Prometheus: Small Beginnings

First off I’d like to bellyache about the length of time it took me to view my latest obsession, Prometheus, after its nationwide release. 5 whole days. Saw The Avengers on opening night. Even saw Men in Black 3 on opening night. But the film I’ve been dying to see for months now? 5 days late. Stupid life getting in the way of more important things.

Secondly I’d like to complain heavily about Cineworld’s crumminess. My ‘local’ multiplex is a relatively large, 12 screen cinema. And yet, the management decided to put an evening showing of a 5-day-old major blockbuster in one of their tiniest screens. So by the time my friends and I showed up inevitably late of the advertised starting time, the few available seats were practically full, meaning we had the displeasure of sitting in the very front row, mere feet away from the screen. FUCKING CHEERS. Love cranking my neck and twisting my head to see everything going on. This is definitely the way movies were meant to be seen. Bravo.

Seriously, the screen I saw The Artist in, several weeks after its release, and at a late night showing time, was larger (and much emptier) than that for Prometheus. This is part of the reason cinema figures are declining, because of the idiocy and complete lack of basic logic that goes on behind the scenes, i.e. monstrously dumb screen choices, psychotic food prices, and apathetic staffing. Get it together.

Onto the film itself. For a good long while, I’d been building up Prometheus as a prospect for genuine masterpiece material. Those wonderfully mysterious trailers, the intriguing casting, and Ridley Scott’s sci-fi pedigree all seemed to add up to a product that would have trouble going wrong. Sure, Alien never needed a prequel, and I don’t think anyone really asked for one. True enough, the unexplained nature of the so-called ‘space jockeys’ was just another important part of the tension that clouded the first act of the film. But then Alien never needed a sequel either, and look what happened: Aliens was the BEST SEQUEL EVER MADE (The What-Father Part II? LALALALALA). So necessity wasn’t really an issue with Prometheus, and with Scott back at the helm, it could only be a thing of majesty, right?

Well that’s what I thought. But then the reviews bled out, and everywhere was a sea of mediocrity. 3 out of 5 stars, a 60-something Metascore, a 70-something % on Rotten Tomatoes, nothing even approaching the acclaim of Alien. And naturally, my expectations suddenly plummeted, and I went into that poorly-chosen Cineworld screen on a very diminished buzz, expecting a decent, but not nearly mind-blowing, experience.

Essentially, that’s pretty much what I got. There’s an array of ups and downs present during its considerable running time, but there’s very little here to compare with Alien. That is, save for one scene in particular. (Spoilers onward)

One of the main facets of Alien that has always made it fascinating to me is the lasting impact of the famed ‘chestburster’ scene, in which John Hurt’s character Kane has a bit of a bad time during a meal. It’s an unforgettable sequence, one of shock and chaos, of progress and evolution, of watershed and significance, and eventually of silence. I’ve always wondered how one would respond to that scene on first viewing, particularly in the tense and hushed cinema environment, which is something I never got to experience (having been born 12 years after its cinema release), and unfortunately I don’t really recall my reaction to seeing the chestburster on first viewing. Luckily, Sir Ridley saw fit to include another such scene in Prometheus.

This time, it’s not a xenomorph forcing its own way out of Kane’s chest into the world, this time it’s a squid-looking creature about to be born from Shaw’s lady parts before being forcibly removed in a medical pod. Something horrifying about this sequence had me absolutely gripped, more than any other chunk of the film. I sat, neck wrenched upwards, mouth literally agape, watching this semi-parallel horror unfold above/in front of me. There was something different about this one.

Over the numerous viewings of all 4 Alien films, I’ve become accustomed and effectively desensitised to the chestburster trope, but that still didn’t prepare me for the bloody thrashing and constant danger of Prometheus’s caesarean scene. It stands alone from the chestburster scenes, much as Prometheus stands alone from the Alien franchise. What was in Alien a bizarre and revolting scene of sudden helplessness and disruption, is in Prometheus a fresh scene of urgency and panicked survival. This showcases a new tone and a new creature, and despite a similar narrative frame, it’s a relatively different shock. It’s really quite difficult to describe that feeling of ‘sweet merciful crap, what in the fuck is that?!’, but it has been a long, long while since I reacted so noticeably to a film, and that’s something incredibly meaningful in today’s Hollywood of repetition and regurgitation. The fact that a setup that I’m so familiar with can be reimagined to affect me in the way it did makes Prometheus, for all its flaws, a success.

