Most kids had Star Wars--I had Alien. I was either four or five at the time, when I looked up from my Jurassic Park
coloring book to see an ad for Alien on the Sci-Fi Channel. It looked
like the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. I managed to remember the day
it was on and begged my parents to change the channel to Sci-Fi--and
after much whining they complied, but, alas, I had missed most of it and
only saw the last act. No matter--that was enough to galvanize my love
of all things Alien. I somehow found out that our neighbor owned the trilogy on
VHS, and innocently knocked on her door, asking to borrow it. I can
still recall perfectly the nervous double take she gave, considering
these were R-rated films and I was barely out of kindergarten. "Do you
have your parents' permission?" I lied and said, "yes." Victory. I took the boxset home and duped it in our VCR, and then proceeded
to watch all three of them nearly every day for what must have been a
couple of years. I cannot begin to estimate how many times I've seen the
original trilogy--to paraphrase Ripley in Alien³, "You've been in my life so long, I can't remember anything else."
I credit my intense devotion to Alien and its three sequels for giving me an instant dose of cinematic "taste" at such a young age--and I can trace many of my principal interests back to the series. It is a singular achievement in the history of film, managing to combine Freudian psychosexuality, feminism, avant garde/neo-classical scoring, cynical left-wing ideology, existentialism and hard (well, the original trilogy, anyway) science fiction into something that will probably never again be equaled. Is there any other series that challenged what franchise cinema could be on such a grand scale? While Star Wars and its ilk descended into crass, juvenile pandering and commercialism, the Alien "quadrilogy" never took the easy way out, never conformed to what people wanted. Even in the face of nervous studio executives and unadventurous American audiences, it soldiered on with grim determination to be something artistically conscious, unafraid to broach themes and ideas that ordinarily wouldn't make it past a first draft in the conservative studio machine.
I credit my intense devotion to Alien and its three sequels for giving me an instant dose of cinematic "taste" at such a young age--and I can trace many of my principal interests back to the series. It is a singular achievement in the history of film, managing to combine Freudian psychosexuality, feminism, avant garde/neo-classical scoring, cynical left-wing ideology, existentialism and hard (well, the original trilogy, anyway) science fiction into something that will probably never again be equaled. Is there any other series that challenged what franchise cinema could be on such a grand scale? While Star Wars and its ilk descended into crass, juvenile pandering and commercialism, the Alien "quadrilogy" never took the easy way out, never conformed to what people wanted. Even in the face of nervous studio executives and unadventurous American audiences, it soldiered on with grim determination to be something artistically conscious, unafraid to broach themes and ideas that ordinarily wouldn't make it past a first draft in the conservative studio machine.
(All star ratings out of ✮✮✮✮. Films that have not been seen by the
reviewer receive a "No rating" designation.)
dir. Ridley Scott
Rating: ✮✮✮✮
The original Alien is something of a miracle, one in which everything falls into place in such a ludicrously perfect fashion, as though assembled according to some divine cinematic plan--a convergence of multi-faceted brilliance ranging from Ridley Scott's impeccable visuals, the pitch-perfect cast, Jerry Goldsmith's influential score, Walter Hill and David Giler's elegant screenplay, the ingenious editing job by Terry Rawlings, and most importantly, the unforgettable conceptual designs of H.R. Giger.
Alien remains Ridely Scott's only true masterpiece (if anything, the man is more craftsman than filmmaker), and is both the best of the sci-fi genre (next to Kubrick's 2001) as well as the horror genre--a lofty accomplishment. Like 2001, it is endlessly imitated and its influence is inescapable. It shattered the cinema screen's glass ceiling in ways only its sequels (and possibly Terminator 2) managed to live up to, and impacted filmmaking in ways more subtle and meaningful than Star Wars ever did. To continue praising the film and expand on its myriad of merits would be redundant in the massive wake of literature that has been justly written about it (despite its initially mixed reception from typically short-sighted critics--even Ebert disliked the film when it was first released, yet it somehow found its way onto his list of "Great Movies" decades later). Its greatness is simply a stone cold fact. One can only hope Scott's upcoming prequel, Prometheus, reclaims similar heights.
