(Minor spoilers for The Tomorrow War follow.)
Over the course of the last two days I watched The Tomorrow War, starring Chris Pratt and a cast of thousands. I've often said that the two things I look for in a movie are aliens and explosions, and whatever other flaws this film may have, there's no denying that it delivers on those two criteria.
The plot is simplicity itself: thirty years in the future, humanity is losing a war with alien invaders that are somewhere between the aliens from Alien and the monsters from A Quiet Place.* In their desperation, they travel back in time to recruit soldiers from 2022, including ex-soldier, biologist and high school teacher Dan Forester, as played by Mr. Pratt.
The recruits are essentially cannon fodder, warm bodies to throw into a losing war, shown how to pull the trigger and then dropped (literally) into apparently futile combat. However, there's a chance that a biological agent designed to kill the aliens can turn the tide and save the world, and Forester finds himself part of the future team attempting to create an appropriate compound. But the clock is ticking, in more ways than one...
The Tomorrow War paints with such a large brush that it's almost a roller, and I'm very curious as to how this movie would have performed at the box office in an alternate timeline where there was no pandemic. (It was originally intended to debut in movie theatres last Christmas, but following the continued theatrical lockdown it was sold to Amazon™ for streaming on Prime instead.)
It certainly rings the summer blockbuster bell in terms of shootouts and clever dialogue, but overall it feels a bit derivative, overly simplistic, and conveniently scripted**, and I'm sorry to say that I never completely accepted Chris Pratt as the right person to anchor this particular plotline.
But, all other considerations aside, I have to give The Tomorrow War full credit for two things.
First, the cast commits entirely. Not since 1998's Armageddon have I seen a group of actors treat a dubious if not somewhat ridiculous premise with such utter and complete seriousness - not a wink, not a nod, not a smirk, everyone delivers their performances with a degree of gravitas suitable for Citizen Kane or Schindler's List. (Well, okay, Chris Pratt maybe makes one joke too many, but you can make a case for it in context.)
Second, as a long time science fiction fan, never have I seen a group of people - or a script - so indifferent to the possible consequences of time travel.
All the soldiers from the future are under the age of 30 so as to avoid co-existence with their past selves, and the recruits from the past are being chosen for one grim qualification: they've died sometime in the 30 years before the war begins. Which is all well and good, but given that the recruits serve a week and then return to 2022***, WHY WOULD YOU TELL THEM THAT THEY'RE GOING TO BE DEAD? AND HOW THEY DIE?
And if they die in combat instead - as some 70% do, apparently - wouldn't that have some kind of serious repercussions for the future timeline?
Or why did they not jump back to six months before the aliens first appeared and bomb that first appearance into ash if they're willing to risk changes to the past for their effect on the future?
Nope, nothing, not a word about the space-time continuum, the Butterfly Effect, the Grandfather Paradox, or even wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff, no one seems to give it a moment's thought.
Perhaps watching a few carefully chosen episodes of Doctor Who would have been useful research for the writers - or maybe just Looper, it's hard to think of a better example of how to use the past to change the future, and vice versa.
- Sid
** You know, convenient - like when they need to get to Russia in a hurry and the Department of Defense won't help, and it's already been established that Dan's estranged father has access to a C130 transport plane.
*** As explained: "At the end of your tour of duty, if the jump band attached to your arm determines that you are still clinically alive, you will automatically be jumped back and your tour of duty will be over."
Clinically alive - or, as my old office mate Bill used to say, able to fog a mirror. One feels that the sets the bar a bit on the low side in terms of the degree of damage that someone could suffer and still be "clinically" acceptable.
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