DISCLOSURE DAY

The idealogical conflict at the heart of 'Disclosure Day' is the question of, if the human race were to discover we were not alone, how would we react? Not in a 'Independence Day' or 'Mars Attacks!' fashion, but really, what would happen? In the background of the film, we get the sense of a building global cataclysm, a conflict between the United States and North Korea that would plunge the world into war. In 2026, this feels horrifyingly prescient, in the same way the abduction of immigrants of the streets of the U.S. did in 'One Battle After Another'. The easy answer would be that discovering something as gigantic as this would render war obsolete, such as James Cameron's approach in 'The Abyss' or Denis Villeneuve's in 'Arrival'.

But in 'Disclosure Day', this isn't so simple. Among the best scenes in the film (and the strongest moments in Koepp's screenplay) are the philosophical debates over whether it is irresponsible to release this footage. On the one hand, it could more firmly place us within the universe, give us an understanding of the vast complexity of life around us. On the other, it could entirely dismantle our entire concept of ourselves, of the laws we have written to keep the world in balance, and the religious beliefs we have developed to anchor our sense of purpose. This becomes the tension of 'Disclosure Day', making the film feel so much bigger than the internal conflicts of any of the characters. Spielberg wants us to really consider this, what this might mean for us, and asks that our response speak to how we see ourselves. He has mentioned in interviews that what concerns him most is our collective sense of empathy, and this becomes the test at the heart of the film.

Mixed within the question of how might we react is something far more immediate: the realisation that something this enormous has been kept from us and, even worse, the manner in which that has occurred. In this way, 'Disclosure Day' brings Spielberg's "first contact" films into a Venn diagram with his extraordinary post-9/11 paranoia films. For someone who has always been at the heart of Hollywood identity, Spielberg's work has consistently returned to the idea of a mistrust in systems of power and the dangers of corruption. While he rarely speaks of his politics in public, his films speak his opinions loud and clear, and 'Disclosure Day' is no different. The difference between post-9/11 and now is that we know we are being lied to, and perhaps this fuels his conviction with wanting to make the film - if we know the powers that be are lying to our faces on a daily basis, what if they've been lying to us about something this enormous all along? And what if they have been exploiting that lie? For all the moments of Spielberg's familiar heartfelt sentimentality in 'Disclosure Day', there are equally moments of his sharp cynicism and emotional brutality, ensuring that as fantastical and idealistic as the idea of first contact might be, it anchors itself in a scenario that feels immediate, familiar and at times, unsettling.

How we comprehend the enormity of such an event leads to one of his greatest strengths as a filmmaker, his ability to place us within the emotional heart of his characters. Perhaps the biggest surprise with 'Disclosure Day' is how intimate it is, most of the action centred around carefully constructed moments of character drama. Danny, Margaret, Jane and Margaret's boyfriend Jackson (Wyatt Russell, 'Everybody Wants Some!!') are all ordinary people caught in extraordinary circumstances, trying to make sense of the ever-encroaching threat and the impact that is having on each other. As Danny and Margaret begin to unravel, Jane and Jackson struggle to hold them together, facing the question of whether to accept or reject. In that way, the interpersonal relationships act as a microcosm of the wider thematic concerns of the film and, consequently, make it easier for us to access them. As with all of Spielberg's best work, the characters become the eyes through which we can see and comprehend, and the magic of the iconic "Spielberg Face" (resplendent throughout the film) is how it always acts as a reflection, the stepping stone to our own moment of awe.