The original Alien is something of a miracle, one in which everything falls into place in such a ludicrously perfect fashion, as though assembled according to some divine cinematic plan--a convergence of multi-faceted brilliance ranging from Ridley Scott's impeccable visuals, the pitch-perfect cast, Jerry Goldsmith's influential score, Walter Hill and David Giler's elegant screenplay, the ingenious editing job by Terry Rawlings, and most importantly, the unforgettable conceptual designs of H.R. Giger.
Alien remains Ridely Scott's only true masterpiece (if anything, the man is more craftsman than filmmaker), and is both the best of the sci-fi genre (next to Kubrick's 2001) as well as the horror genre--a lofty accomplishment. Like 2001, it is endlessly imitated and its influence is inescapable. It shattered the cinema screen's glass ceiling in ways only its sequels (and possibly Terminator 2) managed to live up to, and impacted filmmaking in ways more subtle and meaningful than Star Wars ever did. To continue praising the film and expand on its myriad of merits would be redundant in the massive wake of literature that has been justly written about it (despite its initially mixed reception from typically short-sighted critics--even Ebert disliked the film when it was first released, yet it somehow found its way onto his list of "Great Movies" decades later). Its greatness is simply a stone cold fact. One can only hope Scott's upcoming prequel, Prometheus, reclaims similar heights.
dir. James Cameron
Rating: ✮✮✮1/2
Aliens may be the greatest action movie ever made, but as a sequel to Alien
it comes up short. Oh, sure, the ravenous fanboy contingent routinely
declares, with fascist indignation, that it's "so much better" than its
predecessor, but that's mostly because Aliens is explicitly designed to give that particular breed of film fan a boner.
As Michael Biehn states in interviews, Aliens is "every boy's fantasy"--shit blows up, and it blows up good. The guns are so huge that it borders on parody. The main characters (bar Ripley) are wisecrackin', comic book space marines. Yes, it's supposed to be a metaphor for Vietnam or something, but comparing the Vietnamese to sinister, murderous extraterrestrials seems rather disingenuous. Then we have the massive plot hole that is at the story's foundation: as revealed in Alien, the Company knew about the derelict on LV-426. So, why then are they ignorant of it after 57 years, with the last twenty of those spent setting up a colony on the planetoid? So they mysteriously forgot it was there--surely then a survey of the planetoid before colonization would have revealed a massive alien spaceship on the surface? Not to mention the derelict was emitting a warning beacon that is apparently no longer detectable, even though Dallas and co. didn't switch it off. Fanboys pile on Alien 3's opening plothole, but frankly an egg mysteriously being on the Sulaco is a lot more plausible than the nearly-suspension of disbelief-destroying mess that is this film's setup. There are a plethora of half-assed "solutions" of these, ie the derelict was damaged by seismic activity, etc, but these really just come across as bending over backwards to try any explanation that fits. Face it: Aliens is not perfect, it is not a masterpiece like the original, and it has major flaws.
But that's okay, because what Cameron gets right here is considerable. Sigourney Weaver's spectacular, iconic reprisal of Ripley is still the only role to ever get an actress nominated for an Oscar for a science fiction film (the fact she got robbed my Marlee Matlin is ludicrous), and while the marines are mostly stupid, Michael Biehn is beyond dreamy, Lance Henriksen a nice counterpoint to Ian Holm's menacing Ash from the first film, and Jenette Goldstein is authentically badass as Vasquez. James Horner's score is memorable and exciting, despite being mostly recycled cues from his earlier work and rips from classical pieces (like every other score he's ever done). The effects are astounding, the production design convincing and top-notch.
One of the biggest issues with Aliens are the aliens themselves. Gone is the sleek, sexual look the creature had in the first film, replaced instead by a disappointingly cliche insectoid motif, right up to having a hive with a queen. Fortunately though, Cameron comes through with her: the queen is beautiful--even Giger had to concede so. Too bad that her exit is a mirror image of the alien's fate in the first film (in fact, Alien 3 is the only sequel in the series that has an ending for the creature that doesn't reprise the original film's ending, involving the alien being ejected into space through an airlock/opening).
