Albert Narracott (Jeremy Irvine) watches his beloved new horse in Steven Spielberg's "War Horse."
Years ago, the famed humor magazine “MAD” featured a film critic’s oath. One of the promises was that no matter how great Steven Spielberg became, critics would always remind readers that he had directed “1941,” the notorious 1979 box-office flop.
The oath needs updating. “War Horse,” Spielberg’s latest family-friendly epic is one of the worst films of 2011, a barrage of gooey inspirational scenes whose sheer volume threatens to choke us. It’s a feature-length greeting card from Spielberg on the wonders of a beautiful animal with vaguely human qualities, which will delight the apartment-bound, cat-hoarding spinster demographic. Everyone else is in for a bumpy ride.
Previously a novel and a Broadway play, “War Horse” starts in pre-World War I England, where a drunken farmer (Peter Mullan) desperately needs a plow horse. But the old man can’t shake a good feeling he has about a gorgeous, wild thoroughbred. He buys the animal, not an altogether wise decision. The horse costs a small fortune, so if the animal can’t plow the fields, the farmer and his family will lose their land. The farmer’s teenage son, Albert (Jeremy Irvine), promises to train the horse, which he names Joey.
Albert spends a month training Joey, and an interspecies love blooms. (Irvine’s performance is so intense I kept waiting for Albert to approach Joey with a bottle of Merlot, a dozen roses and a Teddy Pendergrass CD.) But the relationship doesn’t last. The crop is a bust, forcing Albert’s cash-strapped father to sell Joey to the British cavalry. And so begins the horse’s glorious, war-torn travels, where he provides an escape for two ill-fated German brothers, enchants a sickly French girl and gets warring sides to work together. The plucky equine does everything but cure cancer. Years pass, setting the stage for Albert and Joey to inevitably reunite in the most ridiculous way possible.
Spielberg has always had a saccharine side. Witness the endings to “Schindler’s List” and “Saving Private Ryan,” which were included to make sure our tear ducts were cried dry. It was a tack we could forgive since everything in those intense, memorable dramas resonated with us before the finales. In “War Horse,” Spielberg’s sappy side overrides everything, so we’re bombarded with context-less stimuli for two-plus hours. Sick kids! Hard working farmers who can’t express their feelings to their earnest sons! Distressed, but ever-so brave animals! Thanks to characters with the emotional depth of Precious Moments figurines and a conflict-free plot, all we have is a damned horse purposelessly running toward a conclusion we can’t wait to arrive.
I’m not sure what Spielberg is doing here. There’s no gripping human counterpoint to assuage the film’s nauseating sweep. He’s so much better than that. “E.T: The Extra Terrestrial” would mean nothing without Elliott; “Jaws” works because of the rapport between Robert Shaw, Roy Scheider and Richard Dreyfuss. Every character in “War Horse” is a prop, every plot twist a sliced onion shoved in our faces.
“War Horse” isn’t wholesome entertainment with a sentimental streak. It’s emotional porn.
Rating: W
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