20th Century Studios. 2024. Comedy. 119mins.
Grade: 3 out of 4
With Disney now the shaky steward of all things 20th Century Fox, it’s the right time to remind everyone that the Alien franchise, which began at Fox with Ridley Scott’s 1979 masterpiece, has since become one of cinema’s most mismanaged bits of high-quality IP. Yet looking back on it, Fox initially, until its executives found unique ways to dumpster fire the whole thing, had the right idea. The first four Alien films were admirably different in tone and approach and directed by Ridley Scott, James Cameron, David Fincher and Jean-Pierre Jeunet, not a slacker in the bunch. But arguably since 1986’s Aliens, the franchise has fallen into a tailspin with two troubled sequels and two low rent Alien vs. Predator crossover films that threw in the towel on any chance of the series reclaiming its A-list bonafides. And even though Scott’s return for 2012’s Prometheus and 2017’s Alien: Covenant gave the Xenomorph saga a heartbeat, he made the one mistake that was probably inevitable almost half a dozen films into the series; he gave our favorite phallic-shaped monster an origin story.
What was truly horrifying about Alien was not the creature but the idea that a tiny speck of a ship floating through our unimaginably vast universe may still be unlucky enough to encounter a being whose only purpose is to stab you in the brain with its retractable metallic inner set of teeth. Yet in Prometheus the more we learned about the Xenomorph’s origin, what with the Engineers and the bioweaponry and the whatever, the less interesting and more conventionally terrifying they became. Now here comes Alien: Romulus, the ninth film in the series (it’s nine because we’re including the two crossover films because, come on, the word Alien is in the title). Much like A Quiet Place: Day One, Alien: Romulus lowers the stakes in terms of franchise mythology but does so, much like J.J. Abrams’ Star Wars sequels, by nakedly echoing the previous films. It would be easy to dismiss yet another ingratiating sequel, prequel or reboot, especially this one, featuring the poorly CGI’d reappearance of an Alien-era actor and a top-billed Cailee Spaeny positioned as the new Sigourney Weaver, right down to the final slow and deliberate climb into a spacesuit wearing only her skivvies. But Uruguayan director Fede Álvarez, setting the action between the events of Alien and Aliens, traffics in a tactile, dirt under the fingernails, practical aesthetic that’s so enveloping it smothers our natural inclination to recoil at such fan service. If he hadn’t overplayed his hand during a kitchen sink climax trying too hard to thrill, Alien: Romulus could have completely halted the franchise’s seemingly irreversible decline. Instead—and consider this a win in light of what’s come before— Álvarez delivers a tense and absorbing sci-fi thriller that doesn’t point to a promising new series direction but shows there’s still some teeth left in the old beast.
Given that the best Alien films feature well-cast crews of often older actors who effortlessly convey depth and world-weariness (most of the cast from 1979’s Alien were in their 40’s. Harry Dean Stanton was in his 50’s) screenwriters Àlvarez and Rodo Sayagues’ choice of twentysomethings smacks of demographic pandering. And they hardly have Scott or Cameron’s talent for quickly establishing characters worth mourning upon their inevitable deaths. But since most of these recruits are destined to become Xenomorph chow, it allows the film to expend its energy convincing us that Sigourney Weaver is now Cailee Spaeny. And even if she’s a bit softer and less severe looking than Weaver, the ever-alert Priscilla star still makes the turn from despondent corporate slave to rifle toting hero. She plays Rain, toiling away in the grimy and deadly underground mines on a distant world bathed in perpetual darkness. In the film’s opening moments, she’s told that her work quota has been arbitrarily increased and she’ll need to labor another five years before she can peace-out to a planet where she can gaze upon the sun. Sharing her sun-dappled aspirations are the thickly accented Tyler (Archie Renaux), his sister Kay (Isabela Merced), the equally thickly accented Bjorn (Spike Fearn), and ace pilot Navarro (Aileen Wu), all combining to create the most anonymous crew in any Alien film.
Rain’s closest companion is her spiritual brother, Andy, (Rye Lane’s terrific David Jonsson), an out-of-date and discarded synthetic reprogrammed by Rain’s father to protect her. Their relationship is established during some it’s-about-time worldbuilding where we learn about the working conditions imposed upon employees of the Weyland-Yutani Corporation—the series’ overarching villain. What we mostly learn is that Rain and her friends are justifiably desperate to escape a mentally and physically toxic environment that tends to turn children into orphans. Their plan is to blast off to an abandoned space station (a success achieved way too easily), hijack its cryobeds with the help of Andy’s synth technology and safely snooze nine years until they reach a sunnier planet.
Coming after two pretentious and overly considered attempts by Scott to add thematic complexity to the series, Àlvarez’s back to basics approach and insistence on visually—this is the best-looking Alien film since the original—and aurally—quotes from Jerry Goldsmith and James Horner’s franchise scores abound—activating our Alien-loving lizard brains generates real satisfaction. The series is tailor made for someone of Àlvarez’s screw-turning gifts so it’s a surprise, and a pleasant one for the squeamish, that he often telegraphs the biggest scares, relying more on tension than release. So even if he’s not accomplished enough to replicate Scott’s sense of silent grandeur or Cameron’s action sophistication, once the Xenomorph’s start picking off crewmembers, it’s actually a relief to see an Alien film that wants only to scare us, not make us consider the origins of Mankind.
If nothing else, the film may make us consider buying its PS5 adaptation, were one to materialize. As the crew dwindles in number, the set pieces begin feeling like episodic launching pads for boss levels, including Rain and Andy floating in zero gravity while avoiding acidic Xenomorph blood and their treacherous climb up an elevator shaft. Both happen during a frantic-to-please third act that not only rips off Alien: Resurrection without adding anything to the Alien mythology but it allows for the encroaching thought that nothing original is really happening here and that Àlvarez—who can do gleefully bloody (Evil Dead) or taut and suspenseful (Don’t Breathe)—is more a technical director than a humanist one. Yet Alien: Romulus is still the best film in the series since the Assembly Cut of Alien 3, a realization that comes as our dissatisfaction with the previous movies melts away under the dim and moody glare of this modestly aimed reset. Where this all-over-the-place series goes from here is anybody guess. But to paraphrase Wayland-Yutani’s motto, now it’s up to Disney to use Alien: Romulus to build a better world.