Beyond that, it’s really rather hit-and-miss. On the pro side, it’s beautiful. Once again, Sir Ridley provides a wondrous collection of shots and edits, including some magnificent establishing shots. The film’s first act contains a series of breathtaking outer space shots, focussed around the titular spaceship, which combine Dariusz Wolski’s cinematography with the excellent visual effects of Moving Picture and Weta and various other companies to create something truly awe-inspiring. Gorgeousness and gorgeousity made flesh.

The scale on show in Prometheus is what really separates it from Alien in terms of style. This film constantly deals with grander issues in a grander frame. We’ve got a much bigger crew with a much bigger mission asking much bigger questions. And stylistically, the film has a much bigger aesthetic. Large chunks of Alien were presented through very claustrophobic cinematography, while everything in Prometheus feels more open and breathable. We get more and bigger creatures, and ultimately we get more questions than we get answers.

Which leads me to a con. At some points, it feels a little unfinished – like it’s holding back, or setting up for something more. Something like Alien? Possibly. But Sir Ridley said he was going to make an individual film (and that he did), so why would he produce a near-2 hour prologue for a film he wanted to distance from? Perhaps it’s setting up for a sequel. The big questions that were teased in Prometheus trailers and in Alien are mostly left unanswered, frustratingly so, leaving plenty of sequel potential. Honestly though, I hate when filmmakers do that. Like in The Hunger Games. The very end was a clear “Next time on...” ploy, which I refuse to play along with. Fuck you Hollywood, don’t treat me like an obedient fucking dog. Bad Hollywood. Slap on the wrist for you.

Further pros include Michael Fassbender, about whom I frequently complain (despite his undoubted acting talent) because of his status as the current “let’s cast him in everything” bloke in Hollywood. He’s once again a revelation in Prometheus. Perfect casting choice for the android David. Plus that sequence of him prowling the ship alone near the beginning, imitating TE Lawrence and putting Ripley’s clone’s basketball skills to shame put a smile on my face. The rest of the cast follows suit, with Noomi Rapace giving a consistently not-Ripley Ripley, Charlize Theron gives a good standard cold corporate bitch (which was actually jarring after watching her play Rita on Arrested Development...), Guy Pearce is... odd... as the aged Peter Weyland from the TED conference video, and everyone else is generally good.

There’s also a great score, a passable screenplay, and some genuinely exciting action – which is surprisingly hard to come by in this age of giant fighting robots, superheroes, and alien invasions which all somehow find a way to be boring. So, good job for actually entertaining me.

Back on the con side, though, is the pressing issue of pacing. Part of Alien’s slow-burning glory (I KNOW it wasn’t supposed to be another Alien and I should stop comparing them like it was blah blah BLAH BLAH BLAH) was that it built up the tension to boiling-point and released it all out of one man’s chest. Prometheus doesn’t take much time to do that. We start off with the why the crew’s going where they’re going, then they get there. Then after the initial exploration, it’s set-piece after set-piece after set-piece, without much breathing time in between. In Alien, after each set-piece (in this case each crew member death) there was time for the characters and the audience to settle, take in what had happened, and reflect, which further allowed for us to bond with and understand the characters. Not so much of that in Prometheus. For instance, after the aforementioned scarifying caesarean sequence, we go almost immediately into the next sequence, wherein the surviving crew go back onto the planet to ‘meet’ the space jockeys (or ‘engineers’, as they are so-called in Prometheus), leaving very little time to take in the insane, panicky body horror we’d just witnessed.

So in summary, Prometheus offers a mix bag of greatness and not-so-greatness, resulting in something transcending mediocrity, but not quite reaching brilliance. I think the key to enjoying the film is to try and view it separately to Alien. If you try and compare the two, you’re gonna have a bad time, because Scott didn’t intend this to be a new Alien, nor a direct prequel. It’s a rather different film with an independent atmosphere, with minimal (though deliberate) links to Alien. But it seems to be confused. It can’t make up its mind about what it wants to be, flipping and flopping between horror and action, never quite nailing either in the way Cameron’s Aliens did.

