images of protozoa (an unsubtle foreshadowing for anyone that has either forgotten or never seen the 1953 film), informs us that the Earth has long been watched by unsympathetic alien beings who have patiently waited for the proper time. Images of New Delhi and Paris remind us that a world wide siege is about to take place, as the camera closes in on New York City and our protagonist Ray Ferrier (Tom Cruise), a divorced dock worker just finishing up his shift to take weekend custody of his two children.

Spielberg paints by the numbers to give Ray and his his family (Dakota Fanning as 10 year old Rachel and Justin Chatwin as teenage Robbie) a dab of humanity. Self-absorbed and immature, Ray maintains a bachelor pad without much in the kitchen besides condiments, so he's badly prepared to host his children. Sporting a Yankee cap when forcing his Red Sox cap wearing son to play catch, Ray further emphasizes the father-son gap by calling him a "dick," so we know that an obligatory reconciliation scene must occur—more than one does, with the better one being reminiscent of Saving Private Ryan.

Meanwhile, Rachel gets to act selfish and obnoxious initially when concerned only with her food intake. She then plays the helpless screaming child that both brother and father fight to protect--one time inspiring Ray to dive headlong into apparent certain death. But these scenes are all too reminiscent of better ones crafted in Jurassic Park.

Even the aliens look much like previous Spielberg creations, with elongated appendages from Close Encounters, combined with E.T. digits, eyes, and mouth. Perhaps that gets him away from copyright infringement claims from Ridley Scott since their bodies also resemble slow moving Alien creatures. The tripods even toot warning horns that sound like the sinister cousins of the Close Encounters' aliens, but at least the giant tripods look much like the description in Wells' original novel. One of the film's more effective scenes still revolves around the exploratory probe, and they have greatly upgraded their terrorizing abilities from the 1953 version. Besides vaporizing humans, they begin harvesting their blood to grow proper alien plant life, so that gives Spielberg a chance to get inside their collection baskets for some face to face scares.

Unfortunately, far too much of the film falls flat and treats the audience like idiots. Although the lightning strikes against the billowing black clouds are initially interesting, Ray and his daughter soon rush back inside to witness a soundless light show that's not much different from Close Encounters, and soon Ray runs over to a hole in the ground that is obviously not normal. When the aliens soon begin to emerge, numerous miracles plop conveniently to guide Cruise through its maze—somehow escaping the large scale explosions, he manages to get his children into the only operational vehicle in New York City, happens to fortuitously be rescued by survivalist Ogilvy (Tim Robbins), and from a distance see that his former wife's house is the only lighted one in all Boston.

Would I spoil the plot if I revealed just how many of Ray's family and extended family survive the mayhem? If you've seen enough Spielberg films to recognize when he's being lazy and pandering to the audience, then you already know (and will likely be rolling your eyes the same way I did at the end of the film). It's not the worst film you will encounter this summer season; it does remain faithful to its source material. But Spielberg's War of the Worlds may prove to be the biggest disappointment because we've grown to expect much more from this talented director--especially after he's recently challenged audiences with far more daring projects. I'll be much more cautious with any future Spielberg "re-makes" since this was about on a par with his sequel formula work. The film states that men aren't to "die in vain," but neither do we need to waste two hours of our time on pointless projects.