The film's biggest strength is Cameron's masterful pacing: like the first film, Aliens starts slow, but methodically ratchets up the tension and suspense until the last act, which becomes a genuine seat-gripper of relentless action and incredible set pieces. In lesser hands, a film with as many problematic elements as this would have fallen apart, but while Cameron may not be a great filmmaker, he is far and away one of the best moviemakers, and Aliens stands next to Terminator 2 and Titanic as his best work.
(While the Special Edition cut of the film provides crucial extra backstory, the added scenes severely drag down the film's pacing, and as such the original theatrical cut is still the better version.)
As Michael Biehn states in interviews, Aliens is "every boy's fantasy"--shit blows up, and it blows up good. The guns are so huge that it borders on parody. The main characters (bar Ripley) are wisecrackin', comic book space marines. Yes, it's supposed to be a metaphor for Vietnam or something, but comparing the Vietnamese to sinister, murderous extraterrestrials seems rather disingenuous. Then we have the massive plot hole that is at the story's foundation: as revealed in Alien, the Company knew about the derelict on LV-426. So, why then are they ignorant of it after 57 years, with the last twenty of those spent setting up a colony on the planetoid? So they mysteriously forgot it was there--surely then a survey of the planetoid before colonization would have revealed a massive alien spaceship on the surface? Not to mention the derelict was emitting a warning beacon that is apparently no longer detectable, even though Dallas and co. didn't switch it off. Fanboys pile on Alien 3's opening plothole, but frankly an egg mysteriously being on the Sulaco is a lot more plausible than the nearly-suspension of disbelief-destroying mess that is this film's setup. There are a plethora of half-assed "solutions" of these, ie the derelict was damaged by seismic activity, etc, but these really just come across as bending over backwards to try any explanation that fits. Face it: Aliens is not perfect, it is not a masterpiece like the original, and it has major flaws.
But that's okay, because what Cameron gets right here is considerable. Sigourney Weaver's spectacular, iconic reprisal of Ripley is still the only role to ever get an actress nominated for an Oscar for a science fiction film (the fact she got robbed my Marlee Matlin is ludicrous), and while the marines are mostly stupid, Michael Biehn is beyond dreamy, Lance Henriksen a nice counterpoint to Ian Holm's menacing Ash from the first film, and Jenette Goldstein is authentically badass as Vasquez. James Horner's score is memorable and exciting, despite being mostly recycled cues from his earlier work and rips from classical pieces (like every other score he's ever done). The effects are astounding, the production design convincing and top-notch.
One of the biggest issues with Aliens are the aliens themselves. Gone is the sleek, sexual look the creature had in the first film, replaced instead by a disappointingly cliche insectoid motif, right up to having a hive with a queen. Fortunately though, Cameron comes through with her: the queen is beautiful--even Giger had to concede so. Too bad that her exit is a mirror image of the alien's fate in the first film (in fact, Alien 3 is the only sequel in the series that has an ending for the creature that doesn't reprise the original film's ending, involving the alien being ejected into space through an airlock/opening).
The film's biggest strength is Cameron's masterful pacing: like the first film, Aliens starts slow, but methodically ratchets up the tension and suspense until the last act, which becomes a genuine seat-gripper of relentless action and incredible set pieces. In lesser hands, a film with as many problematic elements as this would have fallen apart, but while Cameron may not be a great filmmaker, he is far and away one of the best moviemakers, and Aliens stands next to Terminator 2 and Titanic as his best work.
(While the Special Edition cut of the film provides crucial extra backstory, the added scenes severely drag down the film's pacing, and as such the original theatrical cut is still the better version.)
dir. David Fincher
Rating: ✮✮✮1/2
Probably one of the most underappreciated, tragically reviled films in all of cinema, Alien³'s ludicrously torturous journey to the screen is the stuff of Hollywood infamy. There are lots of reasons to hate Alien³, one supposes--but there
are far more reasons to love it. As one critic pointed out, it's more of
a "brooding art film" than a sequel to Aliens, which instantly makes it
fanboy kryptonite. Its photography and editing are just as accomplished
as the original film, it features the best performances of the entire
series (Weaver is at her most powerful, Charles S. Dutton and Charles
Dance keeping pace), its score is one of the most influential of the
past two decades (post-Alien³, it is seemingly a requirement
that every horror score plagiarize Elliot Goldenthal's work here), the
script by Walter Hill and David Giler (who wrote the actual shooting script for Alien, let us not forget) is very good, with excellent dialogue and
realistic, hard-lived characters that harkens back to the first film,
and on top of it all is the tone: so bleak and steeped in despair
that it sends the average moviegoer fleeing, confused and angry--it's
almost as if Lars von Trier directed an Alien movie.
