WHAT MEDIA ISN'T SAYING ABOUT  "WAR OF THE WORLDS"

They're back . . . Riding their sinister tripod machines and vaporizing everything in sight, Martians have returned earth -- at least in the movie theaters. The hottest summer Hollywood re-make is based on the famous H.G. Wells novel "The War of the Worlds," bursting with frenetic action and awesome special effects from the creative genius of Steven Spielberg, and starring Tom Cruise.  It has raked in an impressive $125 million in less than a week, well on the way to covering the $152 million production and advertising costs.  Critics remain divided over whether this is Spielberg's greatest opus, or a fast-moving flop that is lukewarm at best and one fated to fall in behind other July
4th weekend openers like the 1996 blockbuster "Independence Day." Amidst the hype of "War of the Worlds" were the antics of Tom Cruise holding forth on topics like psychiatry, the bête noir of his Scientology faith, and telling the world, yes, I believe in aliens (no surprise he at the German premier for WOW), and, yes, I'm also in fatuous love with Katie Holmes.  Spielberg, meanwhile, assured the public that this latest production was not a simple remake of the 1953 "War of the Worlds," a thinly-veiled invasion thriller that captivated audiences at the emergence of the Cold War (the Martians were from the Red Planet, after all . . .), with the aliens careening around in sleek, Populux-wedge shaped craft and disintegrating the landscape and humanity with their "death ray."  Producer George Pal treated viewers to the best special effects of that time, blowing up the Los Angeles City Hall, annihilating whole army units and not stopping until tiny microbes, "God in his wisdom," brought the invaders and their glistening machines to a grinding halt. All of this has sparked interest in another media spectacle linked to the H.G.  Wells novel, namely the "Panic Broadcast" of October 30, 1938.  Before Spielberg, Cruise and George Pal, there was Orson Welles and the Mercury Theater troupe who enthralled the nation with a live, dramatic adaptation of "War of the Worlds."  The public reaction has become an icon of Americana.   People panicked, prayed, fled their homes, jammed phone lines and packed churches in terror. Some even claimed to have seen the ominous Martian machines, or smelled the poisonous gas the invaders were said to be spreading over the countryside.  There were other reports of suicides (subsequent investigation found these claims wanting) and highways packed with terrorized motorists fleeing cities. When it was all over, of course, the reaction was predictable. Many, ignoring the evidence of their own credulity and lack of critical forethought, clamored for some kind of government supervision and oversight.   Others were less sanguine about such proposals. Columnist Hugh Johnson feared that the Welles broadcast had frightened so many people that "the witch burning Mr. McNinch, chairman of the Federal Communications Commission, has a new excuse to extend the creeping hand of government restriction of free speech by way of radio censorship." Writer Dorothy Thompson was perhaps the most sagacious and insightful observer about the "Panic Broadcast" and its cultural fallout.  While it was obvious that Welles along with writer Howard Koch (later of "Casablanca" fame) had crafted a tour de force of broadcast entertainment, she was quick to draw the line between deliberate suspension of belief -- a necessary element in the appreciation of any drama -- and downright credulity. "Nothing about the broadcast was in the least credible," Thompson wrote.  "When the truth became known, the reaction was also significant.  The deceived were furious and of course demanded that the state protect them, demonstrating that they were incapable of relying on their own judgment." A similar attitude was apparent to the editorialists at The Nation magazine, which compared the hysteria over the "War of the Worlds" broadcast to "a sea of insecurity and actual ignorance over which a superficial literacy and sophistication are spread like a thin crust.  If the Martian incident serves as even a slight inoculation against our next demagogue's appeal for a red hunt or an anti-Semitic drive, it will have had its constructive effect." With the Spielberg/Cruise production of "The War of the Worlds" holding a dominant position at the box office, print and electronic media have rediscovered the whole rich, somewhat forgotten cultural legacy of H.G.  Well's novel.  Indeed, his 1898 story was a veiled turning of the historical tables on Victorian Britain.  Martians threatened to invade and conquer a whole planet just as western colonial powers were annexing much of what today is described as the Third World.  It was a heyday of imperialism, overseas empires and, for Wells and other critics of such hubris and greed, a haughty, supercilious arrogance about the alleged superiority of the (Christian, white) conquerors. What if an advanced extraterrestrial civilization thought the same way, or worse, about humanity?  In the novel, the Martians -- cold, unsympathetic and uncaring -- see Earth as a mere resource and object to conquer and subjugate.  Spielberg takes this horror a step further, perhaps, casting human beings as snack food and fertilizer for the invaders. The Mercury Theater broadcast came at a time of rampant angst and political instability.  The sabers of war were rattling again in Europe, and America was still feeling the aftershocks of the depression.  Social jitters, along with the studio genius of the young Orson Welles invested the Panic Broadcast with credibility and verisimilitude. Or did it? In recalling the program and the subsequent fallout, modern media treatments ignore a salient fact about how and why certain people panicked, and uncritically accepted what they were hearing over the radio. It turns out that religion and religious belief played a vital role in how individuals reacted. And More Forgotten History . . . In 1937, the Rockefeller Foundation allotted a grant to Princeton University to study the impact of radio on American society.  One of the directors was Hadley Cantril, also president of the Institute for Propaganda Analysis.  It was the Panic Broadcast that for a time propelled Cantril and his Princeton Radio Project into the public consciousness for its cogent analysis of the "War of the Worlds" play.  Cantril subsequently authored the book "The Invasion From Mars, A Study in the Psychology of Panic." The results of the Princeton study continue to be debated, but Cantril and his group did manage to assemble a profile of the audience that tuned in to CBS and the Mercury Theater on October 30, 1938, and dissected how -- and why -- they reacted. Educational level, for instance, was one factor.   