ALIENS (James Cameron, 1986)
Mr. Cameron’s film, Aliens, is certainly more galvanizing than its predecessor, Alien: he expanded Ridley Scott’s classic no-frills horror film into a clamorous war film. It’s still perfectly respectable because the minimalism is carefully maintained, to a certain degree, but elevated accordingly with the stakes. Instead of one alien versus seven increasingly hapless people trapped in an increasingly claustrophobic spaceship, it’s a hive of aliens versus a dozen decreasingly cocksure Colonial marines and a few civilians trapped in an increasingly claustrophobic compound. The badinage and brashness of the soldiers, all decked out with cool weaponry, only makes it more gleefully tragic when they all inevitably succumb, one by one, to the resourceful aliens. Mr. Cameron, helpfully, actualizes Ellen Ripley’s motherly instincts (and brings out Ms. Weaver’s ferocious warmth) by replacing her cat with a little girl, Newt, whose welfare becomes so primordial to Ripley that by the end of the film she is bawling “Get away from her you bitch!” to the Alien Queen while wielding the full strength of an exoskeletal power-loader. It’s the most satisfying scene of the film, mostly because it solidifies Ms. Weaver’s character as unequivocally badass. Like most of Mr. Cameron’s movies, Aliens isn’t subtle, but as a complement to Alien’s conscientiously measured terror, its excitability is welcome. A–
ALIEN³ (David Fincher, 1992)
By no means perfectly respectable, at least when regarded as the third Alien movie, Alien³ however possesses certain charms that might even be considered redeemable, were the viewer in a charitable mood. Ripley crash-lands in a off-world penal colony full of God-fearing lunatics whose self-established monastic society is quickly upended by this unwelcome temptation. Their hostility is not unwarranted however because tagging along with Ripley is, unsurprisingly, an alien who has already, surprisingly, killed Newt and placed an embryo inside of Ripley. Good heavens, what gall! Now Ms. Weaver, with shaved head but a magnetic presence as always, has lost her only child and gained an unborn demon. Mr. Fincher is at the helm and he takes great delight in, when not ruthlessly destroying any gratification gleaned from Aliens’s conclusion, swooping his camera down endless underground tunnels with dizzying stylistic abandon while the alien, skittering around obligingly, pursues the wailing damned. Alien³ is a shabby, seemingly low-budget production that produces chills and thrills, mostly due to the inherent, inspired spookiness of the prison setting and its inhabitants. But alien fatigue is setting in, and the rampaging extraterrestrial, so central to the film, no longer inspires the same raw fear in the audience. As Ripley says, “You’ve been in my life for so long, I hardly remember anything else.” B–
ALIEN: RESURRECTION (Jean-Pierre Jeunet, 1997)
Where to begin with Alien: Resurrection? It’s impossible to treat seriously, and is generally a fiasco from the beginning to the end. An elaboration of the plot would be a misuse of everyone’s time. I was expecting strange things from Mr. Jeunet and was not disappointed, but the greatest surprise came from the screenwriter, who is none other than Joss Whedon. You see, I really like Firefly, and therefore it’s striking to note that apparently five years before that brilliant show began its regrettably short-lived television run, Mr. Whedon was already toying with the concept of a motley crew of space smugglers in a remarkably similar tone. The shadows of familiar characters are beginning to surface, particularly the ones of the uncommonly perceptive, peculiarly gifted young girl (here played by Winona Ryder, and in Firefly, Summer Glau) and the gung-ho, thuggish moron (Ron Perlman, and later Adam Baldwin). So it’s somewhat disconcerting to recognize Mr. Whedon’s distinctively grounded touch among all the more outlandish aspects of Alien: Resurrection: the re-imagining of Ripley as a simultaneously predacious and aching superwoman infused with alien DNA; Ms. Ryder’s vexingly melodramatic performance; the violent debut of yet another new and evolved anthropomorphized alien; all that superfluously garish blood and gore. You’d be better off just watching Firefly. C