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WAR OF THE WORLDS WAR OF THE WORLDS

Welcome. Picture loading of a Martian Spider-like Handling Machine as it appears in the major motion picture, H.G. WELLS' THE WAR OF THE WORLDS, a Pendragon Pictures production.

http://www.thewaroftheworldsmovie.net.

The first and only authentic movie adaptation of the 1898 H. G. Wells classic novel.

Directed by Timothy Hines. Produced by Susan Goforth.

HTTP://WWW.THEWAROFTHEWORLDSMOVIE.NET .

A Martian Spider-like Handling Machine as it appears in the major motion picture, H.G. WELLS' THE WAR OF THE WORLDS, a Pendragon Pictures production, produced by Susan Goforth, directed by Timothy Hines.HTTP://WWW.THEWAROFTHEWORLDSMOVIE.NET .

THE FIRST AUTHENTIC MOVIE ADAPTATION

OF THE 1898 H. G. WELLS CLASSIC NOVEL.

THE FIRST AUTHENTIC MOVIE ADAPTATION

OF THE 1898 H. G. WELLS CLASSIC NOVEL.

Pendragon Pictures presents the major motion picture, H.G. WELLS' THE WAR OF THE WORLDS, produced by Susan Goforth, directed by Timothy Hines.

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Official Movie Website

THE MARTIAN SPIDER-LIKE HANDLING MACHINE FROM H.G. WELLS' THE WAR OF THE WORLDS.

Fans of Classic Sci-Fi Movies Will Love

This Film!

The War To End All Wars

In the year 1898, critically acclaimed author H.G. Wells conceived of a tale so terrifying that it has captured the imagination of millions of readers for

more than 100 years. Now for the first

H.G. WELLS' THE WAR OF THE WORLDS

BUY WAR OF THE WORLDS

H.G. WELLS' THE WAR OF THE WORLDS: The Director's Cut is now available on DVD.

IMAGE GALLERY

Photos, images and screen grabs from the movie with captions, matching quotes from the novel and excerpts from the script.

www.WaroftheWorldsMovieNews.com

of the human race was at stake as man's greatest fear was realized...

Suddenly we are no longer alone in this universe and to preserve our species, we must be victorious in

H.G. WELLS'

THE WAR OF THE WORLDS.

time ever, the true adaptation of the classic novel hits the screen with devastating effect! During a time of growth and prosperity for mankind came the ultimate threat to our very existence. The events that were to take place at the turn of the 20th century would shake the foundations of life as we know it. The future

LETTERS

An online journal devoted to inspirational fan letters about H.G. WELLS' THE WAR OF THE WORLDS.

SCIFI EXPERIENCE

Pendragon Pictures is featured in the H.G. WELLS exhibit at Paul Allen's Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame. Learn more about it here.

AUTHENTICITY

Insights into the making of WAR OF THE WORLDS and the journey of bringing H. G. Wells' classic sci-fi story to the screen.

QUESTIONS & ANSWERS

A Q&A session with director Timothy Hines answering the top most frequently asked fans questions.

WAR OF THE WORLDS

NEWS REPOSITORY

Read articles and interviews on and about the WAR OF THE WORLDS movie.

CAST DIARIES

Read stories written by the cast members about their experiences making the movie

