Emily Blunt and Josh O'Connor race around the Midwest trying to expose UFOs in a hectic adventure that lacks intelligent life.
Emily Blunt and Josh O’Connor race around the Midwest trying to expose UFOs in a hectic adventure that lacks intelligent life. Anticipation. Rumors. Anxiously scanning the horizon, hoping that a brilliant force will leave the masses forever changed.
Yes, a new), is on the run with evidence of little gray men arriving on our planet to a rude reception. The aliens are kind. Our species is barbaric. Wittily bruising us with that fact, Spielberg opens with a POV of a wrestler kicking the audience in the face.
Welcome to Earth. ) breezes into her Kansas City studio, babbling up until the minute the news camera turns on, a bravura sequence that channels her restlessness, the station’s tempo and the film’s alarm that this ditz has just this morning been stricken with preternatural powers. Locally, Margaret is known for announcing hailstorms with a sexy shimmy.
Suddenly, she’s fluent in Russian, Korean and telepathy. Although she and her boyfriend, Jackson , it’s here, along with a number of promising indie swings. When Margaret starts spouting alien-ese — spasms of gutteral clicks — on live TV, she and Jackson rush to the hospital for a brain scan followed by several suspicious men who claim to be with the FBI.
Russell’s befuddled Jackson is as useless as a traffic cone but Blunt’s Margaret is a gas before the movie makes her go all glassy-eyed and solemn. Yet, the movie is less inspired by why she was chosen or how she feels about it than in dragging us back in time to the moment when it happened, which isn’t that interesting except for its resemblance to a Disney princess having a psychotic break.
The CG animals and aliens look stiff, other than a nifty close-up of an eyeball. Chasing both Daniel and Margaret around the Midwest is a deep-state company called Wardex that wants to steal back the proof in Daniel’s backpack, a heap of hard drives with footage of 70-plus years of extraterrestrial visitations.
It’s a treat to see Spielberg enjoying staging this conspiratorial gossip in different film stocks, from the black-and-white noir of 1947 Roswell to the clinical security-camera look of today. Whatever Wardex does on a day-to-day basis is unclear . But it acts all-powerful, seeming to know more about outer-space tech than its overseers at the Department of Defense.yet, this plot strand about private enterprise isn’t science fiction.
Last year, in the unrelated UFO documentary “The Age of Disclosure,” current Secretary of Statethat companies have a stronger institutional memory of “exotic materials” than any presidential administration: “The people in government who know where it come from originally — they’re long gone and their successors have no idea that it was there at all. ” To add nationalistic insult to injury, the head of Wardex isn’t even American.
He’s a Brit played by If anything, “Disclosure Day” isn’t paranoid enough. Clutching a mysterious tool the shape of a mouse coffin, Firth’s villain tracks Daniel’s location by mentally transplanting himself into another person’s body, changing the color of their pupils to his own icy blue. His gadget also makes his targets super sweaty.
This laborious alien tactic leads to a few fun scenes but frankly feels old-fashioned when the omnipresent surveillance that Spielberg himself warned about nearly 25 years ago inis now here with recording devices constantly tracking our faces, voices and movements just so we don’t have to dial phones, fetch sandwiches or talk to human drivers. Although his movie urged us against this 24/7 spyware future, we have since embraced the convenience.
I bring this up because “Disclosure Day’s” driving question is how humanity will react to life-altering information. Daniel insists on total honesty: “People have a right to know the truth,” he says. His girlfriend Jane doubts 8 billion people can handle his alien revelations.
A Catholic, she’s alarmed that extraterrestrial intelligence could replace the conception of God, naively claiming that “religion holds society together. ” Since when? There’s some wan comedy in an early scene where these new-ish lovers debate the ethics of secrecy while revealing the skeletons they’ve been hiding from each other. Both have pasts you wouldn’t put on a Tinder profile.
The script is glancingly empathetic to Jane’s moral turmoil but like Daniel, the film has made up its mind before the movie started. Narratively and logistically, Daniel’s whistleblowing escape limps along with a lack of suspense. Wardex doesn’t even bother to preemptively discredit Daniel in the public’s eye which, given the two sentences of backstory we know about his character, would be easy.
Nattering in the background are broadcasts about the impending threat of global war at the hands of the United States, Russia and North Korea. Given that scary possibility, the risk that Daniel’s reveal could tip over the world order doesn’t seem that bad. Honestly, I’m dubious of the film’s certainty that folks even have the bandwidth to care about such news, let alone agree on what they’re seeing.
The serious journalism Margaret aspires to do is splintering under our distrust of who controls the megaphones. Last month’s infodump of an Armed Forces report listing 209 sightings of unidentified objects was announced with a presidential tweet that “the people can decide for themselves. ” I didn’t bother to click. Did you?
Getting information about these space invaders out leaves no time for taking the marvel of their existence in. Decades after Spielberg unveiled his signature shot — a face amazed at wonders we can’t see — he seems wearied by his awareness that today’s moment of revelation would look like a person staring down at their phone. When lens flares continually beam right at the screen, the whole movie feels like enlightenment under duress.
Where are the aliens from and why are they here? Who knows.
“Disclosure Day” speeds around frantically, talking constantly and explaining little. Back in 1977, Spielberg’swas a popcorn masterpiece of withheld information. Its quiet assurance that experts had a handle on flying saucers and a plan to meet them felt comforting. Here,renegade intelligence operative also refuses to tell anyone anything, but all the unspoken beats just feel like plot holes.
Mostly, his character builds what looks like a Hollywood set to reveal a truth he already suspects. That’s what Spielberg is doing too, but a film needs a sense of curiosity. Instead, the wows come from good stagings of ordinary action: a car crash, a gripped crucifix, a hideout crowded with jostling, thrumming musical instruments. There’s a great train-track crossing sequence that’s also a vicious callback toepiphany in “Close Encounters.
” Yet, I wanted to see more of the old Spielberg, the one who expressed awe in moments of silence rather than relentless motion. That Spielberg has come full circle to his lifelong obsession with the sky had me convinced that this might be a secret sequel to “Close Encounters” beyond the droll joke that both Dreyfuss’ Roy and Blunt’s Margaret are shacked up with unsupportive blonds.
They do share a universe; you’ll see a glimpse of what could pass for an outtake from Devils Tower, a.k.a. Mashed Potato Mountain, on one of Daniel’s hard drives. Still, I left underwhelmed. I didn’t need Dreyfuss to step off a spaceship gangplank and say, “I’m back.
” I just needed “Disclosure Day” to have the same spark of intelligent life. Amy Nicholson is the film critic of the Los Angeles Times. She is a current on-air voice at LAist and KCRW, and a member of the Los Angeles Film Critics Assn. and the National Society of Film Critics. Her book “Tom Cruise: Anatomy of an Actor” was printed by Cahiers du Cinema/Phaidon Press, and her second, “Extra Girls,” will be published by Simon & Schuster. Nicholson also co-hosts the movie podcast “Unspooled. ”
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