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  • Alien: Resurrection (1997)

    And so we come to the fourth and (thus far) final film in the original Alien cycle, Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Alien: Resurrection. It is in some ways ironic that this is (thus far) the last of the series (not including the Alien vs Predator spin-offs), as it was heralded on its arrival as the saviour of the franchise – a return to form after the negative response to Alien 3; to get it “back on track”, as Kim Newman described it in his Radio 4 review. My sense is that, on the contrary, time has proven A:R to be the weakest of the line.

    This was the first Alien film to be exposed to internet fan speculation during its development, where fact and fiction often walked in hand. Rumors abounded of the direction that a new film might take (one story suggested that the events of Alien 3 would be written off as a hypersleep dream, paving the way for the return of Hicks, Bishop and Newt). How big a part the still-young world wide web played in the actual decision-making process is of course questionable, but it was clear there was still a great hunger for more sequels. This was despite the apparently final conclusion of Alien 3 that saw Ripley’s own story come to a memorable close, even if the film itself was not as beloved by audiences as its predecessors. It was this lingering dissatisfaction that seemed to drive demand for a new entry; questions still needed to be answered and more Xenomorph-style terror was desired, in the belief that Alien 3 was merely a blip.

    At least, that’s what it felt like from a fan’s perspective. From the studio’s point of view, this was a series that was still solvent and capable of making more money, just as the Planet of the Apes series had done for the same studio two decades earlier. That might sound cynical, and it probably is, but there’s no doubt that if it wasn’t capable of making money, a new chapter would never have got made.

    The studio does deserve some credit though. All three of the earlier films had been directed by up-and-coming directors of talent and vision, who all went on to equal or greater successes (Ridley Scott made Blade Runner and Gladiator; James Cameron made Terminator 2 and Titanic (yes, yes, I know); and David Fincher made Seven and Fight Club). Commendably undeterred after the mixed reception to Alien 3, Fox and the producers stuck to their guns and went after another visionary for the new episode. One early frontrunner included Danny Boyle, who had just come off Trainspotting. In the end they signed up Jeunet, despite his speaking little English and not having directed a feature-length film by himself before; his earlier films, Delicatessen (1991) and The City of Lost Children (1995), were co-directed with Marc Caro. Jeunet of course went on afterwards to direct the wonderful Amelie (2001).

    A:R bears all the hallmarks of having been conceived as the start of a new series of films, perhaps a new trilogy. Writer Joss Whedon certainly tries to give audiences what they wanted from a new film. Firstly Ripley herself is resurrected, using the then-trendy plot device of cloning. Sigourney Weaver was tempted back with a whopping paycheck. Clearly the producers felt that her involvement was crucial to get the series going again; earlier attempts to get an Aliens vs Predator film off the ground came unstuck, so it’s not surprising that Weaver was drafted in. It does smack a little of desperation though, almost like the producers felt it would be too risky trying to create a new character to carry the franchise.

    To be fair, the idea is interesting and has potential: two centuries after the events of Alien 3, Ripley is cloned from stored blood samples by military scientists (will they never learn?) aboard a spaceship attempting to recreate the Alien (something to do with “urban pacification”); this results in her DNA becoming mixed with that of her nemesis, making her a rather different Ripley from the one we remember. The idea that her ultimate sacrifice was in vain, and worse, she is now bonded with the evil she has battled to eradicate, does pose some intriguing questions. Of course, the Aliens manage to escape their shackles and start to do what they do best: kill, kill and kill again.

    Whedon’s script ticks other crowd-pleasing boxes too. Back come the colonial marines from Aliens; back too comes the spaceship setting from the original, complete with ship’s computer called Father (as opposed to Mother in the first film). The basic story is also familiar, as a dwindling group of survivors try to make their way out of the infested ship alive.

    For the first time in the series, Weaver’s name was not alone headlining the poster: joining her was Winona Ryder. Ryder’s addition to the franchise is convincing evidence that the studio were looking for a new name to carry the series on if and when Weaver bailed out (though the revelation about her character that comes towards the end of the film is slightly bizarre if she was indeed to pick up the torch as the new star of the series). Unfortunately Ryder doesn’t fare well in the film, being altogether too weedy and annoying, and Weaver easily keeps the limelight to herself.

    Ryder is not the film’s only fault however. The most serious flaw is a very uneven tone, one that lurches from thriller to farce and back again. It’s often a frustrating film to watch, as one feels that in the hands of a different director, A:R could have been a much stronger addition to the series. Instead, Jeunet adds moments of pure silliness when what we really want from an Alien film is horror and suspense. Scenes like Dan Hedaya’s death-from-behind, looking at his own brains; or the frankly bizarre ‘conception’ scene as Ripley is ‘smothered’ by the Alien Queen, resulting in the entirely risible Newborn. The style of humour here is totally out of place; it might work in Whedon’s Buffy tv series, but an Alien film needs to be grounded, believable, scary. Hedaya’s whole character seems to have walked in from a sitcom shooting next door.

    These supposed innovations only serve to distract from a story that seems fine on paper, but actually turns out to be more like a greatest hits compilation of its predecessors. Whedon’s script included some colonial marines, but only one actually plays anything like a significant role. And for all the guns on display, desperately trying to evoke memories of Aliens, there’s precious little shooting.

    Which would be fine, if there was horror and suspense to replace it. But sadly the film is deficient here too. Certainly there’s nothing to match the terror of the first or second films, or even Alien 3. There’s the odd moment of excitement, such as the underwater swim and the egg ‘farm’ where the survivors emerge, or the scene where the abducted passengers awake to find themselves each suspended above an Alien egg just about to hatch. But the trouble is it’s all been done before, and better. Jeunet may have an imaginative eye with the camera, but he doesn’t seem to know how to build a tangible atmosphere of tension or dread.

