So I went to see War of the Worlds last night, expecting to see--um, I'm not sure what I was expecting to see. But it was certainly more dark and brutal than what I was expecting; no campiness here, folks.

The movie's seriousness, however, is what ultimately undermined it for me. Because it begged to be a Message Movie, and because it was about meaty subjects such as Family, and the Horrors of War, and What Makes Us Human, and so on, it really needed much more of a story--and hence, more emotional heft--than it did.

Many sequences were astounding, and built solid suspense. But the narrative thread that tried to stitch together those sequences was just that: thread. Anything that wasn't an action scene felt like a rushed transition to the next Big Chase or Big Crash or Big Moment.

I've not read a single other review of this movie, but in many ways, it seemed to cover the same emotional ground as M. Night Shyamalan's Signs, albeit less successfully.

Perhaps most damning of all, in my opinion, was the constant editorializing and self-referential nods to other Spielberg gems. Obvious homages to Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Schindler's List, Saving Private Ryan and others made it feel like a two-hour career retrospective. There are, however, a number of points in all this: War is Bad. War Mongers are Bad. Sending Young Men Off to War is Bad. Retaliating Against Terror by Starting a War is Bad. I got the message loud and clear, Mr. Spielberg. A little too loud, and a little too clear.