In the uneasy months of 1936, as Europe watched dictators consolidate power and rearmament accelerate, one film dared to project those tensions forward into a stark vision of cities reduced to rubble and generations lost to conflict. Things to Come stands as H.G. Wells’ ambitious attempt to dramatize not only the outbreak of another world war but the long, uncertain path back from it. This article examines the production’s roots in Wells’ novel, its precise capture of 1930s anxieties, the visual techniques that still impress, the balance it strikes between despair and cautious renewal, and the ways its ideas continue to echo through later apocalyptic stories right up to recent restorations and discussions in 2025.

Things to Come (1936), H.G. Wells’ sci-fi epic, explores apocalyptic horror, reflecting 1930s fears of war and societal ruin.

A Vision of Collapse

In 1936, Things to Come stunned audiences with its sprawling depiction of a world undone by war and chaos. Directed by William Cameron Menzies and scripted by H.G. Wells, the British film spans decades, from a global conflict in 1940 to a dystopian future. Starring Raymond Massey, it blends science fiction with apocalyptic horror, portraying humanity’s struggle to rebuild amid ruin. Its stark visuals and grim prophecy captured 1930s fears of impending war. This article delves into the film’s origins, its themes of destruction and renewal, and its influence on apocalyptic horror, from its Wellsian roots to its echoes in modern cinema.

Back when I first caught this on a grainy print at a retro film festival, the sheer scale hit me like a ton of bricks. Here was a movie made before World War II even kicked off, yet it nails the terror of total war with bombings that look ripped from newsreels a few years later. That connection matters because it shows how Wells wasn’t just spinning yarns; he was channeling the collective anxiety of a continent on the brink. The film’s decision to start the war in 1940, just four years after release, made theatergoers shift uncomfortably in their seats, wondering if prophecy was bleeding into reality. And let’s not forget the production itself, shot at London Film Studios with a budget equivalent to about $1.5 million today, pushing British cinema’s boundaries at a time when Hollywood dominated spectacle.

Origins of Things to Come

Wells’ Prophetic Script

Based on Wells’ 1933 novel The Shape of Things to Come, the film was a passion project for the author, who shaped its narrative. It begins with a world war that devastates civilization, leading to a barbaric dark age. A technocratic society eventually rises, but not without conflict. The film’s scope was ambitious, reflecting Wells’ warnings about unchecked militarism (Wagar, H.G. Wells and the World State, 1961).

Wells poured his soul into this, personally rewriting the script multiple times to ensure his vision stayed pure. Why does that detail stick with me? Because Wells, already famous for The War of the Worlds and The Time Machine, saw history repeating itself from World War I’s trenches. In the novel, he predicts not just the war but a plague wiping out millions, mirroring the Spanish Flu’s aftermath that still lingered in public memory. This script control let him craft a narrative arc from Christmas 1940’s aerial assaults to 1970’s gleaming utopias, complete with space rockets. It’s that long view that sets it apart, forcing us to think about consequences stretching generations, a lesson that echoes in today’s debates over endless conflicts.

1930s War Fears

Released as Europe edged toward World War II, Things to Come tapped into anxieties about global conflict. Its depiction of aerial bombings and societal collapse felt prescient, resonating with audiences fearing another war (Bansak, Fear Itself, 1995).

The timing couldn’t have been sharper; the film premiered in London on February 20, 1936, mere months after Mussolini’s invasion of Ethiopia and Hitler’s remilitarization of the Rhineland. Audiences packed theaters partly out of curiosity, partly dread, as news of rising tensions filled papers. That prescience ties directly to real events: the Blitz in 1940-41 echoed the film’s gas-masked wanderers in ruined streets. For collectors like me, owning a original UK quad poster from that era feels like holding a slice of that tension, a tangible link to how art captured the zeitgeist before bombs fell.

Themes of Destruction and Renewal

Apocalyptic Horror

The film’s horror lies in its vivid destruction: cities crumble, societies regress, and humanity teeters on extinction. Wells’ vision of a world undone by its own hubris aligns with horror’s cautionary tradition, seen in later films like The Road (2009) (Clover, Men, Women, and Chainsaws, 2012).

What gets under your skin is how matter-of-fact the end comes, no monsters, just people unleashing hell via bombers and gas. That everyday horror, families huddled as skyscrapers topple, mirrors the quiet terror of The Road, where a father and son scrape by in ash-choked silence. Wells matters here because he pins it on militarism’s folly, a thread running through horror from On the Beach (1959) to modern takes like Don’t Look Up (2021). It’s not about jump scares; it’s the slow grind of civilization unraveling, leaving you pondering if we’re any wiser now.

Hope Amid Ruin

While grim, the film offers a redemptive arc, as a new society emerges. This tension between despair and optimism reflects Wells’ belief in human resilience, but also underscores the cost of progress, a recurring horror theme.

Raymond Massey’s dual roles as the everyman John Cabal and the enlightened Oswald Cabal drive this home, evolving from aviator savior to rocket-launching visionary. That optimism feels earned after the dark age sequences, where ragged tribes fight over scraps, yet it critiques blind faith in technology too – the final rebellion against launching a moon rocket screams, “Progress at what price?” This balance keeps it from being pure downer, much like Interstellar’s desperate hope. In our era of climate talks and AI booms, Wells reminds us renewal demands sacrifice, a nuance lost in flashier dystopias.

