Yes, this iteration of War of the Worlds is less graphic than the 2005 remake starring Tom Cruise, even if its plot is not nearly as compelling. Though we see violence and death, it’s mostly implied instead of shown. Still, the swearing gets out of hand.
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The Life of Chuck is all about death—and all about life.
That thematic paradox comes with drawbacks, as we’ll see. But in a press conference, Tom Hiddleston (who plays Chuck) nailed the film’s curiously buoyant hopefulness: The film honors, he says, “the magic in those small moments in our lives, which become the brightest stars in our memories.”
For Chuck, whom we officially meet in Act II, many of those bright stars revolve around dancing.
We learn that Chuck is an accountant, a devoted husband and a loving father. But his grandmother, who helped raise Chuck after his parents died in a car crash, instilled in him a love of dance. We see the two practice dance moves in the family kitchen when Chuck is just waist high. That love continues into middle school, when Chuck forsakes math club to join the school’s dance club. And then, even when he’s much older, Chuck discovers the talent to dance—and the joy of dance—continues to flow through his being. And that leads to an exuberant, impromptu performance with a couple of strangers during an accounting conference.
Dancing is not, necessarily, a positive in and of itself (and some readers might find it downright sinful). But in context, The Life of Chuck uses dance as a metaphor for life—a fleeting, joyful manifestation of breath and beat and precision and freedom.
But if his grandmother encourages dance (and all the life and vitality that comes with it), his grandfather pushes Chuck in a different direction: into math. And while the film could’ve easily presented these two dichotomies as a “good” thing and a “bad” thing—that for Chuck to abandon his dancing would be to abandon his dreams—the film doesn’t really do that. Chuck’s grandfather tells a young Chuck that math can also be beautiful. One can experience joy in numbers just as much as one can on the dance floor. Moreover, it can be a profound expression of truth: Math doesn’t lie, Chuck’s grandfather tells him. And it can even tell you things about the future. For instance, math can tell Chuck how difficult it is to make a living as a dancer.
Again, some viewers might take Grandfather’s advice as a dispiriting wet blanket, but the movie doesn’t really go there, in my opinion. Chuck does become an accountant—and a good one. He never expresses dissatisfaction with his career choice. And, of course, that love of dance didn’t disappear once he picked up his spreadsheets. We hear how he danced on stage throughout college, and he doesn’t lose a step when he hits middle age.
We learn through secondary sources that Chuck’s grandfather was a hero in his own accounting-like way—and deeply thoughtful of those around him. A man praises Grandfather’s abilities with the books, telling Chuck how often Grandfather saved his business.
Marty (the teacher we meet early in the movie) is likewise a man of principle and optimism. Even as the world falls apart around him, Marty continues to encourage his students to learn. He tries to exhort their parents, too; their kids still have a future, no matter how dire the world looks. When he’s asked whether more people are getting married or divorced in this apocalyptic age, Marty says without pause that marriage wins. People hunger for connection now, he argues, not separation.
We see that in Marty himself, as he makes his way to his ex-wife’s house. He longs to reconcile with her in what feel like the world’s last moments. She, it seems, wants to be with him, too. And as Marty makes the long walk across town to visit Janice, he takes the time to talk with others—not to talk about the weather, not to kvetch about the state of the world, but to find real, lasting connection. And that feels joyously ironic, given that it doesn’t seem like anything else will last much longer.
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This reboot finds Liam Neeson inheriting the comedic gumshoes famously filled by Leslie Nielsen back in 1988. Predictably, it’s jam-packed with farcical police hijinks and chaos. Some of the jokes here can be pretty funny. But the visual and verbal gags are often sexually crude and toilet-humor focused.
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Parents will appreciate this sequel’s positive messages about working hard to do good rather than taking the easy way out. Still, some light suggestive banter and an unfortunate use of mild profanity means The Bad Guys 2 is not as good as it could have been.
