There are few filmmakers who mean as much to my love of cinema as Steven Spielberg. Like countless movie lovers around the world, I can trace entire chapters of my cinematic education back to his work. From E.T. to Jurassic Park to Schindler's List to Saving Private Ryan, Spielberg has spent decades reminding audiences why cinema can feel magical. His films have always been about more than spectacle. At their best, they are about wonder. About curiosity. About looking up at the sky and believing there might be something bigger than ourselves waiting out there. So when Spielberg announced his return to the realm of extraterrestrial mysteries with Disclosure Day, written by longtime collaborator David Koepp, it immediately became one of my most anticipated films of the year. The prospect of Spielberg revisiting the kind of cosmic questions that fascinated him throughout much of his career felt irresistible. Unfortunately, while Disclosure Day contains flashes of the filmmaker's old brilliance, it never fully evolves into the profound science fiction experience it seems determined to become.
What makes the disappointment particularly frustrating is that the film begins with genuinely compelling ideas. Spielberg and Koepp are clearly interested in exploring questions of faith, truth, collective fear, and humanity's place in the universe. The film repeatedly circles around one central question: what happens after disclosure? What happens when humanity learns something that fundamentally alters its understanding of reality? It is a fascinating premise and one that feels especially relevant in an era where conversations about unidentified aerial phenomena have steadily migrated from internet forums into mainstream discourse. Yet for all its fascination with the idea of disclosure, the film rarely seems interested in examining its consequences. Instead of digging deeper into the social, political, philosophical, or emotional implications of such a revelation, the narrative repeatedly redirects its attention toward plot mechanics and pursuit sequences.
For much of its runtime, Disclosure Day operates less like a science fiction drama and more like a mystery thriller. Characters move from one clue to another, uncovering fragments of information while being pursued by forces that would rather those secrets remain hidden. There is certainly enough momentum to keep things moving, but the film often feels like it is delaying the conversation audiences actually came to hear. The questions become more intriguing than the answers. The setup becomes more interesting than the payoff. For a film approaching two and a half hours, it spends a surprising amount of time laying foundations without ever fully building upon them. I kept waiting for the story to pivot into something more ambitious, more challenging, more emotionally revealing. Instead, it remains trapped in a cycle of withholding information while insisting that information is important.
That is not to say the film lacks strengths. The cast does a tremendous amount of heavy lifting, particularly Emily Blunt, who delivers what may very well be the film's strongest performance. Blunt brings conviction and emotional grounding to material that often struggles to support her. Even during exposition heavy scenes, she finds ways to make the character feel lived in and human. There is a quiet vulnerability beneath her determination that keeps the audience invested even when the screenplay starts spinning its wheels. She is surrounded by an equally talented ensemble. Colman Domingo once again proves why he remains one of the most reliable actors working today, while Josh O'Connor brings charisma to a role that never receives enough development. Colin Firth does what he can with a character who feels frustratingly thin on the page, though even his considerable talents cannot completely overcome the screenplay's limitations.
What struck me most throughout the film was how distant many of the relationships felt. Spielberg's greatest works have always anchored extraordinary circumstances in deeply personal emotional realities. Elliott's friendship with E.T. mattered because it reflected loneliness and childhood longing. Roy Neary's obsession in Close Encounters mattered because it consumed his entire life. Even the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park worked because Spielberg understood that spectacle means very little if we do not care about the people running from it. Disclosure Day talks constantly about connection, empathy, understanding, and shared humanity, yet surprisingly little of it feels emotionally tangible. Characters tell us what they believe and explain why events matter, but the relationships themselves rarely carry enough weight to make those ideas resonate. The film repeatedly asks us to care without always giving us reasons to.
As a result, much of the movie carries an odd sense of emotional distance. The closer it gets to its biggest revelations, the less impactful those revelations become. Part of this stems from a screenplay that seems more interested in preserving mystery than exploring meaning. Another part comes from how frequently the narrative prioritizes movement over reflection. Every time the film appears ready to pause and consider the emotional consequences of what is happening, it quickly shifts back into thriller mode.
There are moments where the film almost resembles a large-scale treasure hunt, with characters racing from one clue to the next in pursuit of answers that never quite justify the intensity of the journey. The mystery gradually becomes the destination itself rather than a doorway into something deeper. In many ways, the film carries a distinctly post The Da Vinci Code Dan Brown energy, not just in how the plot unfolds, but in the way the characters speak, behave, and move through the story. Every discovery is treated as earth shattering, every revelation arrives with the weight of a grand secret, yet very little of it resonates on an emotional or thematic level. The result is a film that often mistakes constant motion for genuine momentum. It keeps moving, keeps uncovering new pieces of the puzzle, but rarely pauses to ask why any of it truly matters beyond the mechanics of the mystery itself.
Still, Spielberg remains one of the greatest visual storytellers in cinema history, and there are sequences here that remind you exactly why. Even when the script falters, the filmmaking rarely does. Several set pieces are constructed with the kind of clarity and precision that younger directors spend entire careers trying to replicate. One sequence involving a train is pure Spielberg. It is tense, visually inventive, and staged with remarkable confidence.
Longtime cinematographer Janusz Kamiński once again delivers imagery that feels unmistakably tied to Spielberg's cinematic language. The glowing light, the carefully composed frames, and the sense of scale all remain intact. Watching Spielberg direct even a flawed film is often more engaging than watching many contemporary filmmakers direct a successful one.
The same can be said for the contribution of John Williams. At this point, describing Williams as legendary almost feels inadequate. The score consistently elevates the material, injecting wonder, urgency, and emotional texture into scenes that sometimes struggle to generate those feelings on their own. There were multiple moments where I found myself responding more strongly to the music than to what was actually happening within the scene. Williams understands the emotional language of Spielberg's cinema perhaps better than anyone, and his work here serves as a constant reminder of the heights this film occasionally approaches but never fully reaches.
What ultimately holds Disclosure Day back is not a lack of craftsmanship. It is a lack of curiosity. The film presents enormous questions but offers surprisingly little interest in answering them. It gestures toward profound ideas without engaging with them in meaningful ways. The philosophical themes remain surface level. The ethical dilemmas are introduced and then abandoned. The societal implications of disclosure are barely explored. At times, the film feels like it desperately wants to be viewed as profound without doing the difficult work required to earn that distinction. I found myself thinking about Arrival throughout much of the runtime, not because the films are particularly similar, but because Arrival understood that the revelation itself was merely the beginning. The truly fascinating story starts after the discovery. Disclosure Day never quite reaches that stage.
None of this brings me any pleasure to write because I genuinely wanted to love this movie. I wanted Spielberg's return to alien storytelling to feel like a culmination of decades spent exploring wonder, fear, and humanity's relationship with the unknown. Instead, Disclosure Day feels like a talented filmmaker revisiting familiar territory without discovering anything particularly new there. There are moments of beauty. Moments of suspense. Moments that remind you why Spielberg became Spielberg. But those moments remain isolated flashes within a film that never fully delivers on its own ambitions.
For lifelong Spielberg devotees, there will certainly be enough here to admire. The craftsmanship remains undeniable. The performances are strong. The technical achievements are impressive. Yet admiration and emotional connection are not always the same thing. Disclosure Day is a film filled with big questions, grand aspirations, and extraordinary talent. What it lacks is the sense of wonder and discovery that once made Spielberg's encounters with the unknown feel genuinely transformative. The truth may be out there, but this time around, the journey toward it proves far more compelling than the destination itself.
Disclosure Day arrives at Theaters on June 12, 2026.
