Spielberg's WAR OF THE WORLDS is his most openly class aware movie as far as I can tell.
SPOLIERS:
It starts out with good old working class Tom Cruise (not only not acting as usual, but horrendously miscast to boot) moving cargo containers. After a flurry of montage that is supposed to establish his prowess, Cruise cockily walks away from overtime by citing union rules that forbid it (a snide swipe at unionism), hops in his souped-up Mustang and heads home.
There awaits his ex-wife with their two children. She is off to Boston with her new husband in a shiny, new, respectable SUV. Obviously, the children do not like staying with Dad -- it is a come down from their usual digs. Ex-wife inspects her husband's house -- a half-disassembled engine block on the kitchen table (don't all working class homes have one), no food in the refrigerator. Dad is reminded by ex-wife that son Robbie has a report on French history to do. Daughter Rachel looks like she cannot wait to escape from the lower depths. When she asks for food, Dad tells her to order out, which she does from the nearest organic restaurant (Dad makes expected yuck-face when he inadvertantly tries some of her food: real men don't eat hummus).
Instead of making Robbie do his report (on the French no less!), Dad engages son in a manly game of catch during which son pointedly reminds Dad that stepdad pays for son's education. Ouch! Not only is Dad working class, he neglects his children's education as well. Maybe instead of a flashy, souped up Mustang, Dad should invest more in his children. But you know how the working class are.
Then we have an interlude with the aliens.
Dad bundles son and daughter into the only car in New Jersey that runs, and heads to Mom's new house in surburia. There they will be safe. The house is empty and poor working-class Dad is so clueless that instead of looking for food in this kithcen, he scrounges though the box of inadequate vittles that he brought along (reflecting the poor nutritional habits of the working class).
Another interlude with aliens.
Somehow the entire neighborhood is destroyed, except for Dad's car. Now it is off to Boston where Mom and stepdad are with Grandma and Grandpa. Daughter keeps crying for her mother throughout the whole picture: we are never sure if she is more frightened of the aliens or the percipitous decline in her class status.
More alien interludes. In the last one of this series, son finally has enough of Dad who never stays and fights, but just flees (in son's eyes he is a coward). Manly embrace as Dad accepts son's desires, and then son goes off with the troops, crawling on the ground like a grunt (Saving Private Robbie?).
Now we get the survivalist interlude. Rightwing, white survivalist (Tim Robbins re-using his character from MYSTIC RIVER) beckons to Dad and daughter with upraised arm clenching a shotgun (Charlton Heston anyone?).
Yet another alien interlude. Dad shows his smarts by restraining the gun-happy survivalist who just wants to shoot the hell out of the aliens. Of course, survivalist goes around the bend and Dad has to kill him, but Dad closes the door so it all happens off-camera (there is a runing theme of daughter being told to close her eyes or being blindfolded to prevent her from seeing the horrors).
Now we are in the homestretch. Another alien interlude where Dad shows his moxie by going into the belly of the beast (literally - in the cheesiest special effect ever in a Spielberg movie) and coming out alive and victorious.
Finally, we get to Boston and the reunion (looks like Grandma and Grandpa live on Beacon Hill). Besides a seeming overabundance of swirling leaves, the neighborhood looks fine. Daughter rushes into Mom's arms. Mom looks at Dad and mouths a silent "Thank you." Son Robbie is also miraculously here -- I guess joining the military effort was his magic carpet back to the privileged classes. He hugs Dad in the street. Dad, of course, is not invited in. He is a working class Ehtan Edwards for the 21st century -- doing the dirty work for the elite and getting silent thank yous in return.
Welcome to summer 2005.
Brian Dauth Queer Buddhist Resister