Granted, all this refers to the Assembly Cut., though some reshot scenes in the theatrical version are stronger (the dog burster, first and foremost). Between the two cuts, however, lies something close to a masterpiece.
Granted, all this refers to the Assembly Cut., though some reshot scenes in the theatrical version are stronger (the dog burster, first and foremost). Between the two cuts, however, lies something close to a masterpiece.
Rating: ✮✮✮
There are two camps of Alien series fans: fans of Ridley Scott's first film and fans of James Cameron's sequel, Aliens. Almost never is someone equally a fan of both. Alien fans love the series' dark atmosphere, otherworldly production design, fantastic direction, brilliantly judged editing and beautifully naturalistic acting. Aliens fans love the big explosions, big guns, and bigger aliens. Needless to say, this reviewer is in the former camp of fans. (We won't even discuss the AVP fans).
Before its slow, on-going (and justly deserved) re-appraisal by critics and audiences, Alien 3 was the fanboy punching bag of the franchise. Aside from it being hideously dismembered in post by the studio, it was unremittingly bleak (boo!), devoid of cornball Cameron one-liners (hiss!) and populated by characters that read like actual human beings and not gun-toting cartoons who struck poses, chomped cigars and fired rifles like they were in a video game with an unlimited supply of ammo. Alien fans were more sympathetic. Then came Alien Resurrection, and the Alien fans and the Aliens fans agreed in unison: it was a complete mess.
And so it is: but it is a spectacularly bizarre and perverse mess, completely unlike anything else Hollywood has ever put out. It is less an extension of the original trilogy as it is a freakishly distorted funhouse mirror version of them. It's as if James Cameron's Aliens passed through one of those teleporters from The Fly and came out fused with Delicatessen, only bigger, bloodier and with a penchant for human-alien incest. Yes, it is true that the film's script is (mostly) disappointing (and if you think its bad now, you should read Joss Whedon's original drafts before Jeunet re-invisioned it all--yikes). For every great idea like Ripley's "enhanced" genetics, quasi-Sapphic relationship with Winona Ryder, and the hideous, failed clone forerunners "1-7", there are stupid stock characters and bad one-liners aplenty (Raymond Cruz is so unbearably obnoxious that it's a highlight of the film when he gets his skull crushed into a pulp).
The designs for the aliens are, alas, also a step in the wrong direction, especially seeing as how elegant the design was in Alien 3--here the titular beasts looks like exaggerated comic book versions of their former selves, but seeing as the creatures this time around are cloned genetic freaks it's at least consistent. Ditto the much reviled Newborn, which while by no means a great design, is at least functionally repulsive and works as the monstrosity it's supposed to be.
But there is much to enjoy here: Weaver is in exceptionally fine form, re-inventing Ripley 8 as a disturbed and disillusioned warrior who gradually rediscovers her humanity through Winona Ryder's android-cum-transsexual-metaphor, and while Ryder may not give the most convincing line readings, they make for a cute pairing as the two hold each other for dear life at the film's conclusion. Elsewhere, Brad Dourif is in prime scene stealing mode, making kissy faces at aliens behind glass and exiting the picture in memorably crazy fashion. Darius Khondji's cinematography is gorgeous, all amber surfaces and rich blues and blacks, and while Jean-Pierre Jeunet's weirdo black humor grates with the material on occasion, his sense of style (the fade-outs during Ripley's awakening are an exceptionally nice touch) framing and eye for memorable visuals and set pieces cannot be denied. The underwater chase sequence is one of the highlights of the series, and Ripley's absorption into the "viper pit" one of its strongest images. Best of all, Resurrection expands on the first film's nasty sexual fixations in ways the other sequels were too afraid or preoccupied to: there is a glorious scene where Ripley sensuously snuggles up to one of her alien brethren, and the ending features the strangest make-out session in cinema. Replacing Alien 3 as the fanboy punching bag, Alien Resurrection is perhaps even more divisive than it's predecessor, but it flies its freak flag proudly, and in the wake of the disastrous AVP films is a solemn reminder of when the series dared to push boundaries and confound expectations.