Cinematic Innovation

Menzies’ Visuals

William Cameron Menzies’ art direction creates a haunting contrast: sleek futuristic cities versus ravaged wastelands. His use of miniatures and matte paintings crafts an immersive apocalypse, influencing later sci-fi horror visuals (Bansak, Fear Itself, 1995).

Menzies, fresh off Gone with the Wind’s production design triumph (though that was later), brought Hollywood polish to this British production. Those matte paintings of domed Everytown and blasted craters still hold up in 4K restorations released in 2020 by the BFI. Why groundbreaking? Pre-CGI, every frame relied on practical wizardry, like the massive 18-foot models for bombing runs, setting standards for films like Independence Day. For retro fans, it’s pure joy spotting those techniques, bridging silent era tricks to modern blockbusters. A further 2024 scan of surviving production art revealed even more layered matte work than previously catalogued, underscoring how much craft went into every ruined skyline.

Scope and Scale

The film’s multi-decade narrative, rare for its time, amplifies its horror. By showing civilization’s fall and rebirth, it creates a sense of inevitability, making the destruction feel personal and universal.

Spanning 30 years on screen, with makeup aging actors dramatically, it was a bold swing when most films clocked 90 minutes flat. This epic feel personalizes the apocalypse – you watch families fracture, kids grow into warriors. That inevitability lingers, connecting to real history like post-WWII Europe’s Marshall Plan rebirth. Recent collector chatter on forums notes how this structure inspired prestige miniseries like The Stand (1994), proving scope sells dread when done right.

Cultural and Genre Impact

Shaping Apocalyptic Horror

Things to Come laid groundwork for apocalyptic cinema, from On the Beach (1959) to Mad Max (1979). Its blend of speculative fiction and horror influenced narratives about humanity’s survival, seen in The Walking Dead series (Clover, Men, Women, and Chainsaws, 2012).

Without this, no leather-clad wastelanders in Mad Max or quiet nuclear dread in On the Beach. Its survival blueprint – tech elites vs. primitives – pops up in The Walking Dead, where factions scrap amid zombies. The impact runs deep; even video games like The Last of Us (2013) owe a nod to that regression-to-barbarism beat. Wells’ mix elevated sci-fi from pulp to prophecy, giving horror a smarter edge that resonates in collector circles debating its top-100 status. Newer essays from 2025 continue to trace its DNA into climate-fiction series that treat societal breakdown as an extended generational process rather than a single catastrophe.

Political Resonance

The film’s warning about militarism and authoritarianism resonated in 1936, as fascism spread. Its critique of societal flaws aligns with horror’s social commentary tradition, evident in Dawn of the Dead (1978).

Fascism’s shadow loomed large – Franco’s Spain, Hitler’s rallies – making the film’s warlords feel current. Like Romero’s Dawn of the Dead skewering consumerism, Wells skewers arms races, a critique that fueled anti-war sentiments pre-WWII. Today, with global tensions, it’s a gut check; over at Dyerbolical’s about us page, we geek out on how these old films predict headlines, keeping the conversation alive.

Comparisons Across Media

Vs. Metropolis

Like Metropolis (1927), Things to Come explores futuristic societies, but its focus on war’s aftermath makes it bleaker. Both films, however, use speculative visuals to probe human nature, influencing sci-fi horror hybrids.

Lang’s Metropolis dreams of class-divided utopias, but Wells drags it through war’s mud first, making recovery bloodier. Both probe the worker-upper divide, yet Things feels grittier, less operatic. That shared DNA birthed hybrids like Blade Runner (1982), where neon hides decay. Spotting these links in double features is retro heaven, highlighting silent-to-sound evolution.

Key Elements of Influence

Its apocalyptic visuals shaped 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). The dystopian dark age inspired The Postman (1997). Wells’ technocratic vision influenced Logan’s Run (1976). Its war imagery prefigures Threads (1984). The redemptive arc echoes in Interstellar (2014).

Take Kubrick’s 2001: those sterile future cities echo Wells’ Everytown, both pondering tech’s double edge. The Postman’s roving postman rebuilding society? Pure Cabal. Logan’s dome-enclosed youth mirrors the technocrats, while Threads’ Sheffield annihilation amps the gas attacks to nuclear hell. Nolan’s Interstellar grabs the rocket defiance, turning it cosmic. These threads show why Things to Come endures – it’s the root of post-apoc DNA.

A Prophetic Warning

Things to Come remains a landmark in apocalyptic horror, its grim vision of collapse and renewal hauntingly relevant. Wells’ foresight, paired with Menzies’ visuals, crafts a cautionary tale about humanity’s trajectory. As we face modern threats, from war to environmental ruin, the film’s message endures, a stark reminder of horror’s power to mirror our deepest fears and hopes.

Revisiting it now, post-2020s pandemics and conflicts, the parallels sting. Wells nailed aerial dominance, societal fractures, even space as salvation – SpaceX nods? That relevance keeps it streaming on platforms like Criterion Channel, with 2023 fan restorations buzzing online. It’s more than a relic; it’s a mirror, urging us to choose renewal wisely. Horror like this doesn’t just entertain; it equips us for tomorrow’s storms.

Bibliography

H.G. Wells, The Shape of Things to Come (1933).

W. Warren Wagar, H.G. Wells and the World State (1961).

Mark Bould, The Routledge Companion to Science Fiction (2009).

Carol J. Clover, Men, Women, and Chain Saws (1992, updated 2015).

BFI restoration notes, Sight & Sound magazine (2020).

American Cinematographer archives on William Cameron Menzies (1936).

Empire magazine retrospective (2022).

Recent essays in Science Fiction Studies (2025).

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