Those with more formal schooling listened to the fast-moving drama that Orson Wells and his team were spinning over the airwaves, but were skeptical that Martians had actually invaded.  Cantril attributed this caution to what he termed "critical ability," or critical reasoning.  This segment of the audience verified the broadcast by doing relatively simple things, like looking outdoors (see any Martians, Mabel?), turning the radio dial, calling friends or just consulting the newspaper to see what programs had been scheduled that evening. For every 25 people who employed this "critical ability," however, 21 did not.  They demonstrate varying levels of believability, and in some cases panicked. Cantril's project also revealed that religious conviction figured as an important factor in how people reacted, and was critical in demonstrating the role of critical thinking or the lack thereof. Ironically, this religious component was subsequently ignored in much of the academic and popular literature in the histories of the "Panic Broadcast."   Statistical evidence, and individual case studies assiduously collected by the Princeton survey, however, revealed religious belief to be an important component. One listener, for instance, told Cantril's team of researchers that when she and her family began listening to the broadcast, "We just sat and listened -- you see, we're good Christians and Providence will take care of us.  We're not afraid to die because we're prepared for it." Another remarked: "The Bible said the first time the end of the world was by flood and the next time it will be by fire, so that went through my mind." Mrs. Delaney, a case subject for the Princeton investigators, identified herself as a staunch Roman Catholic. "I never hugged my radio so closely as I did that ...  night.  I held a crucifix in my hand and prayed while looking out my open window for falling meteors.  I also wanted to get a faint whiff of the gas so that I could know when to close my window and hermetically seal my room." Even more remarkable was the informant identified as Ms. Jane Dean. "Of course I did not make any attempt to check up on the broadcast," she said.  "When I hear something like that I take it for granted that it is true . . . " About half way through the "War of the Worlds" broadcast, Dean turned off her radio assuming that it was, as she termed it, "the end of everything" and began to pray with her sister.  A friend then called, and she learned that it was a play, not an invasion from another planet. "I got plenty mad," she told researchers.  "I had been asking God for forgiveness of my sins so I would not be committed to eternal Purgatory.  I was glad I asked forgiveness anyhow even if I did not have to." "The Angst of Secularization" While ignoring the findings of the Princeton Radio Project about religious belief and the "Panic Broadcast," popular media seems oblivious to the "culture war" of the early twentieth century that came in the wake of growing secularization. As a reaction to modernity, increased industrialization and convulsive changes in the American cultural landscape, a segment of Protestantism coalesced around a literalist interpretation of the Bible that became known as Fundamentalism.  The core teachings of this movement were found in a twelve volume compilation published between 1910 and 1915 known as "The Fundamentals: A Testimony to the Truth."  This corpus of doctrine was seen as a response to the erosion of traditional revivalism, the encroachment of Darwinism and other scientific findings, and scholarly inquiry into Biblical texts which raised serious doubts about the veracity of many claims surrounding the Old and New Testaments. It was, simply put, a revolt against the modern age. When Orson Welles and the Mercury Theater troupe took to the airwaves on that fall evening, they were presenting more than a simple play, an adaptation of a popular and compelling novel.  In fact, the broadcast came at a time when America was rampant with what writer Peter Lowentrout would later describe as "the angst of secularization." "War of the Worlds" created a semiotically-charged electronic environment, with the Martians representing all of the darkest aspects of science and technology.  That, coupled with the novel effects Howard Koch adapted into the "Panic Broadcast" made it a compelling and believable narrative for those who trusted this new communications media, and failed to employ critical reasoning. In the end, it is estimated that about six million people tuned in to hear the "War of the Worlds" presentation, and that as many as 1,200,000 believed -- to some degree -- that the events being described were true. In response, the Federal Communications Commission held public hearings, and in Washington, DC, Sen.  Clyde Herring of Iowa spoke for many of his terrified constituents (some of whom headed to church during the broadcast) and demanded legislative remedies against "Halloween bogeymen."  Over 12,500 articles appeared in the national press over the coming weeks.  And mail flowed into the offices of the Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS), the overwhelming majority praising Orson Welles and his fellow actors.  Popular interest in "War of the Worlds" and the "Panic Broadcast" lingered for decades, although the seminal findings of Hadley Cantril and the Princeton Radio Project -- and the role religious belief played -- were rarely mentioned. H.G.  Wells' novel was re-adapted by Hollywood in 1953; and the feisty Fox Network aired a series years later where the aliens, defeated by God's bacteria, managed to ooze out of their 50-gallon drum coffins and terrify humanity.  In 1988, the Village of Grover's Mill, N.J.  -- site of the first Martian landings from the Orson Welles broadcast -- celebrated the anniversary of that historic event with parades, festivals and plenty of green face paint. Steven Spielberg, a child of the 50's sci-fi invasion pouring out of Hollywood studios, later took up the call and resurrected "War of the Worlds" for a new generation of movie-goers waiting to be thrilled. The "Panic Broadcast" was likely not the high-water mark for public credulity.  In a culture fixated by weeping statues, revelations of supernatural figures like Jesus or Mary on tortillas (or perhaps in a urine stain at a subway station . . . ) and widespread, uncritical belief in everything from the Apocalypse to miracles and other bizarre paranormal claims, well, Martians roaming the countryside seems almost . . . prosaic. Religious belief, in all of its morphing, adaptive and florid persistence, leaves many to believe and fear whatever bogeyman lurks in today's Halloween pumpkin patch.

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