Invasione marziana

QUESTO OTTOBRE FANNO 70 anni dalla mattina in cui l'America credette di essere invasa. Era il 30 di ottobre del 1938, ricorda Popular Communications con un certo anticipo e il mezzo di comunicazione di massa per eccellenza era la radio celebrata da Woody Allen con Radio Days (che per un caso ho rivisto una decina di giorni fa al cinema qui a Milano). Andavano le big band, lo swing e il pop sporcato di jazz e ritmi brasiliani. Alle 8 di mattina di quella domenica, Orson Wells, che all'epoca aveva 23 anni, fece iniziare le trasmissioni del suo radiodramma, un adattamento della Guerra dei mondi di H.G. Wells, che da Woking, in Gran Bretagna, si era trasferita nel New Jersey. Fu panico istantaneo e l'apprendista stregone traccio un segno profondo nel nascente immaginario mediatico. Un enorme successo di pubblico e di critica, almeno secondo i parametri del famoso personaggio di Gustave Flaubert.

Il testo integrale di Popular Communications:

It was really all about ratings. In the years just before the United States entered World War II, the most popular radio program on Sundays at 8 p.m. was the “Chase and Sanborn Hour” featuring Edgar Bergen and a piece of lumber named Charlie McCarthy. Opposite the famous ventriloquist was Orson Welles’ “The Mercury Theatre on the Air,” which the 23-year-old created for CBS and its affiliates. To entice listeners away from the comedy of Bergen and the caustic McCarthy, the Mercury players offered adaptations of famous books like Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island, Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, and H.G. Wells’ The War of the Worlds. That last one, of course, sent shockwaves out from radio speakers on October 30, 1938.

Both “Chase and Sanborn” and “The Mercury Theatre” ran for an hour starting at 8 p.m. People were used to tuning into “Chase and Sanborn” and listening to the opening then, at about 8:12, when a musical selection began, they would tune across the band to find something else of interest—just as we channel surf today on television. On this particular evening, by the time the audience found “The Mercury Theatre,” they had missed the announcement that it was a drama updated from Victorian England to modern day New Jersey. Because of the format of news items interrupting musical programs most people had no idea what was really going on “at the scene.”

What was really going on within the audience was panic. By 8:15 calls were already pouring in to the police, radio stations, and newspapers, particularly in the New Jersey and New England area. A mass hysteria had started, and it was spreading—people were convinced Martians had landed at Grover’s Mill, New Jersey, near Princeton.

Two hysterical women called a New York theater where their husbands were attending a play and had them called to the phone. Panic spread through the entire audience, and the theater was quickly evacuated. Families brought children to police stations to be evacuated. Men with guns went out to find the Martians and shot to pieces a newly erected water tower outside the Grover’s Mill. The New York Times received a phone call from a man in Dayton, Ohio, who asked “what time will it be the end of the world?” Doctors and nurses in the area wanted to know where emergency services were being established so they could volunteer. The Brooklyn Navy Yard cancelled all leaves and passes to keep the sailors with their ships. The order to “get us steam” was passed. It was thought the Navy’s big guns might be needed in New York Harbor to repel Martians moving against the population centers of New Jersey and New York.

Elsewhere people jumped into their cars and jammed the roads in an attempt to flee their homes. Some poured into churches, seeking out comfort from ministers and priests. Many improvised gas masks with wet towels or demanded the real thing from the police. Miscarriages and early births were reported; there were also unconfirmed reports of associated deaths. Reportedly, several suicides were stopped when the truth finally became known.

By 9:30 the panic was mostly over. Many people were embarrassed, but even more were angry. Lawsuits blossomed like spring flowers, and everyone agreed it would never be allowed to happen again. And, because Orson Welles, chief instigator of the terror, was off to Hollywood, it didn’t—at least not within our borders.