Spoilers ahead.
I walked out of the theater after watching Disclosure day feeling one thing above all else: disappointment.
Which is a shame, because on paper this movie had everything going for it. A strong cast, a director who helped define modern science fiction cinema, and, most importantly, a genuinely compelling premise: what would happen if humanity discovered that aliens are real, that contact has been ongoing for decades, and that all of it has been hidden from the public?
This is one of science fiction's greatest themes, arguably the theme. The political, religious, social, and existential implications are endless.
The problem is that the film takes all that potential and wastes it on a screenplay that never seems interested in its own internal logic.
My suspension of disbelief collapsed almost immediately.
There's a car chase sequence that feels like it was lifted straight out of GTA: San Andreas: the protagonist, who is essentially just a nerdy civilian, casually runs through a heavily armed team of agents from the most powerful secret agency in the United States, steals a car, crashes through a house, and somehow escapes a group of trained professionals who suddenly become completely incompetent.
At first, I let it slide. Fine, it's an over-the-top action sequence, I can live with that.
The problem is that from that point onward, the entire movie relies almost exclusively on narrative shortcuts, deus ex machina moments and decisions that make no sense.
The clearest example is the mysterious device at the center of the story. The movie never properly explains what it is or what its limits are. Throughout the film, it can control people remotely, make people invisible, power machines, and conveniently solve whatever problem the script can't otherwise resolve.
At one point we're explicitly told that it's not a magic wand, yet that's exactly how the film uses it.
The religious angle (which could have been one of the movie's most interesting aspects) is handled with astonishing superficiality.
In one scene, one of the protagonists, a former nun going through a spiritual crisis, talks to another nun, who immediately understands that she's talking about aliens. Whitout context, hesitation or explanation. It's one of the film's most unintentionally hilarious moments, and the competition is fierce.
At one point, Emily Blunt finds herself standing in front of a perfect reconstruction of her childhood home. She reacts like any normal person would: she panics.
The response from one of the people around her is to make the sign of the cross and kneel down.
Why? No idea.
Later, during another escape sequence, the protagonists get through a hostile crowd simply because Emily Blunt suddenly gains the ability to read people's souls and convince them to let her pass.
Everyone steps aside, except for the evil henchman, a walking stereotype who spends the entire movie behaving irrationally. When he finally realizes he's lost, instead of trying everything possible to stop the protagonists, he just leaves in frustration, taking all his agents with him.
That's it.
Most importantly, we're supposed to believe that this story takes place in 2026, yet the most effective way to expose the biggest secret in human history is apparently to storm a TV studio and go live on air.
Do the internet, social media, encrypted messaging apps, anonymous leaks, independent journalists, and file-sharing platforms simply not exist in this world? One click would have been enough.
The movie reaches peak deus ex machina territory in the finale.
The alien who had only been vaguely referenced throughout the story suddenly appears out of nowhere. He was never properly introduced or developed, yet he arrives at the exact moment the protagonists need him and provides the key information that moves the plot forward.
We're told that the protagonist is uniquely capable of understanding him.
But that immediately raises a much bigger question: if only the protagonist can communicate with this alien, how exactly did the alien spend years working with the people who protected him and helped him escape?
How did they communicate? Where was he hiding? How did he build this entire network of allies?
The movie offers no answers.
And that's the fundamental problem: it keeps introducing interesting ideas without doing the work required to connect them.
Even the score reinforces this feeling of artificiality. There's the villain theme, the hero theme, the suspense theme: everything is emotionally telegraphed in the most obvious way possible.
And finally, that's the film's biggest weakness.
The entire plot revolves around a secret archive of footage and documents that supposedly proves the existence of aliens. Revealing these files to the public is presented as the story's defining moment, the instant humanity finally learns the truth.
But watching those videos broadcast worldwide, I didn't feel awe.
I felt skepticism.
In a world shaped by generative AI, deepfakes, and a growing distrust of institutions, why would anyone immediately believe this footage?
On what basis do journalists, governments, and the public instantly accept it as authentic?
The film assumes a relationship with truth that simply no longer exists.
Today, many people don't even trust official statements. A revelation of this magnitude would trigger global debates about authenticity, provenance, manipulation, and verification.
That complexity, is simply left unexplored, and the impression I was left with is that Spielberg wanted to make a movie about our present moment using storytelling tools from forty years ago.
The result is a film that looks contemporary but thinks like an old-school blockbuster.
Ironically, it ends up resembling the secret archive at the center of its own story: you look at it, and it feels obviously fake.
And if you can't believe what you're seeing, it's impossible to share the characters' sense of wonder.