There are two camps of Alien series fans: fans of Ridley Scott's first film and fans of James Cameron's sequel, Aliens. Almost never is someone equally a fan of both. Alien fans love the series' dark atmosphere, otherworldly production design, fantastic direction, brilliantly judged editing and beautifully naturalistic acting. Aliens fans love the big explosions, big guns, and bigger aliens. Needless to say, this reviewer is in the former camp of fans. (We won't even discuss the AVP fans).
Before its slow, on-going (and justly deserved) re-appraisal by critics and audiences, Alien 3 was the fanboy punching bag of the franchise. Aside from it being hideously dismembered in post by the studio, it was unremittingly bleak (boo!), devoid of cornball Cameron one-liners (hiss!) and populated by characters that read like actual human beings and not gun-toting cartoons who struck poses, chomped cigars and fired rifles like they were in a video game with an unlimited supply of ammo. Alien fans were more sympathetic. Then came Alien Resurrection, and the Alien fans and the Aliens fans agreed in unison: it was a complete mess.
And so it is: but it is a spectacularly bizarre and perverse mess, completely unlike anything else Hollywood has ever put out. It is less an extension of the original trilogy as it is a freakishly distorted funhouse mirror version of them. It's as if James Cameron's Aliens passed through one of those teleporters from The Fly and came out fused with Delicatessen, only bigger, bloodier and with a penchant for human-alien incest. Yes, it is true that the film's script is (mostly) disappointing (and if you think its bad now, you should read Joss Whedon's original drafts before Jeunet re-invisioned it all--yikes). For every great idea like Ripley's "enhanced" genetics, quasi-Sapphic relationship with Winona Ryder, and the hideous, failed clone forerunners "1-7", there are stupid stock characters and bad one-liners aplenty (Raymond Cruz is so unbearably obnoxious that it's a highlight of the film when he gets his skull crushed into a pulp).
The designs for the aliens are, alas, also a step in the wrong direction, especially seeing as how elegant the design was in Alien 3--here the titular beasts looks like exaggerated comic book versions of their former selves, but seeing as the creatures this time around are cloned genetic freaks it's at least consistent. Ditto the much reviled Newborn, which while by no means a great design, is at least functionally repulsive and works as the monstrosity it's supposed to be.
But there is much to enjoy here: Weaver is in exceptionally fine form, re-inventing Ripley 8 as a disturbed and disillusioned warrior who gradually rediscovers her humanity through Winona Ryder's android-cum-transsexual-metaphor, and while Ryder may not give the most convincing line readings, they make for a cute pairing as the two hold each other for dear life at the film's conclusion. Elsewhere, Brad Dourif is in prime scene stealing mode, making kissy faces at aliens behind glass and exiting the picture in memorably crazy fashion. Darius Khondji's cinematography is gorgeous, all amber surfaces and rich blues and blacks, and while Jean-Pierre Jeunet's weirdo black humor grates with the material on occasion, his sense of style (the fade-outs during Ripley's awakening are an exceptionally nice touch) framing and eye for memorable visuals and set pieces cannot be denied. The underwater chase sequence is one of the highlights of the series, and Ripley's absorption into the "viper pit" one of its strongest images. Best of all, Resurrection expands on the first film's nasty sexual fixations in ways the other sequels were too afraid or preoccupied to: there is a glorious scene where Ripley sensuously snuggles up to one of her alien brethren, and the ending features the strangest make-out session in cinema. Replacing Alien 3 as the fanboy punching bag, Alien Resurrection is perhaps even more divisive than it's predecessor, but it flies its freak flag proudly, and in the wake of the disastrous AVP films is a solemn reminder of when the series dared to push boundaries and confound expectations.
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