On the 30th of October, 1938, an adaptation of HG Wells’s science fiction novel The
War of the Worlds was broadcast on the CBS radio network.
Thousands tuned in to listen and, unfortunately, a small number of these listeners mistakenly
believed that the events described in the show were actually taking place, and that
an alien invasion was imminent.
In towns and cities across the country, for a brief few hours, panic reigned.
The incident has gone down in history as a radio debacle… but it is not the last instance
of a public panic caused by a work of fiction.
The novel The War of the Worlds by HG Wells tells the tale of an alien invasion of Earth.
In the story martians travel through space in gigantic metal cylinders, which land and
disgorge terrifying three-legged fighting machines.
These cut through the ranks of Earth’s militaries with powerful death rays and poisonous black
smoke, forcing humans to take refuge underground.
The alien onslaught continues until, quite unexpectedly, the invaders are slain by earthly
diseases, to which they have no immunity.
The novel was adapted for radio by Orson Welles.
The adaptation consisted of two parts – the latter being a standard radio play, while
the first half took the form of a series of mock radio broadcasts.
Of course, to prevent any confusion, this was preceded by a note read out by Welles
himself, plainly identifying the drama that was about to play out as a work of fiction.
Of course, not everyone heard this announcement.
Many listeners only tuned in after the play had begun, missing the crucial warning that
nothing they were hearing was real.
The authentic-seeming sounds of a Martian invasion caused a significant stir across
the country.
In some small towns people armed themselves and took to the streets, ready to fight off
the alien menace.
The switchboards at the Columbia Broadcasting building became jammed with calls as terrified
listeners phoned in, demanding to know what was going on.
In Grover’s Mill – a town actually named in the broadcast – a drunken farmer mistook
a water tower for a three-legged alien fighting machine and blasted it with his shotgun.
As the chaos reached a crescendo, police officers were despatched to the Columbia Broadcasting
building, and tussled with executives there, demanding an immediate end to the show.
By the time it was realised that the broadcast was being taken a little too seriously, the
show was almost over.
The studio wrapped things up with a hastily-scripted announcement read by Orson Welles, emphasising
that it had all been intended in the spirit of good fun.
Then, chaos took over at CBS headquarters.
Copies of the script were destroyed.
Executives were locked out of their offices by the police, and journalists descended on
the building.
In the immediate aftermath the chaos which the broadcast had caused seemed almost limitless.
There were reports of mass suicides, citizens taking up arms, riots and looting.
The papers of the day reported civil disorder up and down the country…
leaving Orson Welles believing not just that his career was at an end, but that he would
be lucky to escape jail.
As it turned out, however, the incidents of panic across the country had been intense
but short-lived.
The vast majority of concerned listeners did nothing more dramatic than pick up a phone
to try and confirm what they were hearing… and those who did take up arms or seek shelter
from the aliens quickly put down their weapons and re-emerged once it became clear that the
radio play was just that: a play.
Despite this, the chaos caused by the original 1938 broadcast of The War of the Worlds remains
the stuff of legend.
Another similar incident occurred on the 20th
of February, 1959, when a television play titled “Before the Sun Goes Down” was
broadcast on the United Kingdom’s independent television channel ITV.
The premise of the play was that a mysterious and threatening satellite had appeared in
the sky over London.
Against a backdrop of fear and uncertainty two lonely souls (played by Eddie Byrne and
Margot van de Burgh) would meet and fall in love on what might well be their last night
on Earth.
The play began with a shockingly convincing news broadcast, with a newsreader soberly
delivering the following lines: "We are interrupting the programme for an
urgent announcement.
Tonight a new and terrifying satellite has been launched into outer space.
Defying all previously held scientific theory, it hangs stationary over London.
Here it is, seen from a camera on the roof of Television House.
The question is: is this an enemy space platform armed with H-bombs aimed at the heart of the
City?
Before we know the answer, remember: there is no need for panic.
There has been no ultimatum from any other Power.
The Prime Minister has called an emergency Defence Council meeting.
He has asked us to broadcast the following message: 'Fear is our greatest enemy, not
bombs.
Carry on as usual; but stay in your homes with your families.
Our trust is in God.'
In compliance with the Prime Minister's request, the Civil Defence has ordered all traffic
and pedestrians off the streets at once."
Coming at a time when memories of war were still fresh in the minds of the population,
the effect of this announcement was electrifying.
Families immediately sought shelter, with some of them switching off their television
sets in favour of their slightly more portable radios, with which they could listen for developments
while also sheltering in the safest part of their homes.
As a result of this, it was in some cases several hours before audiences around the
country realised that what they had seen was part of a play, and not a real event.
The experience of these poor people is captured aptly by a letter that was read out in parliament
in the wake of the incident: “We were so happy before, laughing, and
suddenly we could not believe what we were hearing.
The shock was awful.
I could have dropped dead on the spot.
We thought it was real, because the play was not announced.
The man just said, ‘So sorry to interrupt the programme for an urgent warning.
Don't panic,’ and when he mentioned the Prime Minister we thought it was true.
We were frightened to death as we turned off the television at once and turned on the radio
to stand by, like he said, so we did not know it was a play for one hour and in that time
I was waiting to be killed.
It felt so long I went to the kitchen and looked hard with dread thoughts at the gas
stove.
It was horrible, horrible…”
In the wake of this matter, the Independent Television Authority was asked some difficult
questions.
Representatives insisted that it had done its duty and advised against the inclusion
of the realistic news broadcast.
It was, they said, simply down to a miscommunication with the production company that it had still
been included.
Many years later, in 1977, another TV program
also caused a significant stir across the UK.
This one, titled “Alternative 3” was always intended as a hoax.
It used somewhat well-known actors of the day, and credited them with their various
roles at the end.
Furthermore, it was initially set to be broadcast on April Fool’s Day, although a scheduling
issue meant that it was delayed until more than a month later.
The programme, which resembled a documentary, began by investigating the mysterious disappearance
of several high profile scientists and military figures… and progressed from there to an
implication that there was life on Mars, and that Russia and America were secretly collaborating
to build a base there and evacuate important personnel to it before the Earth became uninhabitable.
Along the way, Alternative 3 used a range of techniques to convince the viewer of its
authenticity.
As well as directly assuring them it was real, it referenced real events, including a worldwide
drought from the year before.
The narrator was a real newsreader, who would have been a familiar face and a voice of authority
for many of those watching.
Real news footage was used, and actors were presented as real experts.
If no attention was paid to the quality of the acting, there was little to mark it out
as a hoax.
Thousands of shocked viewers, unable to reconcile what they saw, called in to the studio to
ask for more information – with some of them demanding to know how they could be added
to the list of people who would be saved from the dying Earth and transported to the secret
colony on Mars.
No amount of reassurance that the whole thing was a hoax seemed able to convince viewers
that the show was a work of fiction.
So convincing was Alternative 3, in fact, that it quickly became part of conspiracy
lore, with a small handful of people believing that some or all of the show’s wilder assertions
were secretly true – that there was a secret base on Mars, that the Earth was doomed, and
that the best of the best of humanity really had been quietly evacuating to another planet
for several decades.
Once again, no matter how unlikely, how bizarre, and how obviously fake the story was… it
was real enough to convince at least some.
In each of these cases, it seems incredible that people should believe that what they
were seeing was real.
But when taken out of context – seen only partially, without the introductory warnings,
the end credits, the framing that would mark it out as fiction – what seems patently
false to a director or creator can seem terrifyingly real to the person watching it.