    This does all rather sound like I hate the film, but actually I don’t. Even if Jeunet proved to be the wrong man for the job, he didn’t necessarily deliver a bad film – just an unsatisfactory Alien film. Certainly there are enough ideas of interest to make it worth a look. The tone may not be right, but the setting is good; in fact Whedon reworked this space smugglers scenario to much better effect with his short-lived but much-missed TV series, Firefly. The smuggler crew are an interesting bunch of characters, including the likes of Ron Perlman and Michael Wincott, and they help keep the film afloat. The build up to the escape of the Aliens is quite involving. The action may be a disappointment, but the sets and cinematography continue the series tradition of looking superb, both claustrophobic and moody – it certainly looks like an Alien film, and some pleasure is derived from that fact alone. Sadly the Aliens themselves are not as scary as they once were, the film over-relying on CGI and therefore automatically losing some of the horror the first two films had. There are some neat touches though, such as the way the Aliens escape from their cells by killing one of their own. The other standout moment is the scene where Ripley encounters the earlier attempts to clone her; failed experiments horrificly gone wrong, yet unaccountably kept alive.

    But much of the good work is lost when the ending with the Newborn arrives. The best that can be said here is that if the studio wanted their director to inject something unique in to the film, then they certainly got it. Unfortunately, the creature is more often  laughable than the tragic beast he seems intended to have been. And the whole idea of a human-Alien crossbreed as the product of what seems to be a sexual liaison is just too silly for words. I’m amazed the studio let it get by.

    So in the end it’s a mixed bag really. Some good bits, some bad, some imaginative, some absurd. It was a noble attempt to do something different with the franchise, to make it feel familiar yet new, whilst getting the series back on the road to success. Unfortunately audiences didn’t get onboard with it and the moderate box-office returns it generated meant the series was put on hold indefinitely. Still, if this was the weakest of the series to date, then that shows the strength of the franchise’s quality overall.

    An Alien 5 has been mooted now and again, with Cameron and Scott apparently interested in making a fifth and final chapter that visited the Alien homeworld. Sadly it was overruled by the studio in favour of the long-gestating Alien vs Predator… but that’s a review for another day.

    [xrr rating=3/5]

  • Alien 3 (1992)

    After two artistically and financially successful films, where next for 20th Century Fox’s sci-fi horror franchise? Why, another sequel of course – but could they make it three out of three? Defying the usual pattern of cranking out sequels as soon as possible to milk the cash cow, there was a six year gap between Aliens and its successor, though this was not really intentional. In the meantime, the studio’s Predator franchise was born in 1987 to try and tide the same audience over, itself spawning a sequel as well as a future crossover franchise (triggered by the infamous shot of the skull trophy case in 1990’s Predator 2).

    As has been well documented, this was no normal period of development hell – Alien 3 became a real problem child for the studio and producers David Giler and Walter Hill. They were determined to keep to the successful established pattern of picking an up-and-coming hot talent to take the reins, but finding the right direction to take the story for the next episode proved a real sticking point. Directors and scripts came and went with alarming speed. Writers such as William Gibson, David Twohy and Vincent Ward took a stab, only to have their efforts tossed in to the bin. Renny Harlin was first offered the director’s chair (what were they thinking?), followed by Ward, but both were shown the door when a satisfactory script failed to surface. Giler and Hill eventually took charge and wrote a script themselves, using various elements from earlier drafts; but this was also rejected by Fox. Finally first-time director David Fincher was signed up, and Giler and Hill continued to revise their script, even as the film was forcibly pushed into production. Star Sigourney Weaver herself got involved to try and get the development mess in to some sort of shape.

    It has been said before, but it’s worth saying again: Alien 3 should have been an utter disaster, and indeed initially it was reviled by most fans of the previous entries. This is quite understandable. Once again the tone of the film changed tack; instead of taking the easy road and simply serving up more of the same, Alien 3 bravely tried to go in its own direction. Gone are the colonial marines and their firepower (most of the survivors from Aliens are disposed of in the opening minutes with shocking speed); gone too is the haunted house in space from the first film. In their place are some 25 fairly nasty convicts, mostly converted to a “Christian fundamentalist” religion, populating a lice-ridden, broken-down prison complex (bereft of any sort of weapons) on an obscure, desolate world: inhumane people on an inhumane planet. Bleak is just the beginning. The story, unfashionably downbeat with religious overtones, was almost certainly not what the studio or fans were hoping for. No wonder audiences left crushed and disappointed.

    I have to admit, I was one of them when I first saw it. The loss of Hicks, Newt and Bishop was especially traumatic. The marvelously gripping ending of Aliens was suddenly negated, its meaning cut out and lost. There were odd and frustrating story inconsistencies (where DID the egg on the Sulaco come from?). And the lack of any characters to warm to in the new film – no Parker or Brett, no Hudson or Hicks here – made it difficult to empathise with the plight of the prisoners when hell expectedly breaks loose. Even Ripley herself seemed strangely alien, with her shaven head and having become so fatalistic about her nemesis that she welcomes her own death at the end.

