Next year will mark the 45th anniversary of Ridley Scott’s landmark sci-fi horror movie, Alien. I saw the movie when I kid way back in 1979. Here are ten things I (still) love about it:
- The Opening
For a movie that has the second-most disturbing scene in the history of cinema (the shower scene in Psycho is #1), the film starts with an empty field of quiescent darkness. The single letter I appears in the middle of the screen, and over the next few minutes as the opening credits appear and disappear on the screen, the I is joined by other letters to eventually form the single title: ALIEN. Talk about building tension. And what a great title it is! Both a noun and an adjective, it sums up everything frightening about this film. Namely, the fear of being consumed by the other, (the one outside and the one inside).
- The Soundtrack
One of the great lessons of Steven Spielberg’s Jaws is that sound can be just as frightening as sight. And Scott took a page from Spielberg’s playbook in tapping master composer Jerry Goldsmith for his monster movie. Goldsmith’s soundtrack is both retro-gothic and unnervingly modern, from deep flourishes of symphonic sounds (see the “awakening” scene) to atonal weirdness reminiscent of John Cage. It’s the soundtrack of a slow-motion nightmare.
In fact, the sound mix of this movie is remarkable in so many ways. Which leads me to my next point…
- The Frame
Looking back at the movie now, I am amazed to realize that Alien is actually one of the last big-budget Hollywood examples of an open-form film. This is most evident in the movie’s most iconic scene—the horrific sequence when the larval alien reveals himself. In this sequence, the crew of the doomed starship Nostromo share a meal before going back into hyperspace. They are chatting and laughing and teasing each other, while the camera roams over the entire tableau. People talk over each on another, their conversations blurring into a general mayhem. Strangely, it’s one of the most realistic and convincing scenes ever rendered on film—just a bunch of space-truckers shooting the shit before they get back on the road.
And then one guy’s chest explodes…
- The Chestburster
…speaking of which, the idea of an alien that implants its larva inside a host, followed by a “birth” when the larva breaks through the body of that host, is one of the most primal in the history of horror. In a movie full of nightmarish birth imagery, the moment when the alien actually rips through John Hurt’s chest is a paragon of psyscho-sexual paranoia. It’s the defining moment of the movie.
- The Cast
Many essays have been written about the brilliant job Scott did in casting this picture. He tapped a reservoir of veteran character actors from both side of the Atlantic: Harry Dean Stanton, Tom Skerrit, Yaphet Kotto, Veronica Cartwright, John Hurt, and Ian Holm. All of these six went on to have stellar careers (Holm and Hurt, especially). Amazingly, given that Alien was intended to be a blockbuster summer movie, none of the cast members was under 30 at the time.
But the real standout of the cast was, of course, Sigourney Weaver, who was making her film debut. A lesser director would have cast some stalwart blond (male) kid in the role of Ripley, the heroic crewman who finally out-maneuvers the alien. Instead, Scott cast Weaver, who, despite her youth, brought enough intelligence and grit to the role to become one of the most memorable movie heroes of all-time.
- The Labyrinth
One of the archetypal images of cinema is that of character lost in a labyrinth. In Alien, the first time the monster reveals itself is after an extended scene of Barrett wondering through the bowels of the ship. Was there ever a creepier scene in the movies, ever? The part where he stands in the wheel-well of the giant landing ship and looked up into the ice melting off of it is both inspired and mesmerizing. And then, of course, the Alien descends upon him.
It still freaks me out.
- The Alien
The titular role of the movie is, of course, the alien. As with any monster movie, the challenge is to give the audience something it hasn’t seen before—and woe betide the director who offers up just another guy in a rubber suit.
Scott sidestepped this challenge by redefining the entire monster genre itself. His alien keeps changing appearance—at one moment, it looks like a giant insect. In another, a dolphin. And then, later, like a piece of machinery.
The reality, of course, is the Scott’s alien is not any one thing. It’s fluid and illogical—like a nightmare. An externalized phobia. Based on the genius of the Dutch concept artist H. R. Giger, the alien is both beautiful and grotesque at the same time. As is the entire film.
- The Panic Scene
One of the hallmarks of a bad horror movie is that it fails to generate any actual suspense. The characters seem stupid, or disposable, or both. We can’t take them seriously, and therefore we don’t really care if they live or die.
Alien is just the opposite. By the start of the second act, the characters are all so vividly drawn and individualized that we genuinely want them to live—even the cold-fish Ash.
In fact, my favorite scene in the movie is the one just after Dallas gets killed. The remaining crewmembers—now leaderless—struggle to keep their sanity in the face of an impossible and terrifying situation. Each reacts according to his or her character. Lambert cries hysterically. Parker blusters with false bravado. Ash gloats. Only Ripley has the courage and presence to formulate a workable plan of action.
Of course, this plan doesn’t really come to much because of…
- The Subplot
The script for Alien is remarkable because it solves one of the great problems of most action films—what to do in the Third Act? After all, you’ve already established the story and essential conflict (i.e., space-truckers versus the ravenous xenomorph). So how do you maintain any tension—or, even better, surprise—for the last chunk of the film?
In Alien, Scott accomplishes this via a totally unexpected—and yet perfect—plot twist involving the character of Ash. Ash, the ship’s science officer, turns out to be an android, placed there by the unseen and evil corporation that owns the ship. His job was to encourage the crew to go down to the planet and fetch the alien (and, once fetched, to make sure it survives). The fact that Ash is a murderous and slightly unhinged android—reminiscent of the HAL 9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey—only adds the shock of revelation when his true nature is revealed.
Even better, I love how Ash’s character is essentially the opposite of the alien’s. Full of repressed desires and resentments, Ash is always smoldering in the background. Of course, deep down he wishes he could be the alien—a graceful incarnation of appetites—but he has to make do with what he is: a shy, dumpy British nerd.
- The Planet
Nearly a third of the movie action is spent down on the unnamed planet, from whence the distress signal comes that actuates the story. Shrouded in snow and fog, the planet is like something out of an Ingmar Bergman movie. Until, of course, they reach the alien ship, which looks like a dead animal turned inside-out, with biomechanical architecture (it’s literally made of bones). Only a madman like Giger could take a segment in a sci-fi movie and turn it into an ode to necrophilia.
(Author’s Note: this post originally appeared on my old blog, Bakhtin’s Cigarettes.)
Ash Clifton, Writer 