Book OneChapter 1: The Eve of the WarNo one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite complacency men went to and fro over this globe about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire over matter. It is possible that the infusoria under the microscope do the same. No one gave a thought to the older worlds of space as sources of human danger, or thought of them only to dismiss the idea of life upon them as impossible or improbable. It is curious to recall some of the mental habits of those departed days. At most terrestrial men fancied there might be other men upon Mars, perhaps inferior to themselves and ready to welcome a missionary enterprise. Yet across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. And early in the twentieth century came the great disillusionment.The planet Mars, I scarcely need remind the reader, revolves about the sun at a mean distance of 140,000,000 miles, and the light and heat it receives from the sun is barely half of that received by this world. It must be, if the nebular hypothesis has any truth, older than our world; and long before this earth ceased to be molten, life upon its surface must have begun its course. The fact that it is scarcely one seventh of the volume of the earth must have accelerated its cooling to the temperature at which life could begin. It has air and water and all that is necessary for the support of animated existence.Yet so vain is man, and so blinded by his vanity, that no writer, up to the very end of the nineteenth century, expressed any idea that intelligent life might have developed there far, or indeed at all, beyond its earthly level. Nor was it generally understood that since Mars is older than our earth, with scarcely a quarter of the superficial area and remoter from the sun, it necessarily follows that it is not only more distant from time's beginning but nearer its end.The secular cooling that must someday overtake our planet has already gone far indeed with our neighbour. Its physical condition is still largely a mystery, but we know now that even in its equatorial region the midday temperature barely approaches that of our coldest winter. Its air is much more attenuated than ours, its oceans have shrunk until they cover but a third of its surface, and as its slow seasons change huge snowcaps gather and melt about either pole and periodically inundate its temperate zones. That last stage of exhaustion, which to us is still incredibly remote, has become a presentday problem for the inhabitants of Mars. The immediate pressure of necessity has brightened their intellects, enlarged their powers, and hardened their hearts. And looking across space with instruments, and intelligences such as we have scarcely dreamed of, they see, at its nearest distance only 35,000,000 of miles sunward of them, a morning star of hope, our own warmer planet, green with vegetation and grey with water, with a cloudy atmosphere eloquent of fertility, with glimpses through its drifting cloud wisps of broad stretches of populous country and narrow, navy-crowded seas.And we men, the creatures who inhabit this earth, must be to them at least as alien and lowly as are the monkeys and lemurs to us. The intellectual side of man already admits that life is an incessant struggle for existence, and it would seem that this too is the belief of the minds upon Mars. Their world is far gone in its cooling and this world is still crowded with life, but crowded only with what they regard as inferior animals. To carry warfare sunward is, indeed, their only escape from the destruction that, generation after generation, creeps upon them.And before we judge of them too harshly we must remember what ruthless and utter destruction our own species has wrought, not only upon animals, such as the vanished bison and the dodo, but upon its inferior races. The Tasmanians, in spite of their human likeness, were entirely swept out of existence in a war of extermination waged by European immigrants, in the space of fifty years. Are we such apostles of mercy as to complain if the Martians warred in the same spirit?The Martians seem to have calculated their descent with amazing subtlety--their mathematical learning is evidently far in excess of ours--and to have carried out their preparations with a well-nigh perfect unanimity. Had our instruments permitted it, we might have seen the gathering trouble far back in the nineteenth century. Men like Schiaparelli watched the red planet--it is odd, by-the-bye, that for countless centuries Mars has been the star of war--but failed to interpret the fluctuating appearances of the markings they mapped so well. All that time the Martians must have been getting ready.During the opposition of 1894 a great light was seen on the illuminated part of the disk, first at the Lick Observatory, then by Perrotin of Nice, and then by other observers. English readers heard of it first in the issue of Nature dated August 2. I am inclined to think that this blaze may have been the casting of the huge gun, in the vast pit sunk into their planet, from which their shots were fired at us. Peculiar markings, as yet unexplained, were seen near the site of that outbreak during the next two oppositions.The storm burst upon us six years ago now. As Mars approached opposition, Lavelle of Java set the wires of the astronomical exchange palpitating with the amazing intelligence of a huge outbreak of incandescent gas upon the planet. It had occurred towards midnight of the twelfth; and the spectroscope, to which he had at once resorted, indicated a mass of flaming gas, chiefly hydrogen, moving with an enormous velocity towards this earth. This jet of fire had become invisible about a quarter past twelve. He compared it to a colossal puff of flame suddenly and violently squirted out of the planet, "as flaming gases rushed out of a gun."A singularly appropriate phrase it proved. Yet the next day there was nothing of this in the papers except a little note in the Daily Telegraph, and the world went in ignorance of one of the gravest dangers that ever threatened the human race. I might not have heard of the eruption at all had I not met Ogilvy, the well-known astronomer, at Ottershaw. He was immensely excited at the news, and in the excess of his feelings invited me up to take a turn with him that night in a scrutiny of the red planet.In spite of all that has happened since, I still remember that vigil very distinctly: the black and silent observatory, the shadowed lantern throwing a feeble glow upon the floor in the corner, the steady ticking of the clockwork of the telescope, the little slit in the roof--an oblong profundity with the stardust streaked across it. Ogilvy moved about, invisible but audible. Looking through the telescope, one saw a circle of deep blue and the little round planet swimming in the field. It seemed such a little thing, so bright and small and still, faintly marked with transverse stripes, and slightly flattened from the perfect round. But so little it was, so silvery warm--a pin's-head of light! It was as if it quivered, but really this was the telescope vibrating with the activity of the clockwork that kept the planet in view.As I watched, the planet seemed to grow larger and smaller and to advance and recede, but that was simply that my eye was tired. Forty millions of miles it was from us--more than forty millions of miles of void. Few people realise the immensity of vacancy in which the dust of the material universe swims.Near it in the field, I remember, were three faint points of light, three telescopic stars infinitely remote, and all around it was the unfathomable darkness of empty space. You know how that blackness looks on a frosty starlight night. In a telescope it seems far profounder. And invisible to me because it was so remote and small, flying swiftly and steadily towards me across that incredible distance, drawing nearer every minute by so many thousands of miles, came the Thing they were sending us, the Thing that was to bring so much struggle and calamity and death to the earth. I never dreamed of it then as I watched; no one on earth dreamed of that unerring missile.That night, too, there was another jetting out of gas from the distant planet. I saw it. A reddish flash at the edge, the slightest projection of the outline just as the chronometer struck midnight; and at that I told Ogilvy and he took my place. The night was warm and I was thirsty, and I went stretching my legs clumsily and feeling my way in the darkness, to the little table where the siphon stood, while Ogilvy exclaimed at the streamer of gas that came out towards us.That night another invisible missile started on its way to the earth from Mars, just a second or so under twenty-four hours after the first one. I remember how I sat on the table there in the blackness, with patches of green and crimson swimming before my eyes. I wished I had a light to smoke by, little suspecting the meaning of the minute gleam I had seen and all that it would presently bring me. Ogilvy watched till one, and then gave it up; and we lit the lantern and walked over to his house. Down below in the darkness were Ottershaw and Chertsey and all their hundreds of people, sleeping in peace.He was full of speculation that night about the condition of Mars, and scoffed at the vulgar idea of its having inhabitants who were signalling us. His idea was that meteorites might be falling in a heavy shower upon the planet, or that a huge volcanic explosion was in progress. He pointed out to me how unlikely it was that organic evolution had taken the same direction in the two adjacent planets."The chances against anything manlike on Mars are a million to one," he said.Hundreds of observers saw the flame that night and the night after about midnight, and again the night after; and so for ten nights, a flame each night. Why the shots ceased after the tenth no one on earth has attempted to explain. It may be the gases of the firing caused the Martians inconvenience. Dense clouds of smoke or dust, visible through a powerful telescope on earth as little grey, fluctuating patches, spread through the clearness of the planet's atmosphere and obscured its more familiar features.