    But time has been rather kind to Alien 3. Once over the initial shock and disappointment, and accepting the fact that it was admirably and determinedly going to be its own beast, the true qualities of Alien 3 have slowly emerged. Director David Fincher by all accounts had a nightmare experience trying to make the film, with constant interference from the studio, but credit for the final product almost certainly should be laid at his feet. His subsequent films have proven him to be a greatly talented director, but Alien 3 showed this talent first emerging. The bleak atmosphere, eschewing the adrenaline rush of Aliens, is one to savour. It’s certainly memorable, more so than the characters; and even if the final script was a mishmash of ideas from earlier drafts, the story and setting proved to be intriguing science-fiction. Fincher’s direction turns the script in to an intense sci-fi horror thriller that refuses to go for a happy ending. If Aliens was a ‘beer-and-snack’ movie, this is a whisky flick: no fizz, just savour the strength and mood. Even the photography makes it look like it was shot through a glass of Scotland’s finest: all yellows and browns, deceptively warm-looking, but actually anything but. In this regard it is certainly the equal of its predecessors, providing a location and atmosphere as godforsaken as its Alien visitor.

    And although the characters are no match for its predecessors, it does have one or two highlights. In a cast full of British character actors, Charles Dance as Clemens comes across as pretty much the one likeable guy in the whole place, exuding charisma in a charisma-free zone. The legendary Brian Glover is also good value as the warden Andrews (“This is rumour control. Here are the facts!”), as is Ralph Brown as his assistant Aaron, blessed with an IQ of 85. Of the prisoners, Charles S. Dutton as Dillon is the most likeable, emerging as a reluctant leader to his wayward flock. Paul McGann and Pete Postlethwaite are also in there, and of course good old Lance Henriksen turns up in a baffling cameo at the end as ‘Bishop II’, causing much debate about whether he was just another android or in fact the real Bishop that designed the android, as he claimed he was.

    Mention should also be made of Elliot Goldenthal’s melancholy score, memorable throughout for its sombre, medieval mood. The early CGI looks a little primitive these days, but on the whole the effects are fine; the occasional cuts to space as the Company’s ship races to ‘rescue’ Ripley is a welcome nod to Scott’s original, as is the ghostly radio message heard at the very end. And while one certainly laments the fact that the film as a whole failed to be as satisfying as the earlier two entries, it does at least take itself seriously: there are some great set-pieces, particularly the climax, and it provides satisfying closure to Ripley’s story. On its own terms, Alien 3 is undoubtedly good, grown-up science-fiction horror.

    [xrr rating=4/5]

  • Aliens (1986)

    Continuing my series of Alien movie reviews, we come to the second entry, James Cameron’s 1986 sequel, Aliens. This was actually the first Alien movie I ever watched, and fortunately it was the 1992 Special Edition director’s cut (rented out from the local video shop – remember them?). I therefore have a tremendous amount of affection for it, even whilst admitting that the original is probably the superior piece overall. Not to slight Cameron’s work, however; he crafted a technically brilliant and highly influential film in its own right, and it’s extremely doubtful the Alien mythos would have survived and thrived as much as it has were it not for his work here.

    A sequel to Alien could have gone in numerous directions, but it eventually landed in the lap of Cameron, having proved his talents on low-budget hit The Terminator (1984). Coming a full seven years after the original, and working from a story by himself and producers David Giler and Walter Hill, Aliens gave the director the first real opportunity to stretch his skills on a proper budget (though certainly not huge for the time – around $20m). Rather than simply retelling the same story, Cameron sensibly raises the stakes in several ways. Firstly, there is now more than one Alien, as the title implies – in fact there are LOTS more. Necessarily this does take away some of the sheer terror that Ridley Scott’s original developed. There we saw how just a single creature almost supernaturally stalked and killed Ripley’s entire crew. By having hundreds of the creatures on the loose, thereby giving them the advantage, the terror should conversely be greatly diminished. Thankfully this is not the case, for two reasons: firstly, H.R. Giger’s creations are so superbly nightmare-ish that being afraid is still the only option; and secondly, James Cameron turned out to be one of the finest action directors Hollywood had ever produced. The tension and adrenaline he succeeds in generating through set-piece after set-piece is phenomenal by anyone’s standards, and certainly overcomes any loss of mystery and suspense that sequels usually suffer. This is a different terror from the original movie: this is no longer a haunted house in space; this time it’s war.

    The term ‘rollercoaster ride’ might have been invented to describe the film’s story. The happy ending from the first movie (well, hopeful rather than happy, perhaps) turned out to be not-so-happy, as the movie picks up 57 years later, with Ripley’s family having died in the interim, and worse still, the planet that Ripley’s ship landed on is now colonised. Ripley is coerced into revisiting the planet with a platoon of hi-tech colonial marines when contact with said colony is lost.

    Cameron’s certainly a much better director than he is writer (see Titanic for proof of that), but I would argue he did some of his best ever writing here. Ripley’s character is much beefed up, with a psychology and history that adds depth and intelligently builds on what we learnt from the original film. Sigourney Weaver takes the script and delivers a powerful performance, and, astonishingly for a genre film (and a sequel to boot), won an Oscar nod for her trouble. The stakes are raised for Ripley too – her maternal relationship with Newt (Carrie Henn – never seen onscreen again since), the girl who miracualously survived the slaughter of the colony, is key to the film’s emotional wallop. Were it not for this beautifully-judged and handled plot thread, the subsequent action scenes would lose their resonance, and this is what separates it from the imitators and rip-offs that followed.

    But that’s obviously not what makes the film so cool to a teenage boy – that would be the action scenes. The film delivers in spades here. The initial investigation in to the abandoned colony buildings, the devastating first encounter with the Xenomorphs, the subsequent desperate defense against the unstoppable foe and the final running battles – it’s brilliant, relentless, buttock-clenching stuff. Making the most of his mere six Alien costumes, Cameron offers a deft lesson in how to make less appear more. Yes, the film lacks the subtlety of its predecessor, but when the replacement is this much fun, who cares? Chock full of memorable moments (the attack underneath the cooling towers, with Gorman watching his monitors helplessly while his troops are wiped out; the auto-sentries; the moment where Hicks discovers how the Aliens have evaded their defences (ripped off wholesale in 2005’s Doom); Ripley’s descent to rescue Newt), Cameron’s inventiveness and ease at shooting action is quite evident to see.

    Coupled with that is the instantly quotable dialogue – especially from Bill Paxton’s panicky Private Hudson:

    “We’re on an express elevator to Hell – going down!”

    “I am the ultimate badass! State of the badass art!”

    “Stop your grinnin’ and drop your linen.”

    “Yeah man, but it’s a dry heat!”

    “They’re coming outta the goddamn walls!”

    “That’s it man, game over man, game over!”

    “What do you mean, “they cut the power”? How could they cut the power, man? They’re animals!”

    “You’re dog-meat, pal!”

    Ever since this film, as far I’m concerned, Paxton can do no wrong.  The rest of the cast are also excellent, led of course by the often-underrated Michael Biehn as the quietly resourceful Cpl. Hicks, Paul Reiser as corporate slimeball Carter Burke, and the ever-reliable Lance Henricksen as android Bishop. The rest of the cast play their roles with equal conviction and, as with Alien, are far more memorable than usual in films of this ilk. Indeed, one feels greatly saddened when they are whittled down to the final survivors.

    Another key element in the mix is James Horner’s score, which is both suitably atmospheric and heart-poundingly exciting when necessary. The production design is also noteworthy, building on Scott’s original whilst updating it too. As with Alien, very little of it has dated, and I would go so far as to say that it is still being imitated today; again, only the computers have aged. And the sets and photography are terrific: I swear there are times you can feel the chill air, damp with the smell of hot gunmetal and sweat, blowing off the screen. Hats off to the late, great Adrian Biddle, who struck gold on his first outing as Director of Photography.

    The main point of contention that seems to divide fans of Scott’s and Cameron’s films is the Alien Queen. This is understandable, as it does remove a lot of the mystery that surrounded the origins of the Aliens, and how those eggs came to be in the wrecked spaceship of the first movie. It also added some confusion about the Alien’s lifecycle, conflicting with the excised scene in the first movie where Ripley discovers the fate of Dallas. Cameron’s modification to the lifecycle does at least make sense, and undoubtedly makes for a thrilling showdown, though the point about demystification is well made.

    All in all, it’s an excellent film, and a most worthy follow-up to Alien. The 1992 special edition is the superior version, without question – it adds about 17 minutes more, including a good deal more action and backstory for Ripley and Newt, whilst never feeling overlong. One suspects this was the version Cameron would have preferred to originally release in cinemas, but was overruled by the studio (I’ve not read this anywhere, but it sounds plausible). It was that rare beast: a sequel that could legitimately claim to be the equal of its predecessor.

    One final note of praise: I love the sound effects in this film. Kudos to whoever came up with the sound for the pulse rifles and the motion trackers – just fantastic!

    [xrr rating=5/5]

  • Alien (1979)

    At long lost I have got around to writing a review of probably my favourite film – Ridley Scott’s Alien. Long time readers will be well aware of the enormous affection and esteem in which I hold this sci-fi horror masterpiece, and I know I’m not alone. Far from it – such is the quality of the movie that it probably has far more fans now than ever before. I obviously can’t compete with all the professional criticism out there that has dissected the film far more thoroughly, so these are just some of my own thoughts.

    Part of Alien’s enduring appeal is of course the titular creature itself, which I’ll talk about later on. Firstly I want to discuss the film in its own right, because it is easy to overlook everything else in the movie that works so perfectly. The sequels and rip-offs that followed have helped to obscure the level of thought, detail and sheer artistry that constitutes this milestone in film-making.

    Let’s start, as all films must do, with the script. Dan O’Bannon and Ronald Shusett’s writing here was never going to win any awards, but then it didn’t need to. What they did do, with hindsight very cleverly, was to resurrect a successful formula from the 1950s (monsters from outer space picking off helpless humans) and mash it up with a gritty 1970s sensibility. The dialogue for the first part of the story concerns itself with the humdrum work of a ship’s crew, consisting of conversations that could be transplanted in to any other social context and still work. Gripes about pay, bitching about work-provided facilities, jokes at the expense of senior personnel – for a movie supposedly about a lethal extra-terrestrial, this is pretty soft stuff. No ‘Jaws’-like kick-off here that instantly makes clear the impending threat; instead the audience is drawn gently in to a mystery about why a deep-space mining ship’s crew on their way home has been awoken early, after having been diverted off course. The dialogue and characterization is unusually intelligent for a film of its genre. Restricting the crew to seven was a wise move; this allows each character in the script to ‘breathe’ a bit more than normal, whilst making the inevitable death scenes to come more intense and gut-wrenching. There’s also a nice line of subtle humour running through the film that is easy to overlook – it certainly adds a dimension to the characters’ relationships.

    How much of the end-product was down to the writers is arguable, given that the unquestionable driving force behind the quality of the film was director Ridley Scott. Certainly the earlier drafts of the script (titled “Starbeast”), whilst structurally similar, hewed far closer to genre conventions and lacked the wit and sheen of the final piece. In another director’s hands, the same lines and actions would likely have had far less impact. All the myths that have built up around the movie’s production usually involve Scott to some extent, adding to the sense that this is less a studio product and more the vision of an auteur. There is of course the famous/infamous anecdote about John Hurt’s chestburster scene, and how the other cast members were unaware of what was going to happen (apparently this is mostly true – they knew something was going to happen, but the details were left deliberately vague).

