I'm a big fan of George Pal's 1953 original film version of THE WAR OF THE WORLDS, which is an exciting, suspenseful treat, drenched in rich Technicolor. I remember, as a pre-teenager, reading that it was going to be on TV one afternoon. At that point I hadn't seen the movie, I only knew about it from incredible photographs in monster magazines. I tuned in a little late, missing the opening credits. The TV station, at the last minute, replaced the film with a western musical. Here I am, ten years old, watching some cowboy get into a bar fight and I'm thinking "Okay, where are those flying saucers?" The cowboy then rescues a stray cat and takes it along on his travels. It's now almost twenty minutes into the film. The cowboy is canoeing down river with the cat, and he's singing about the countryside. I'm confused, thinking: "Wow, this is the most bulloxed up sci-fi movie of all time. Maybe the Martians are behind that mountain?"
Twenty years from now, the same thing will happen to some confused young film fanatic when the TV station replaces WAR OF THE WORLDS with BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN.
Twenty years from now, the same thing will happen to some confused young film fanatic when the TV station replaces WAR OF THE WORLDS with BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN.