REVIEW: Alien Covenant

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REVIEW: Alien (2003 Director's Cut)

Film, being an art form, is largely a subjective medium. Different movies appeal to different people with different tastes. The vast majority of things I write about here is entirely opinion-based, built off of my own thoughts and personal experiences. However, there are some instances where a film's quality can be measured on an objective scale (for better or for worse). Ridley Scott's 1979 film, Alien, is one such movie, in that it is unquestionably an objective masterpiece, seamlessly blending the genres of horror and sci-fi. The late 70's saw something of a revival for sci-fi movies; the novelty of space travel had worn off in the years since man walked on the moon and most science fiction was regarded as childish and cornball. Much like the titular creature in Alien, the genre was primed for rapid and radical evolution. Star Wars brought the concept of space adventures back into the public eye, re-framing classic story elements in a fantastical and imaginative world. Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey presented a view of a future that could very well happen, albeit in a far-out, shiny, and sterile fashion. Out of all the films of this sci-fi resurgence, Alien was the first to approach the concept of futuristic space travel as something not only mundane, but as something we might want to reconsider altogether.

The plot is as classic and straightforward as can be, incorporating age-old haunted house tropes in a new and fascinating locale. The crew of the space-freighter Nostromo is awakened from hyper-sleep after the ship's computer picks up a distress signal. As per company guidelines, the crew is required to investigate, touching down on a barren, primordial planet. An away-team is assembled to explore the source of the signal, a massive and foreboding derelict space craft. Once the crew is back on the ship, they discover that a hostile alien creature has stowed away on the Nostromo, skulking through its claustrophobic corridors and picking people off one by one. It's essentially a slasher in space, but to simply describe it as just that and nothing more would be a gross oversimplification, ignoring just why this film works as well as it does.

The most immediately striking element is the set design, care of Michael Seymour. The Nostromo is an industrialized maze, filled with tight hallways, dangling wires, and deceptive shadows. It's the perfect hiding place for a biomechanical creepy-crawly like the Xenomorph, in that we never know what could be lurking around each corner (or in the walls, or in the ceiling, or in the vents, or, well, anywhere for that matter). By contrast, the derelict ship (designed alongside the creature by the brilliant H.R. Giger) takes inspiration from Gothic architecture, boasting high, vaulted ceilings and intricate details. We spend the first part of the film getting acquainted with the cramped, manmade halls of the Nostromo; by the time we enter the derelict, the change in scenery is so radical that we immediately know something isn't quite right. The film revolves around a fear of the unknown and exhibits a tremendous talent for subverting audience expectations.

Alien is very much a slow burn; it isn't until a good half hour in that anything even remotely out of the ordinary happens. This sense of routine, of making space travel into something totally mundane, plays a big part in just what makes the movie work. The Nostromo isn't an intrepid starship in search of adventure and discovery, so much as it is the outer space equivalent of a big rig, hauling freight from one destination to another. The crew isn't a gang of strange and exotic spacemen; instead, they're simply a bunch of blue-collar working joes. The first time we meet them, they've just woken up from stasis and are making small talk over the breakfast table, discussing their pay and the quality of the coffee, cigarettes in hand. The film goes a long way to sell the audience on its premise by making the world feel both believable and organic. In doing so, the premise becomes that much more real, a vital component of any effective horror movie. 

The film is also masterfully adept in manipulating an audience's expectations. I've said before that a well-crafted horror film will find a way to "train" the viewer to respond subconsciously to specific cues, only to subvert those expectations when delivering the scare. For example, there's a scene early on in the second act in which Ripley (Sigourney Weaver), Parker (Yaphet Kotto), and Brett (Harry Dean Stanton) are looking for the newborn alien. The tension builds and builds as they open up a locker, only to find Ripley's cat, Jones, instead (in what is possibly the movie's only totally pedestrian jumpscare). Soon after, Brett wanders off to find the cat, only to come across the newly-grown alien instead. By now, a subconscious pattern has been established; looking for the alien means that they'll find the cat, looking for the cat means that they'll find the alien. Which is why, near the end of the film, we fully expect Ripley to run into the alien when she hears a noise she assumes to be her cat. Instead, the noise actually was the cat this time; cut to the alien menacing Parker and Lambert (Veronica Cartwright) instead.

For this particular Review, I decided to revisit the 2003 Director's Cut of the film, seeing as how I usually just default to the 1979 theatrical version. For all the praise I could heap upon this film, there's just very little that hasn't been said before; entire books have been written on why Alien is one of the greatest films ever made. That said, I find the Director's Cut to be quite intriguing in its own right (even if I still prefer the original version that released some 38 years ago). The changes are largely superficial and, for the most part, totally inconsequential. A few shots are added, some are removed, but there are only a handful of changes that drastically affect the picture itself. There's a shot that Ridley Scott decided to add back in that I sincerely wish remained in the theatrical version, in which we see the creature hanging from the rafters just moments before it attacks Brett. I'm a huge fan of the multiple "hiding in plain sight" moments in this movie, and this shot completely took me by surprise; the effect is chilling. There's also a strong moment where we see Lambert attack Ripley for not opening the airlock; while it helps feed the tension of the scene, it's understandable why it was cut, as it tends to draw attention away from the recently-facehugged Kane (John Hurt).