    It was Scott’s attention to detail however that paid off in spades. To its credit, very little in the film has dated, which only further confirms Scott’s status as a visionary director. So much 1970s sci-fi succumbed to prevailing fads and fashions (made worse by the 70s fashions themselves) that within a decade, they were hopelessly dated – just look at Logan’s Run, which came out three years earlier in 1976, but in terms of design is practically prehistoric. Alien on the other hand almost completely evaded these pratfalls. Beyond the inevitable computer displays, the only elements that could be easily traced to the 70s are the computer control room (lots of pretty but meaningless blinking lights) and perhaps the odd pastelly uniform, though according to another story Scott himself rejected the original outfits as being far too naff and ordered more practical and realistic ones to be made instead. Regarding the computer displays, yes they are dated, but part of me still thinks that when mankind does finally explore the outer edges of space, they will be using software and hardware that looks and works just like these computers do – they somehow seem harder and more “sciencey” than Windows or a Mac. That’s probably more to do with my age, though.

    Scott’s direction is practically faultless. From the moody establishing shots of the distant sun and empty vastness of outer space, to the ominous quiet of the Nostromo’s corridors, to the bitter inhospitality of the strange planet, to the utterly alien extra-terrestrial shipwreck, to the gripping onboard battle with the monster itself, Scott builds tension like a pro, despite it being only his second outing. Like all great horror, the viewer never quite knows what’s going to happen next. Scott’s camera lingers on little details around the ship, allowing us to become familiar with its vast empty corridors and throbbing engines. And when the action does come, it’s gripping, sweaty-palmed stuff, especially when Ripley makes her last attempt at an escape from the doomed vessel.

    The production design is just superb – the sets are fantastically otherworldly. The gothic gloom of the Nostromo is suitably spooky by itself, but the alien planet and its foreign shipwreck is something else altogether. Certainly prior to 1979 there was little else to match it.

    And now of course we come to pay homage to the other instrumental force behind the film: H.R.Giger, the Swiss artist who designed the Alien itself. An utterly terrifying mixture of the organic and mechanic, the best description one can make is to quote Ash from the film: “Its structural perfection is matched only by its hostility.”  The sleek, steely exterior is bad enough, but then there’s the huge head, within which are its salivating jaws – both of them. I’ve no idea what nightmare this thing came from, but I’m glad I didn’t dream it myself. Possessed of a terrifyingly deadly intelligence and intent, this demon instantly became a classic movie monster, and remains there to this day.

    Finally, there’s the cast. Of course Sigourney Weaver shines in her star-making role: she invests Ripley with a guts and intelligence that just allows her to scrape through to the film’s end. Crucially though, she remains resolutely a woman (female action heroines being fairly uncommon at the time, especially in a genre that was – and arguably still is – male-dominated); this was something James Cameron’s sequel developed further seven years later. The rest of the cast are just as good though, all inhabiting their roles so well that they feel totally real from the moment they appear onscreen. I could heap praise on each individual cast member, but it’s not really necessary – if you’re read this far, you’ll know yourself how good each performance is.

    I can tell this review is fast turning in to a love letter, so I’ll conclude by simply saying that Alien is undoubtedly a classic work of science-fiction horror, building a wholly credible universe in the distant future, and then terrifying the poop out of us. Thanks to the minds of two geniuses (Scott and Giger), it remains entirely convincing and relentlessly entertaining.

    [xrr rating=5/5]

  • The Young and the Brave

    Being a movie fan occasionally has its rewards. Let’s not forget for a second that watching films, at the cinema at least, is becoming quite an expensive interest. The cost of tickets and refreshments is soaring (along with everything else, sadly), to the point that adult tickets now generally cost £7 or more – although dvd prices seem to be falling, which goes some way towards balancing things out, I guess. If I tried to work out how much I spent a year on cinema trips and dvds, I would probably break down and sob for several days. And then buy a dvd to cheer myself up.

    But just occasionally, your movie fan reputation opens up an unexpected door or two. This past July, because of my locally renowned status as an all-round movie egghead, I was asked to judge a young filmmakers competition. This was a real honour to me – everything I know about films I’ve gleaned from watching them and reading articles in print or on the web. So to be considered experienced enough to actually judge other films critically was quite something.

    The films I judged were two minutes long and made by primary school children, but they were all enthusiastically made, and it was a pleasure to see the planning and hard work that had gone in to them. The sense that I was perhaps contributing to a filmmaking community was almost palpable. And their efforts were well worth watching. It is something I hope I can contribute to again.

    The icing on the cake was the guest of honour at the awards ceremony in Cambridge, Son of Rambow star Will Poulter. A thoroughly charming and gracious young man, he happily signed autographs for all the kids (and some adults too… ahem). It was apparently the first time he had been mobbed for signings; once he has finished filming the next Narnia flick, there will probably be a few more.

    The experience has really inspired me to take up pen and parchment and give this damn filmmaking thing a go, something I have wanted to do for ages but never had sufficient inspiration to make it happen. If the young ‘uns can do it, then surely a thirty-something wannabe critic can do too. But I had better be quick, because the green shoots of new talent are starting to show…

  • Confessions of a DTV sequel addict

    Hello. My name is … (name removed to protect the individual) and I am a recovering direct-to-video sequel addict. I have been watching mediocre, boring, or just plain awful DTV spin-offs for nearly ten years.

    I didn’t used to be like this. Once upon a time I would go to the cinema to see a sci-fi, fantasy or horror film without thinking about the sequel possibilities it might afford. I would enjoy the film (or not, as the case may be) and move on to the next movie. If a sequel popped up in the cinema some time later, then I would try and catch it if I enjoyed the original, or if the reviews were fairly favourable.

