Alien (1979)

Review by Sean Patterson



I was surprised to find that Infernal Dreams was lacking a review for Alien. That was all the excuse I needed to re-watch one of, if not the greatest horror movie ever made.
I'll proceed with the assumption that you've seen the movie. If this isn't the case, stop reading at the end of this paragraph. Take the next two free hours in your life and watch it. You can then come back and wallow with me in the flick's greatness.
Alien is a study in what an effective horror movie is. On its surface the movie has many of the same pieces that other horror movies have, yet it stacks those pieces to a greater height than almost any of those others. It has the right mix of gore, suspense, and characterization to have the viewer variously intrigued and terrified throughout.
The first thing Alien does right is character. The cast is kept small, which allows each of them to have a notable personality. The only parallels I can think of are movies where several couples are sent to their doom. Those movies never end up working unless the characters have more nuance than "ditzy blonde" and "muscled hero." The crew of the Nostromo are working class, going about their jobs as any of us might. When they awake from cryo sleep it's clear who's in charge, what each of them is like as a person, and that their job titles (such as space freighter warrant officer) are only glamorous in name.
What Dan O'Bannon (the screenwriter) did with these characters, though, is key. He didn't make it clear who was the protagonist. Any of the crew could be instantly destroyed, and the audience has no way of knowing who might be next or whether any of them will survive. The fact that Ripley survives seems, in the end, to have more to do with luck than with the determination and badassery we see her display in the sequels.
The cast is superb, as is their acting. I'd expect no less from the likes of John Hurt, Ian Holm, and Sigourney Weaver.
The ship, The Nostromo, is a cool piece of industrial design. It invokes a dirty, time-worn factory where dirt is caked thick and condensation makes everything damp. The size of the ship means the story isn't as confined as other trapped-with-a-monster movies might be, but the fact that they are in space, presumably light-years from any possible rescue, makes things far more claustrophobic than a mansion or a cave. There are miles of cargo holds in which the alien can hide and stalk its prey, but little space for the crew to live in.
The last piece of the movie that makes it a classic is the design of the monster. As a high concept, the alien itself if a sort of dragon metaphor. It's claws, agility, and acid saliva simply touch the ancient fears all humans instinctually share as a result of their pre-history. The crucial element of this particular fiend is the lack of eyes. If eyes are the most expressive facial feature, the lack of them connotes a lack of emotion. This conveys, instantly, all we need to know about the alien. It won't be reasoned with or fooled. It evolved on a world where sight was superfluous. A world of darkness. It's never clear whether humans stand a chance against this type of predator.
In fact, humans have never stood a good chance against true predators. A lion or bear will rip a gladiator apart in a fair fight. All we really have is our tools. But, even here, Alien sows doubt when it shows that we can't always trust those tools. When Mother refuses to comply and Ash goes to android hell, Ripley loses her last shreds of hope. All that's left is to run.
So Alien stands, in my opinion, as a perfect movie. The fact that it still, 30 years later, doesn't seem outdated is a real testament to both the art (set and costume) design and its limited storytelling. Alien takes a formula that has been tried, every year, with varying degrees of success and somehow performs alchemy. In this case, a small group of people, plus a monster, in a confined space, equals a masterpiece.