The ordinariness of the characters results is some of the film's most powerful moments, especially in the aftermath of the film's many impressive action set-pieces. Rather than flying past the aftermath, Spielberg lets us sit in it, sit with the characters as they threaten to fall apart, desperately clinging to whatever they can to anchor themselves to the world as they know it. This is what makes Emily Blunt's performance in particular such a standout, maybe her best work on screen yet. Margaret feels so genuine, so heartfelt, so relatable, and her confusion and pain collide beautifully with her innate sense of empathy. Again, this is where we see Spielberg balance sentimentality with cruelty, that you can't understand one without the other. While Blunt truly shines in the film, the performances across the board are excellent, each actor given opportunities to stretch their skills in ways we haven't seen before - Firth's menace, Domingo's command, O'Connor's terror. Another standout is Eve Hewison, who steals every scene she has with a tremendous mix of specificity, humour, heart and fear. There's such a strong sense of everyone being in line with what Spielberg is aiming for here, and the film is all the better for it.

There's a strong chance that some audiences might not find their groove with 'Disclosure Day'. Those expecting an action adventure might balk at its philosophical focus. Others might reject its overt sentimentality or moral posturing. There's even a messiness to the film that might disappoint some who expect the spit-and-polish of Spielberg's earlier work. All of those occurred to me watching it, and yet I was absolutely transfixed by 'Disclosure Day' at every moment, growing more and more certain that we were headed somewhere significant.

This current run for Spielberg is truly extraordinary, and 'Disclosure Day' falls very much in line with 'West Side Story' and 'The Fabelmans' in the sense that his films are starting to feel, somehow, even more personal than they've ever been. Oddly enough, the film I kept thinking of while watching 'Disclosure Day' was Martin Scorsese's extraordinary epic 'The Irishman'. Like that film, 'Disclosure Day' feels like a filmmaker looking back on their work, reflecting on who they were then and who they are now. Spielberg has often said that, if he were to make 'Close Encounters' now, he would have ended it differently. 'Disclosure Day' feels like the fruition of that observation. It is more in conversation with that film than any of his others, in particular because (with the exception of 'The Fabelmans') it is easily his most personal, and as 'Disclosure Day' reaches its final act, you can feel Spielberg leaning forward, putting his hand on our shoulder and asking us to take a seat. He has wisdom to impart to us, wisdom he has learned through years of searching, questioning and reaching for the stars.

As with so, so, so many of his films, it's the final sequence in 'Disclosure Day' that pulls all the pieces together and reminds us why Spielberg is one of the great masters of his craft. It isn't that where the film takes us feels like a surprise - in fact, it's inevitable almost from the beginning - but when it gets there, it has no intention of wasting the opportunity. The final minutes of this film left me gobsmacked, so deeply moved and so profoundly affected, so much so that just writing about them, I can feel a shiver up my spine. On a second viewing, it may be enough to reduce me to tears. It's where the film's thematic ideas and concerns begin to sing like a choir, and we are asked to consider, for just a few moments, the capacity of our humanity. My grandmother once told me that she thought 'Close Encounters' was the most spiritual film she'd ever seen, and this is all I could think about in the last minutes of 'Disclosure Day', the way Spielberg's feelings about the potential of first contact speak to our sense of ourselves. It's never about the aliens. It's always, always about us.

I approach every new Steven Spielberg film with astronomical expectations. More than any filmmaker alive, to me he has attained the status of a god, an artist whose work has fundamentally changed who I am, the way I see the world and the manner in which I interact with it. To call him a god though is to suggest that the man is infallible, which is certainly not the case. As much as I may revere him, he is just a human being, one who has traversed the rivers of youth and age, love and loss, optimism and cynicism, success and failure, certainty and doubt. It is his immense humanity that makes him such a magnificent filmmaker. All of that is written into the text of his film, who he is, and consequently, who we are. This is what I want from a new Steven Spielberg film, and in 'Disclosure Day', we find the great man honce again revealing something of himself, his sorrow at what we have become and his optimism at what we might be in the future. He is a man reaching the final act of his life, and each film from him, each precious film, matters. Like Hayao Miyazaki with 'The Boy and the Heron' or Martin Scorsese with 'Killers of the Flower Moon' or David Lynch with 'Twin Peaks: The Return', he is taking the opportunity to make these films his final statements. In 'Disclosure Day', a breathtaking film of immense heart and soul, he makes a plea for empathy, openness and understanding. He asks us to listen.