    Now though, give me a half-decent genre film and, so help me, I look forward to seeing how a DTV sequel might be squeezed out of it.

    It all started in the mid-90s. When I first started surfing the Internets, I came across Coming Attractions, one of the first popular movie gossip websites to emerge (now sadly defunct). One film title they had listed as being in development was Tremors 3. Hang on, I thought – Tremors 3…? As in, a sequel to that rather cool Kevin Bacon monster movie from a few years back? Does that mean there was a Tremors 2?!

    From that moment on, I was hooked. I wanted to know what happened after every original film had finished. Not just for the Tremors movies, but all the rest: From Dusk Till Dawn, Mimic, Species, Candyman, Starship Troopers… I wanted to watch them all. It was a brave new world of movies: the theatrical originals and their bastard straight-to-video offspring. Which characters lived on? Which died? How did the threat or horror from the first film resurface and continue?

    The disappointments of each inferior sequel somehow failed to quench my curiosity. The inept direction, the cheesy dialogue, the shoddy FX work, the prerequisite topless girl scene(s), the low-rent cast: each an essential ingredient for the lazy quick-buck sequel. I searched for some sort of meaningful continuation of the original film’s story and themes; sometimes with modest success, but often doomed to a wild goose chase. Yet I lived in perpetual optimism that perhaps the next sequel would have its compensations…

    My addiction grew steadily worse, taking in the wild pointlessness of sequels to films that weren’t even that good in the first place (Hollow Man 2, anyone? Thought not). I read up about new sequels in the pipeline – which cast members could be coaxed back? What tenuous connection would the new film have to its parent (oh look, the ghost of the man who haunted the original house is back as the ghost in the new one…)?

    Lately though, I have found my interest has mercifully begun to wane. Perhaps the addiction has now bottomed out and I can start the road back to some form of normality? I live in hope. But still, if I listen hard enough, I can hear the cries of new sequels emerging from the dark minds of Hollywood executives and accountants. New spin-offs to films that didn’t need any form of continuation, films that have committed no crime to cinema but must suffer the indignity of having their modest reputations stripped and sullied in order to keep studio pockets lined with as much cash as possible.

    Perhaps it’s too late for me. But if you should see someone wandering up and down the aisles of a dvd store looking at DTV drivel, don’t just snort with derision; spare a thought for them. Maybe they too have become enslaved by the mercenary machinations of Hollywood’s evil geniuses. Maybe have a quiet word and suggest something with a bit more life and intelligence. No Country for Old Men, or something like that.

    Now, what’s happening with Starship Troopers 3…?

  • Groovin’ in the Grindhouse

    Those lovely people at the Cambridge Arts Picturehouse came up trumps again this past weekend by running a one-off showing of the now-infamous Tarantino-Rodriguez double-header from last year, Grindhouse. The film, a loving tribute to the cheap exploitation trash that was churned out in the 60s, 70s and 80s to make quick bucks for American theaters, died an equally quick death at the US box office, and was consequently broken up in to two separate entities for foreign markets, including the UK: QT’s Death Proof and Rodriguez’s Planet Terror. Both films had their running times beefed up from their original cuts within the double-bill, but alas, for the distributors at least, they were largely ignored on this side of the pond as well.

    All of which is a shame. I failed to catch either of the films in their lonely extended versions, mostly due to the fact that they lasted all of about a week at the nearest multiplex. In the end though, I’m glad I did, as I have now managed to see them as they were originally intended: short, sweet and to the point. I can’t really imagine watching either of them on its own now; a lot of the fun comes from the fact they are quite different beasts, each with their own strengths and faults, but quite clearly companion pieces, in spirit at least. Of the two, I preferred Rodriguez’s rather entertaining Planet Terror, a curious hybrid of zombie horror and sci-fi action, which throws all sense to the wind and revels in its own gratuitous action and goo. QT’s Death Proof was also pretty good, though a bit too talky at times; fun though the dialogue is, one suspects a true grindhouse audience would almost certainly be throwing beer bottles at the screen and calling for the next over-the-top death or scantily-clad girl to come along quickly, please. Still, when the stunts and deaths come, they are certainly worth it.

    Naturally, part of the attraction is the whole ‘grindhouse experience’: the fake scratches and film damage, the 70s-style studio logos, the ‘feature presentation’ sequences (carried over from Tarantino’s earlier Kill Bill opus); and of course, the legendary fake trailers (advertising films that do not exist but look and act the part) from the warped minds of people like Eli Roth, Rob Zombie and Edgar Wright. These trailers are perfectly pitched and clearly a stroke of genius, sandwiched snugly between the two films. All of these elements combine to form a fantastical, late night, high-calorie, spectacular extravaganza. Only designed to look badly made and dirt cheap.

    So to sum up, I would have to say: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, as the saying goes (…I think?). If you can find a screening near you, and you’re into the whole sci-fi/horror/stalk-and-slash genres, and you haven’t seen either of the films yet, it’s well worth a trip. Here’s hoping justice is served and a dvd of the full Grindhouse experience is forthcoming.

  • The Joy of New Discoveries (or: Why Creepshow Kicked My Ass)

    One of the best things about being a film fan (or indeed a fan of books, music or most other things) is that every once in a while, you stumble across something by accident that slaps a great big smile on your face and reminds you just why you are a fan in the first place. Over the past 12 months or so I have been happily reading Ain’t It Cool‘s essays on 25 Years Ago: The Greatest Genre Year Ever. Never anything less than enthusiastic, these articles from various fans have each reviewed a movie released in the golden year of 1982, when the planets aligned, warring Gods united and Fate conspired to provides us with a generous helping of geek classics that have withstood the tests of time better than most. Sadly I was too young and sheltered at this point in my life to enjoy these greats on the big screen, save one: E.T., which my dad took me to see at the local fleapit. The others (among them Blade Runner, Poltergeist and The Thing) I eventually caught up with on TV and video, but one article centred on a film I hadn’t come across before: Creepshow.

