In discussing older films it becomes much more difficult to identify what one's personal feelings are regarding the merit or potentially the negative components of a given movie, this is primarily because of the sheer volume of all ready available reviews and information and texts and essays on the subject matter of, in this case, Alien and its several sequels and now semi-prequel, and as such it becomes evident there are a wide ranging opinions already regarding these films specifically. What can I say that hasn't already been said? At what point am I beginning to rehash ideas and thoughts about movies in general that have been stated by others who are ultimately more educated but also paid to do such professional critical writing?
I won't be prefacing every single film review and discussion I do on this blog with a blurb such as this, primarily because such an act would be just plain repetitive and meaningless. I am simply posing the notion to anyone who cares to read these posts that I am by no means an authority on the ideas I expound and either praise or criticize. My intention is to merely tell others why I enjoy or dislike the movies that I've seen and to explain perhaps some of the more complicated aspects and symbols and ideas that good films have that are often unseen or misunderstood or so subtly integrated into a film that it's difficult to recognize by the layman.
Alien was not critically adored when first released. Most professional film people dismissed it as a well-made, high budget slasher film in space. They are quite right about it being overly simplistic, and I'll get to that later. The film made a great deal of money at the box office and is now considered one of the forerunners along with Star Wars and Jaws of the summer blockbuster, a concept, at the time, that had yet to be plundered. Nowadays such plundering is often taken to the extreme and the modern blockbuster is more often than not again technically well-made and featuring culturally popular ideas and trends instead of those subtly included notions and metaphors of more complex themes that I mentioned earlier. This is a nice way of saying blockbusters have been dumbed down to their bare essentials- a large budget, an attractive cast, a simplistic story (almost always a rehash of the first film the franchise because the majority of modern blockbusters are mere continuations of an already established film world), a skilled yet misguided director (Michael Bay, who shall be discussed in future posts), and the illusion of meaningful substance (by which I mean the bait for intelligent audience members- for science fiction films this usually involves a "high" concept idea that hasn't been employed by this particular series yet). Alien is now considered to be a critical darling by film professionals and the answer as to why is simple enough- it lies along with John Carpenter's Halloween as the "first of many" and most critics agree that by virtue of being something that is still consistently imitated Ridley Scott must have initially some kind of unseen gold that appealed to audiences and in retrospect that proverbial gold is obvious.
Alien is a very very very simple film. I will not bore you with the details of the story because they're practically known by all. Instead I will discuss why such a simple story works as well as it does for this film specifically.
For me one of the most notable aspects of Alien is the cast. Namely the fact that they're adults. And they're very good actors in very mediocre roles. None of the characters are that sophisticated on an emotional or psychological level, this isn't to say they're stupid, they're simply working people who don't need to do a lot of hard thinking. And that IS the emotional appeal to the audience. Instead of creating incredibly sexy and absurdly young kids piloting a heavy piece of ship-ware like the Nostromo, we get adults who look and act their duties. Ash is something of an exception character-wise because of what's revealed about later in the film.
Ridley Scott is consistently praised for being a master of creating original and unique worlds. And I mean worlds. We don't just see a couple of neat looking sets that are vaguely futuristic. Instead there is the planet LV-426 with its terrifyingly creepy and (forgive the pun) alien setting. There are the unexplained parts of LV-426 like the Space Jockey, in a lesser film the director wouldn't have included something that is inconsequential to the plot, but Scott knows its add to the mystery of the whole thing. Who or what are the aliens? Where did they come from? The ambiguity just inherently feels menacing throughout. And that mystery lingers after the film is over and in a similar way to Michael Myers in Halloween, one gets the idea that because so much is essentially unexplained about motives and story then there's that horrifying feeling of that creature could be right behind me. The world is insidious. As are the innards of the ship itself with its clutter and grime and hundreds of shadows and dripping chains. And more so than scary is the realism of the Nostromo with its dirt and lack of hygiene and toggles and buttons and old-fashioned computers. There's something eerily off about old computers that still give me the willies.
The egg. The face-hugger. The chest-burster. The xenomorph. The words evoke images. The images evoke the monsters as we see them in the film. And the monsters themselves are real. That's what's so scary to me. They're not computer-generated fakes. They're not animated cheese. And though they're mostly puppets and stunts- they simply don't feel that way by nature of their design. Alien has been described by Dan O'Bannon its writer as being a film in which he attacks the audience sexually. Story-wise that much is clear with the egg and the birth and all that jazz. But physically too the creatures are perverse in their form, clearly inspired by our own anatomies and appendages. We see incredibly strong elements of ourselves and our most primal actions in the very look of that which attacks us.
Again not much is sophisticated about the storyline of Alien. And the movie balances itself out with most of the rest of its technical qualities. And as I said before the basic personalities of the characters are enough that by simply having them talk about their daily activities the audience connects emotionally. There aren't a lot of big speeches and grandstanding about heavy ideas. There are simply these people being who they are. Again the exception in terms of dialogue is Ash with his overly formal choice of words and almost endless techno-babble, a clear case of foreshadowing for his later reveal as the cruel and focused android he is.
Jerry Goldsmith with his sparse and moody tones and minimal orchestra and choir of shifting whines and voices seem to fill the incredible void that is naturally at the core of Alien and completely enveloping the ship. It gets under your skin from the first few notes as the credits begin and unsettles you in the most uncomfortable of ways simply because you don't know why you feel so prickly and sweaty all of a sudden.
Finally the pacing. The film itself is almost obscenely slow at the start with its developing characters just milling about the ship and exploring the planet. Then it builds in brief moments of tension as Kane is attacked and tended to medically by Ash. There are a couple of jumps. Then calm for a time as he recovers with his mates at dinner. Then it all shifts. Scenes are more swift. Shots are more brief. Lights flash ominously in the many shadows of the ship. Dallas goes into the vents of the Nostromo and we witness an absolutely terrifying scene of suspense. The dot moves on the screen ever closer to him. But we can't see anything. It's too dark and cramped and the surroundings are moving by so quickly as Dallas tries to crawl his way out. The strobe lights go off against the glistening black skin of the creature. The briefest of shots of his snarling face and teeth. His massive outline. And then nothing. He is rarely seen full on on screen. The deaths are implied and vague for everyone. And then Ripley runs. And runs. Steam pours forth from everywhere. Lights continue to flash endlessly. An annoyingly calm computer's voice reads a countdown. It all just won't stop. And I'm gripping onto my seat with the tightest of clenched fists. And then calm again. Ripley's on the shuttle. She's fine. She's got her cat. She's going to sleep now. She sings. She moves her hand. The wall shifts slightly. It's aboard. And I can barely breathe.
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