It's all H.G. Wells' fault...

Well, alright, it's mostly H.G. Wells' fault, but it's also George Pal's fault. And Byron Haskin's fault. And Jeff Wayne's fault. And my dad's fault for letting me listen to Wayne's 1978 musical version of War Of The Worlds when I was four years old, before then letting me watch Pal and Haskin's 1953 film version.

 If you want the truth of it, that, right there, is why I'm a sci-fi fan. The musical version is also why I'm a musician, but that's by the by...

I can still remember the first time I heard that album, y'know. I know I was four years old, so it must have been either the arse end of 1981 or the first bit of 1982, but yeah, it was definitely "the early years of the 1980s", to paraphrase the granddaddy of alien invasion stories. We were in Wales, visiting relatives, and my uncle stuck t'LP on t'record player. Richard Burton's voice flowed mellifluously through the speakers (best. voice. EVER), and that was it; I was hooked. I sat in silence, listening as the first cylinder landed on Horsell Common, as the heat ray turned men to ash, as the HMS Thunderchild made her famous, valiant last stand.

And then, me and my cousin went playing on the common, near their house.

Yeah, I spent the next hour resolutely watching the sky, watchful for that telltale green flash...

But the movie version, oh the movie version. The worst bit is that it was entirely my own fault; after hearing the album, I bugged my dad for months, to show me the film version, expecting it to be pretty much the same as the musical version. Only it wasn't. I was more or less okay when I saw Pal and Haskin's version of a Martian fighting machine (still the most iconically beautiful war machine I've ever seen), but then, it got to that bit. The bit that shouldn't be scary, because let's be honest, that thing's got a Simon board for a face.

Yeah, you know the bit...

I know it's not in English, but trust me, words aren't needed...

When you read my own novel, Messiah's Shard, there's a bit in it that may well be very familiar to anyone who's seen War Of The Worlds. I had to include it, it's one of those moments that's just intensely personal to me; it's that terror of seeing something otherworldly in your own home, the place that's supposed to be safe. Well, alright, it's more the fear of not seeing it, because it's standing behind you, with its long, gangly and entirely wrong hand on your shoulder...  

*shudders*

Dammit, Wells (and Pal/Haskin), you've got a lot to answer for!

(Image Credit: The Essential Films)


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