What Prometheus needs is another viewing or four. And inevitably a sequel that may or may not answer the questions it opened up, and may or may not tie it more closely into the Alien series. And if James Cameron were to direct that sequel, I might just explode.

Beginnings and Origins (and other such synonyms)

After a short hiatus to accommodate some not-at-all stressful university deadlines for the end of the first semester, and the holiday season, I shall return to (somewhat) regular posting in the new year, i.e. next week. This is just a quickie update to prove that I'm still alive. I do hope you all had a Merry Christmas, or fröhliche Weihnachten, or С Рождеством Хрисовым, or З Божым нараджэннем!

And also have a Happy New Year (prost Neujahr, С Новым Годом, З новым годам) for tonight or tomorrow or yesterday or whenever your country enters/entered 2012. Which takes care of the Beginnings.

Onto the Origins. This past week I bought Rayman Origins in a sale in GAME (having made a bit of a fuss in the middle of the shop about a pricing mistake). I got my first taster of the game at GAMEfest this past September and now I'm totally in love with it. In fact I'll likely be posting a gushing love letter to it on here in a matter of days.

And to close 2011 with another origin-themed... thing, I'll leave you with the intensely exciting first teaser trailer for Ridley Scott's upcoming Prometheus. Despite his denying that it's going to be an Alien-related film, there are some definite parallels in this teaser to Alien's original trailer, notably the title style, the sound, and the overall atmosphere. If this doesn't get your mouth watering for Scott's first sci-fi in 30 years, well then maybe you should rewatch Alien and Blade Runner and remind yourself just how good he can be.

Enjoy.

The Perfect Organism - Part 2

Continuing on from Part 1...

So rarely does a film reach so far into the viewer’s consciousness as does Alien. It invades our thoughts like the creature invades the ship, and then the crew. Alien gives new meaning to invasion in the sci-fi sense. In the past, invasion had been depicted through alien species landing on the planet and taking over, or any such plots, but Alien goes beyond that. The xenomorph firstly invades Kane (and even before that, the deserted ship and the space jockey), using this as a means to invade the Nostromo, and then to invade the rest of the crew. Body horror is such a shocking subject, that screen depictions are often very memorable. But the creature’s rather sexual nature evokes rape and pregnancy, but in a previously-unseen, graphic manner. This plays on some very human fears, making our empathy with the crew much easier. The crew themselves are very human, very realistic. Achieving such a down-to-earth, relatable cast of characters in a film seemingly set so distant from the real world is quite a feat in itself.

Of course, the filmmakers’ contributions to this milestone in cinema go beyond just the story and the genre and the title. Every inch of the film is so well detailed. The cinematography, the score, the art design. HR Giger designed not just the alien, but several other aspects as well, including the planet surface, the derelict ship, and all other forms of the alien, and his excellence was recognised by AMPAS with an Academy Award for Visual Effects. Jerry Goldsmith (famed for the scores of Planet of the Apes, Chinatown, The Omen, and Star Trek, among others) provided a subtle, eerie score that reflects the film’s atmosphere, the isolation of space, and the unfamiliar locales. The camera work was provided by Derek Vanlint, whose choices range from large-scale wide shots, like that of the space jockey, dead in its chair, to jarring close-ups, like that of the ship’s resident feline, Jones. Together, all of these elements create an incredibly tight, well-sculpted, flawless film.

Alien doesn’t drop a single note. Every aspect works in conjunction with the rest. Even after so many viewings, I cannot pick any holes in Scott’s magnum opus. The fact that the film wasn’t even nominated for the Academy Award for Best Picture for its year (won by Oscar-bait Kramer vs. Kramer) is a disappointment. In my opinion, it is perfect. And this brings me back to the title. As science officer/evil android Ash says of the xenomorph, it is “the perfect organism”. In a further reflection of the title’s aptness at describing the film, by relating the creature and the film through the name, one can also describe the film as a perfect organism.

