Why Spielberg’s “Disclosure Day” fails to understand modern creators and audiences
Steven Spielberg’s latest blockbuster, Disclosure Day, operates on a fundamentally flawed premise: that humanity would collectively stop to believe blurry, low-resolution videos of extraterrestrials shown on primetime news. For digital artists and makers building their own narratives, this film represents a dangerous disconnect from the current information ecosystem. It suggests a utopian world where empathy reigns supreme and viewers trust cable news over their own critical faculties-a fantasy that collapses under the weight of today’s cynical digital landscape.
The film’s core delusion is not that aliens exist, but that people would find their suffering compelling enough to believe in them. In an era where AI-generated content is ubiquitous and empathy is often dismissed by power brokers as a destructive force, this narrative feels hopelessly naive. It reads less like a modern sci-fi thriller and more like a relic from a time when audiences trusted the Rachel Maddow effect or the Newsroom ethos, complete with a John Williams score.
In UFO circles, the concept of “Disclosure”-the idea that a government whistleblower will finally reveal the truth to the public-is a potent trope. However, Disclosure Day imagines a scenario where the entire world credulously watches evidence of alien life on television. This ignores the reality of how we consume information. If a similar montage were released today, the response would not be awe; it would be a collective yawn, followed by accusations of deepfakes, conspiracy theories, and news fatigue.
Spielberg told The Daily that the film is about community and preserving empathy, stating, “Such as realizing that the thing that we need to preserve in our society more than anything else, which is something which I believe is as fragile as democracy, is empathy.” Yet, the film’s ending undermines this very point. It posits that North Korea and the West are on the brink of World War III, but the revelation of alien life halts all conflict. This relies on the assumption that a single video can command the undivided attention of the entire planet, a notion that feels laughable in an age of fragmented media consumption.
The plot follows a classic whistleblower arc: an Edward Snowden-type figure teams up with a Kansas City TV meteorologist to leak footage of aliens. In the movie’s fiction, this stops a global war. In reality, the public has already been exposed to similar military footage, such as the famous “Tic Tac” UFO sighting and declassified Pentagon videos of floating orbs. When these were released, they did not end wars or unite humanity; they were met with skepticism and diminishing returns.
Furthermore, the film’s reliance on AI detection technology to verify the authenticity of the alien videos is particularly ironic and outdated. The movie shows cable news networks running the footage through detectors that confirm it is real. In practice, deepfake detectors are themselves AI tools that are often unreliable and can be manipulated to support any narrative. The idea that we can trust these automated systems to distinguish truth from fabrication is a fantasy that no serious creator should propagate.
One of the film’s most telling flaws is its treatment of human reaction to violence. The inciting incident involves a defense contractor, Daniel Keller, watching a video of the US government torturing an alien. This graphic footage is supposed to turn him against the conspiracy. The audience is meant to feel the disgust on Keller’s face and believe this would motivate hardened contractors to defect.
However, this ignores the reality of the modern internet. We have access to hundreds of hours of footage depicting torture and violence against humans, from ISIS beheadings to the brutal execution of a Russian mercenary by the Wagner Group using a sledgehammer. That video was filmed, published on Telegram, and eventually adopted as a brand identity by the very group that committed it. It was remixed endlessly and sold on merchandise. If a video of a human being tortured can be absorbed and commodified by a mercenary group, it is difficult to imagine that a video of an alien would move people to action or stop a global conflict.
The film also fails to account for the economic and technical realities of streaming. The idea that the world could instantly stream high-quality cable news on their phones without ads, paywalls, geoblocking, or popups is a utopian dream. Spielberg imagines an internet that is not utterly poisoned by the very things that define our current digital experience. While the film features great action and strong performances from Emily Blunt, Josh O’Connor, and Colin Firth, its signature naivety about the function of the internet and the concept of truth makes it feel increasingly out of touch.
Key takeaways
- Trust is broken: The film assumes audiences will believe low-resolution alien videos on TV, ignoring that modern viewers immediately suspect AI generation or propaganda.
- Violence is desensitised: The movie fails to account for how the public reacts to real-world torture footage, which is often ignored or repurposed rather than sparking global unity.
- Detection tools are unreliable: Using AI detectors to verify “real” footage in a movie is ironic, as those tools themselves are flawed and can be manipulated.
- The digital landscape is flawed: The plot relies on a frictionless internet experience that ignores ads, paywalls, and the fragmentation of global attention spans.
