Alien
Directed by Ridley Scott
Released in 1979
What
I would give to know nothing of Alien
and watch it again for the first time. Unfortunately, that can never happen. I
imagine few people are out there [reading this] who do not know that scene — that scene, when the whole movie changes. If you have no idea what I am getting at, by
all means stop reading this and watch this movie untarnished while you still
can. But for the rest of us, the alien — later labeled “xenomorph” — and
its gruesome method of reproduction are as close to public domain as R-rated
science fiction can reach. There is no scene in film history with such an
unexpected punch. Psycho’s shower
scene. “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.” “Nobody’s perfect!” Alien’s Last Supper owns it.
It speaks to Ridley Scott’s brilliance, then, as to why
watching Alien for the third time the
other day, with the same foreknowledge of the twist as my first viewing,
remained as shocking as ever. For that infamous dinner scene, in particular,
the suspense relies mostly on the framing of the shots. Scott does not rely on
quick cuts to artificially escalate tension; he sustains a shot on Parker
(Yaphet Kotto), Dallas (Tom Skerrit) and the ill-fated Kane (John Hurt, perfect
as always), only to cut to his friends dining around him. None of them realize
what is really happening until it happens, or even after. The characters are
not fleshed-out to the extent of a character study a la Raging Bull, but the agonizing, sustained duration with which Scott
forces us to watch Kane’s brutal demise, and his friends struggling to save
him, defines corporeal and emotional pain.
Consider that it takes about an hour to reach this point.
It is a horror movie, and there is not a drop of blood until it is halfway
done, and truthfully not much after that. As the alien picks off the remaining
crewmembers, most of the deaths are depicted off-screen (shadows against a
cat’s head, for instance) or through rapid, almost subliminal shots of gore
(usually the alien’s phallic inner mouth pulverizing a head). One of the most
notorious jump scares in film history — Dallas’ trek through the ventilation
system — is also one of its most craftiest, fooling the viewer with a tracking
shot that focuses on the foreground, only for Dallas to illuminate the
background with his flashlight and *!!!* *static*. Scott tells the story from
the parceled viewpoints of the Nostromo’s
inhabitants, only quickly cutting when a vantage point, no, when a friend, has been terminated. The steady
pacing, before, during and after duress, is the film’s secret weapon,
acclimating the audience to the ship’s confines and acquainting us with our
fellow humans, who we are powerless to save. We just watch. Or don’t.
With Sigourney Weaver’s prolific acting schedule in the
many years since this film, often starring as a yappy bureaucrat or
fast-talking heroine, it is easy to forget this understated performance in her
first leading role. Aliens would give
her more lines and cement Ripley as the quintessential female action hero. But
here Weaver tackles the part without any camp, transcending the admirable
benchmark Jamie Lee Curtis set in Halloween
two years earlier. Scott certainly dreamed of greatness for Alien, but his dreams only came true
with Weaver’s talent and willingness to break ground beside him.
What
a remarkable character they created. Ripley revolutionized Hollywood and all
those who watched and continue to watch her. Without Alien, we may not have ever seen Clarice Starling, Sarah Connor or
Beatrix Kiddo.
Here was a woman, beautiful she may be, not typecast as the clueless female caricature awaiting her male savior. She organically takes charge above her peers, each of whom could surely do the same (except Brett (Harry Dean Stanton) … poor Brett). But only Ripley had the foresight of the fatal contamination Kane’s alien contact would wreck and the strength to persist with such a tough verdict, even if the literally corrupt Ash (Ian Holm) bypassed her wishes. And only Ripley made it to the end, not by superiority or radical political correctness, but because she was coarse enough to think like the alien and take the bitch out herself.
Some feminists decried the sexualization of Ripley once aboard the escape vessel, when she takes off her clothes aboard the escape vessel she believes is safe. “Stripping her narrative competence with her uniform,” Vivian Sobchack writes in Alien Zone, a collection of essays on science fiction cultural theory, “Ripley no longer represents a rational and axesual functioning subject, but an irrational, potent, sexual object — a woman, the truly threatening alien generally repressed by the male-conceived and dominated genre.” Whoa now. Sobchack makes a good point on the ‘uncovering,’ be it will, of the true woman, who is also alone and captured in low, voyeuristic camera angles. But she does not see the true critique and brilliance of the sequence, where Ripley must adorn the spacesuit no woman had worn to the point, become the ‘man’ and kill the hermaphroditic male rapist for good.
With such subtle imagery, Scott is not substituting Ripley for a male surrogate to win the day but thrashing the expectations the sci-fi audience already conceived for her character. The little striptease is almost sinister in its intention: For the first time, the film incites cheap arousal from the predominantly male voyeurs yet then reintroduces the sexually relative monster and robes Ripley in men’s clothing for a bloodless finish. Scott’s provocation makes for the most satisfying unsatisfying climax in thriller history, no pun intended.
Someone with a familiarity in art history, design and
sculpture could speak in more impressive terms, but as a construction leader of
my high school production, I know the work it takes to create a set and Alien’s little world is a fully
realized, nuanced masterpiece of the craft. The utilitarian hallways Ripley
sprints down, with their monotonous pipes and wires that run in stark contrast
to Star Trek’s primary colors. The
stark geodesic bubble where crewmembers access the ship’s computer, Mother. The
resistance of the failsafe levers that Ripley fails to overcome in time.
Overwhelming with detail, the Nostromo’s
design stands an unparalleled achievement in art direction to this day. Scott,
who had a hand in the visual design with Roger Christian, Leslie Dilley, Stan
Winston and the essential H.R. Giger, makes love to the set with his camera.
Every scene captures an area of the ship from a new viewpoint. The lens flare
illuminating the crew during the ship’s descent likely inspired J.J. Abrams. It
is a grimy, empty, dreary ship, yet never a depressing or boring view.
There is a complete universe inside and outside the Nostromo. Today, that means “sequels!”
and it did in 1979, too, as three successors bore the Alien name over the next 18 years. While James Cameron’s Aliens remains one of his greatest
accomplishments (among many, I should clarify), it is a decidedly different
film, expanding the mythos while losing its mystery. Meanwhile, the final two
films fumble a little too much with their legacy. Alien, Ridley Scott’s perfect film, one with Jaws and Psycho,
transcends its genre with multiple levels of meaning on image and soundtrack.
Like Spielberg and Hitchcock’s best, the thrills survive without attention to
its politics or ideology or aesthetics. But they are all there, ripe for
discovery upon each viewing, dealing naked thrills and scary truths.
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