It is perfect. A faultless piece of art, of science fiction, of horror. Transcendent of genre – blending these two well-established archetypes into a new, disturbing hybrid. Transcendent of time – offering visual effects that have not dated after over 30 years, and themes that are still relevant today.

It is an organism. Terror and suspense that live on in our minds as nightmare and nostalgia. Body shocks that reach out into the consciousness of the audience. A believable crew, setting and situation, even as distant into space and time as it is.

It is indescribable. It is horrifying. It is Alien.

The Perfect Organism - Part 1

As a gift for my 20th birthday this past Tuesday, I received Ian Nathan's excellent book... box... thing, Alien Vault: The Definitive Story of the Making of the Film. I'm a big fan of Alien, and have been for some time, insofar as that I consider it one of my two 'favourite' films. So, inspired by Ian Nathan, here's my own relatively-short look at the film and why I love it so.

For anyone that hasn’t seen Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979), please stop reading right now, go watch the film, and then come back and read this.

*SPOILERS FROM HERE ON IN*

Alien is a rarity. In science fiction, in cinema, in culture. It is a transcendental work, a piece that cannot be tied down and labelled under measure of genre or type. A picture as elusive and indescribable as its titular character. In fact, the title itself represents so much more than it first seems.

At first reading, a title as simple as ‘Alien’ evokes very little about the film and its inner workings. But on closer study, and perhaps after a first viewing of the film, there is so much more to it, and there are few other names that could so perfectly encapsulate every aspect of Ridley Scott’s 1979 masterpiece.

As a description of the character (I choose to avoid the term ‘villain’ here, because we are given no indications of the Alien’s motivations) it refers to, it hits the nail on the head. In noun form, it shows that the creature is indeed an alien, and in adjective form, it shows that the creature has an alien appearance, has alien behaviour, and perhaps most importantly, has alien reproduction.

But beyond the creature, it describes so much more within the diegesis. The alien world on which the human protagonists land; the alien ship within which the facehugger is found; the alien situation that the crew find themselves in. And it is the situation that is possibly the most key to the reading of the title. From the very introduction of the ‘xenomorph’, the crew’s control begins to completely collapse. For all their assumed knowledge and experience, their attempt to manage their altered circumstances is one long exercise in futility. The egg is alien, Kane’s new friend is alien, its purpose is alien, the chestburster and its birth are alien, the xeno’s behaviour is alien, and its resting state in the shuttle is alien. There is nothing about the creature that the crew or the audience understand.

It is this that lends the horror to the film, and further meaning to the title. Horror as a genre works best when the protagonists and the audience are dealing with something unknown, something we don’t understand ("and you always fear what you don't understand"). When both ourselves and the characters are dealing with the unknown, we can more easily place ourselves into the position of the characters, and therefore augment the experience of fear. Alien achieves this in many ways, not just through the unpredictable actions of the creature, but also through the lack of screentime the creature is given. We don’t know what it is, we don’t know where it is, and we are given a mere glimpse of what it looks like. This is why seminal horror films like Jaws and The Thing stick so vividly in our minds. Their respective ‘villains’ are barely shown, leaving our imaginations to run wild and create the scares ourselves.

When Ridley Scott blends this pure horror with the film’s science fiction roots, the title fits like a glove. Prior to Alien’s release in 1979 (and following the slew of schlocky B-Movies of the 50s), science fiction had very much been a pleasant, exciting, family-friendly territory, one that made us crave adventure and exploration. Some of the biggest pre-1979 pieces include Star Wars, Star Trek, and Close Encounters of the Third Kind. But then Alien came along and changed the game, making sci-fi a much less welcoming subject. Not only this, but the two genres blur together, as the film could not exist without both. Without the science fiction, there is no context for the horror, no setup for the creature’s invasion, no reason for the crew’s isolation, and no basis for the memorable tagline (“In space, no one can hear you scream”). Without the horror, the sci-fi is missing a crux, the disturbing HR Giger design wasted, the picture merely a dystopian vision of the future. This blending of genre is alien. Unseen before, unsurpassed since. An unforgettable assault on our senses.

To be continued.

(Kudos to anyone who knows where that fear quote comes from.)