FIGHTER

OVER

LONDON

WRITER &

CURATE

TRAPPED

That night, as we lurked in the scullery, balanced between our horror and the terrible fascination this peeping had, although I felt an urgent need of action I tried in vain to conceive some plan of escape; but afterwards, during the second day, I was able to consider our position with great clearness. The curate, I found, was quite incapable of discussion; this new and culminating atrocity had robbed him of all vestiges of reason or forethought. Practically he had already sunk to the level of an animal. But as the saying goes, I gripped myself with both hands. It grew upon my mind, once I could face the facts, that terrible as our position was, there was as yet no justification for absolute despair. Our chief chance lay in the possibility of the Martians making the pit nothing more than a temporary encampment. Or even if they kept it permanently, they might not consider it necessary to guard it, and a chance of escape might be afforded us. I also weighed very carefully the possibility of our digging a way out in a direction away from the pit, but the chances of our emerging within sight of some sentinel fighting-machine seemed at first too great. And I should have had to do all the digging myself. The curate would certainly have failed me.It was on the third day, if my memory serves me right, that I saw the lad killed. It was the only occasion on which I actually saw the Martians feed. After that experience I avoided the hole in the wall for the better part of a day. I went into the scullery, removed the door, and spent some hours digging with my hatchet as silently as possible; but when I had made a hole about a couple of feet deep the loose earth collapsed noisily, and I did not dare continue. I lost heart, and lay down on the scullery floor for a long time, having no spirit even to move. And after that I abandoned altogether the idea of escaping by excavation.It says much for the impression the Martians had made upon me that at first I entertained little or no hope of our escape being brought about by their overthrow through any human effort. But on the fourth or fifth night I heard a sound like heavy guns.It was very late in the night, and the moon was shining brightly. The Martians had taken away the excavatingmachine, and, save for a fighting-machine that stood in the remoter bank of the pit and a handling-machine that was buried out of my sight in a corner of the pit immediately beneath my peephole, the place was deserted by them. Except for the pale glow from the handling-machine and the bars and patches of white moonlight the pit was in darkness, and, except for the clinking of the handling-machine, quite still. That night was a beautiful serenity; save for one planet, the moon seemed to have the sky to herself. I heard a dog howling, and that familiar sound it was that made me listen. Then I heard quite distinctly a booming exactly like the sound of great guns. Six distinct reports I counted, and after a long interval six again. And that was all.

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The first authentic movie adaptation of the 1898 H. G. WELLS classic novel. WAR OF THE WORLDS. http://www.thewaroftheworldsmovie.net

forces is a concept director Timothy Hines understands. The independent filmmaker's modern-day version of "The War of the Worlds," set in Seattle, was two months away from principal photography when Sept. 11 shelved his plans.

"We'd had airplaines falling out of the sky and buildings blowing

THE FIRST AUTHENTIC MOVIE ADAPTATION OF THE 1898

H. G. WELLS CLASSIC NOVEL.

up," Hines said by telephone from Seattle. Wary of evoking such images just after the terrorist attacks, Hines revised his script into a faithful period adaptation of Wells' book. Then he found out Spielberg was planning his own version.

make since you were 10 years old, and the most successful director in the world is making the same movie," Hines said, still incredulous. Hines proceeded anyway; his low-budget "H.G. Wells' The War of the Worlds," shot in England and Washington state, has just come out on DVD.

"Because my version is so different, I don't see it as competition with (Spielberg's) film," Hines said. "And, obviously, I (didn't) have 200 gazillion dollars."

The thrust of Wells' book transcends its setting, Hines said. "Ultimately, the message is one against complacency ... and to beware of hubris."

From "'War of Worlds' is movie for uncertain times" by Carla Meyer

The Sacramento Bee

Scripps Howard News Service:

Holding one's ground in the face of what seem to be insurmountable

"Imagine that you're making this movie that you've been wanting to

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H.G. WELLS' THE WAR OF THE WORLDS.

The first and only authentic movie adaptation of the classic novel.

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