    For whatever reason, Creepshow seems to have pretty much skulked under the radar in the UK. I’m sure it has always been well known in horror geek circles of course, but in the mainstream it appears to have stayed out of the limelight. I certainly don’t recall any broadcasts on the terrestrial TV channels, though of course it might have slipped me by. This seems odd to me: directed by George A Romero (whose ‘Dead’ films still get regular airings on TV), written by Stephen King (basically as well known in the UK as in America), and featuring a strong cast, Creepshow should be much better known than it is.

    Initially I ignored this article and simply presumed it to be some obscure low-budget item in the mold of Evil Dead, but eventually I did click through and read it. The great thing about these articles is their personal nature; you can almost imagine you had the same experience in your childhood (wishful thinking on my part, sadly). Halfway through the article came a bit that grabbed my attention:

    “On one such outing back in ’82, we arrived at the theater and were greeted by a poster featuring a skeleton behind a ticket counter. The tagline of the film read, “The most fun you’ll ever have being scared.” Okay. I’m in, I thought.”

    For some reason that pulled me in. Now, let me just put on record my geek credentials: I like a bit of horror once in a while, but I’m no gorehound. I have so far happily avoided all of the Saws and the Hostels. Give me a sci-fi horror (Alien, The Fly), or a classic horror (Dracula, Frankenstein), or a comedy horror (Evil Dead 2, Shaun of the Dead) any day. I love old-school slashers like Halloween. Beyond that I start to wimp out, I’m sorry to say. But a film that boasts about being ‘the most fun you’ll ever have being scared’… now that sounds pretty cool. Just the image of the skeleton behind the ticket counter tickled me.

    So I waited for the recent SE dvd release to drop to a fiver (Play.com if you’re interested), and took a risk. And I loved it. This was perfect Halloween-night sleepover fun (shame it’s March…). It was funny, spooky and scary, sometimes all at the same time. When it was silly, there was an edge of eeriness, and then when it was properly scary, there was a sense of gallows humour about it. Basically, this was great entertainment, expertly crafted by writer, director, cast and crew, and I want more. Now. Please.

    As I said, every so often you make a new discovery that just reminds you why films are your hobby and passion. Creepshow did that for me this month. Now, do I take a risk on Creepshow 2…?

  • Universal Pictures invites you to the Royal Film Premiere of…

    This week I found myself in the unusual position of being a competition winner. Well, that’s not quite true; last year I did win a Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer t-shirt and set of stickers as runner-up in a London Eye competition, but that’s not really on the same scale. This time I had scored a pair of tickets to the royal premiere of The Other Boleyn Girl at the Odeon Cinema in London’s Leicester Square. For the sake of posterity, and for those who are interested in what actually goes on for the average guest at a premiere, I thought I would write the experience up before my somewhat deficient memory cells jettison the whole thing in a few weeks time, as is the norm, to be replaced by some new moment of embarrassment I’ll no doubt create for myself and remember for evermore.

    Mrs. Ark being otherwise engaged for the day, my brother and I took the train in to London (about an hour’s journey time) and headed straight over to Universal’s rather plush-looking offices in Oxford Street to pick up the tickets. Only getting as far as the reception desk on the first floor, we weren’t able to see if there were any Hollywood types lurking around, or even British movie types, but never mind. Having verified that I had actually got tickets (one brief phone call from a London number being all the confirmation I had had thus far), we set off to grab a pizza before the doors officially opened at 6.30pm. After said pizza, we headed through Chinatown towards Leicester Square, easily found thanks to the searchlights being projected outside the cinema up in to the evening sky. Incidentally, we walked past Stephen Merchant (of The Office and Extras fame) in the street, texting on his phone. I only say that because celebrity spotting is a rare occurrence for me, and the chance to name-drop even rarer.

    In Leicester Square, crowd fences had been erected to stop vermin like you or me from getting anywhere near the entrance of the cinema, so we just wandered around for a bit, figuring out where the VIPs would be arriving. We knew Prince Charles and Camilla would be there, but I wasn’t sure which stars would turn out for the event. As it happened, all three stars of the film were present: Natalie Portman (Anne Boleyn), Scarlett Johansson (Mary Boleyn) and Eric Bana (King ‘enry VIII). Ms Johansson arrived first, swamped with cries from photographers and celeb-spotters alike. Hundreds of mobile phones were thrust in to the air to snap or film her (of which one was mine, I’m afraid) as she signed autographs for the people lucky enough to be at the front. It was an odd moment, and I couldn’t help feeling I had somehow lowered myself by becoming another amateur paparazzi. And what must it be like for her, knowing how she was being ogled and pried upon by so many fans and idle-onlookers alike?

    Well, having had a reasonably close brush with fame and stardom (or rather, someone else’s fame and stardom), we decided to turn ourselves instantly in to the envy of the crowd and pull out our tickets to the big show. Once past the initial security people, we headed diagonally across the Square through the green bit towards the South East corner, where the stars were arriving. Pausing briefly to savour the moment, we then moved on to the red carpet itself. Sadly there was no explosion of flashbulbs to herald our arrival. In fact, the carpet wasn’t even red: it was a blue-turquoise colour, flanked either side rather nicely by medieval-style flaming torches. I strolled up the carpet toward the cinema entrance, noting both how awkward it felt to be the centre of attention like this while crowds of people on either side of the carpet looked on, and also how I clearly wasn’t the centre of attention because no-one wanted to look at two people who were clearly of no interest whatsoever. Another fantasy bubble popped.

    Feeling ever so slightly rejected, I headed in to the cinema with my brother just behind, showing our tickets once again; we got scanned by more security personnel; walked past some random woman dressed up in fetish gear (had security stopped her from going in?); and went through in to the cinema itself, where we were shown to our seats. It was now about 6.45, half an hour before doors closed to guests. As we sat down, I noticed each seat had some freebies: a box of two expensive-looking chocolates, a bottle of water (how thoughtful) and a film programme. Nice. Up on the screen, the audience was being shown a live broadcast feed from outside as some interviewer stopped and talked to anyone remotely famous as they approached the doors. My brother noted how it made a pleasant change from the usual crap adverts at the local multiplex. I concurred.

    So we sat and watched this for half an hour, looking around the cinema (which neither of us had been to since it was rennovated a few years back) and waiting for the show proper to begin. More people arrived, looking very smartly dressed – it was black tie, and many people had dressed as such, though I’m afraid as I don’t own a tux, it was just smart trousers and normal tie for me. All the celebrities slowly filtered in after giving interview after interview after interview to the press just outside. Now we were just waiting for Charles and Camilla, and we had to wait until 7.45 before their car finally turned up. Then they had to do the official line-up, as the producer of the film (in a dress that did nothing for her figure and left very little to the imagination) introduced the prince to all the studio executives who put up the finance (and presumably contributed very little else), and then the talent in front of and behind the camera. Scarlett Johansson shook Charles’ hand, but Natalie Portman won extra points by actually curtsying.

    Finally, Charles and Camilla entered the auditorium, and the whole theatre was asked to “be upstanding” while the national anthem was played on the organ that had risen slowly out of the orchestra pit in front of the screen and stage, just as it would have done in ye olden days. Once the organist had finished his work, the royal couple took their seats at the front of the circle, while we riffraff in the stalls looked on, and then we sat down.

    Then who should stroll out on to the stage but Michael Palin (presumably roped in a few minutes earlier) to greet the royal guests and introduce the director, Justin Chadwick, on to the stage. Chadwick then reeled off the names of the people who helped turn his film in to reality and welcomed all of them on to the stage (including the producer whose dress had brought plenty of sniggers from the row behind us). Portman and Johansson were last to appear, walking on arm in arm to loud applause.

    Then finally, the curtains parted and the main event commenced. It was a decent enough costume drama, with plenty of passion and betrayal and lust and beautifully shot locations and stars. It started rather unpromisingly, but by the end you were, if not gripped, then reasonably stirred. The two female stars did very well. I think the script needed more work; the supporting characters mostly felt like cardboard cutouts, despite the best efforts of the cast. It was noticeably shot on Hi-Def and digitally projected, which although incredibly vivid, meant the film lacked a certain cinematic feel. But that’s just me nitpicking I think.

    When the film finished, there was a convincing round of applause, and people started to get up and make their way to the aisles. However, the doors weren’t opened until Charles and Camilla were out of the building, so there was a bit of standing around for 10 minutes or so. Finally the fire exit doors were opened, and in complete contrast to our grand entrance, we were all herded out through the back exit in to a dark and rather dingy alley way on to Charing Cross Road.

    From there, we hurtled back to Kings Cross as fast as we could, missing our train by a matter of seconds. So we were forced to wait for the next one, which was an hour later; I finally opened my front door about 1am. But it was worth it, just to see what the experience was like. Although could someone please tell Charles and Camilla not to keep everyone waiting quite so long next time…?

  • R.I.P. Alien franchise – In Memoriam

    A small note in memory of the Alien film series, which finally passed away this January after a prolonged struggle for life. It led a long and eventful existence, after a violent and bloody birth in 1979; the classic original movie remains a masterpiece of the science fiction and horror genres. It spawned an equally classic sequel in Aliens (1986), which is still unsurpassed in terms of nail-biting sci-fi action and is still much imitated today. Both films were milestones in the careers of their visionary directors, Ridley Scott and James Cameron, and continue to be celebrated to this day by the film community.

    The second sequel, Alien 3 (1992) was greeted with dismay and derision by fans upon its initial release, but with time has steadily grown in popularity and respect and today is much championed by those who relish the bleak tone and atmospheric direction by another visionary, David Fincher. The fourth movie, 1997’s Alien: Resurrection, attempted to restart the series after Alien 3’s apparent conclusion, but failed to grab the imagination of fans. Nevertheless, it was not without its own merits, and it seemed the Alien series could yet live on, if it could find its way in to a loving and expert pair of hands.

    Sadly, after a prolonged bout of middle age spent in the wilderness, the Alien series was spotted by 20th Century Fox execs as having the potential for making a quick buck and, despite the franchise being one of their crown jewels, it was slapped in to a blender with another ageing sci-fi franchise, the Predator series, and handed over to the dismally talentless Paul W.S. Anderson. The resultant offering, Alien vs. Predator (2004), was met with, to say the least, disappointment. The once-frightening monsters of space had been relegated to cheap shocks and naff video-game stunts. Even poor old Lance Henriksen was wheeled out to try and disguise the fact that AvP was just a pale imitation of the glory days of old.

    The fatal blow finally came with the sequel, Aliens vs Predator: Requiem (2007), which was so awful that it somehow managed to make AvP look good. Despite upping the violence and blood quotient, AvPR didn’t have a single brain cell to rub together, flailing about with its appalling script, poor production values and inept direction. This death rattle of a movie only has brevity as its sole plus point.

    The Alien franchise, 1979-2007. No flowers.