Most notable of these changes is a moment during the climax, in which a fleeing Ripley discovers the cocooned bodies of Brett and Dallas (Tom Skerritt). This scene was originally cut because it completely killed the pace of Ripley's frantic escape, but its inclusion in Scott's personal Director's Cut of the movie says something interesting, I feel. In the scene, we see Dallas and Brett slowly turning into alien eggs; from a modern context, we can say that this somewhat clashes with the since-established mythos of the creature (since the sequel, Aliens, introduces the idea of an egg-laying Queen). Scott has often referred to Alien as his baby, and expressed his distaste that the series has gone on to be nothing more than cheap, action/horror schlock. The Director's Cut was released in 2003; by then, the Alien franchise had long since gone down the drain with critical flops like Alien 3 and Alien: Resurrection (not to mention, the utterly braindead Alien VS Predator was but one year away). By reinstating the cocoon scene in the Director's Cut, Scott is separating his vision from everything that came after it; there is no Queen Alien, there are no Colonial Marines, there is no Dog Alien or Predalien or anything of the sort beyond that which he himself created. Just as with Prometheus, the inclusion of this cut scene feels like an attempt by Ridley Scott to exert some degree of personal control over his creation that has long since gotten away from what he originally intended it to be. 

Alien is a bonafide classic, one of the greatest films ever made both in terms of horror and science fiction. Everything about it, from the subtle, sweeping camerawork, to the naturalistic performances, to the beautiful and horrfying art design and special effects work of artists such as H.R. Giger, Carlo Rambaldi, and Ron Cobb, is just an unending joy to take in. The Director's Cut, while just slightly inferior to the original theatrical version, offers a fascinating look at what could have been. We can see not only what was originally planned for the film, but what Ridley Scott might have done differently after nearly 30 years of gestation and rumination. No matter what way you shake it, the film is mandatory viewing for anyone who loves the art of cinema. If you somehow haven't seen this one yet, turn out all the lights and settle in for a gorgeous nightmare that remains unrivaled to this day.

REVIEW: Wizards

Cult classics are a tricky lot, especially when it comes to psychedelic cinema. There's always the chance that a film with a large following will simply fail to live up to the hype when viewed without the assistance of a bag of hallucinogens. All the same, there are times when one comes across an entry in this genre that amounts to more than just a trippy collection of pretty colors set to acid rock. 1977's Wizards is definitely responsible for blowing the minds of more than a few burnout college kids, I'm sure, but that's not to say that there isn't something worth exploring beneath the surface. One of the more tame creations of animation legend Ralph Bakshi (who proved that animation could be used for more than just cheery Disney children's films with such X-rated fare as Fritz the Cat and Heavy Traffic), Wizards paints an extraordinarily out-there portrait of a far-off, fantastical future over a subtextual exploration of morality and the power of propaganda.

The plot in this is a bit much to take in, but I'm going to do my best to sum it all up as succinctly as possible. In the future, the Earth is annihilated by nuclear weapons and terrorism, eradicating all life on the planet. However, over the next two million years, human life begins to re-emerge; those who populate the idyllic good lands regress into humanity's true ancestors, fantasy races of elves, dwarves, and fairies. In the heavily irradiated bad lands, humans devolve into hideous mutants, ogres, and goblins. After thousands of years of peace, two wizards are born; the good and kindly Avatar (Bob Holt) and his brother, the sinister mutant, Blackwolf (Steve Gravers). After many years, the two eventually do battle, with Avatar emerging victorious. His brother leaves for the dark lands of Scorch, vowing to return one day and reap his vengeance. If this sounds like the entire plot of the movie, I think it's worth noting that this is all mere backstory, established within the first five minutes. 

The incredibly dense prologue sets the tone for the adventure to follow, letting the viewer know that they're watching something that's about to get very strange very quickly. We then flash a few thousand years further into the future; Blackwolf is still consolidating his power and Avatar has grown old and somewhat cynical. The peaceful kingdom of Montagar has long since outlawed science and technology while Blackwolf  reigns as the ruler of Scorch, excavating ancient relics from a time before the nuclear holocaust. One such relic is an old film projector loaded with Nazi propaganda; using the ancient footage to motivate his dimwitted troops (and to traumatize his enemies), Blackwolf puts his plan into motion and declares war on the peaceful free states. It is up to Avatar, the fairy princess Elinore (Jesse Welles), the reprogrammed robot assassin Peace (David Proval), and the elfin spy Weehawk (Richard Romanus) to seek out and destroy the "dream machine", putting an end to Blackwolf's sinister machinations and preventing the second coming of the Third Reich.

I did say that this film went to some far-out places, didn't I? It would be very easy to simply brush this film off as hyper-stylized stoner fodder, packed to the brim with Tolkien-esque fantasy creatures and rotoscoped footage from World War 2 movies, but there's really a great deal more this has to offer just beneath the surface. To write Wizards off as "something cool to watch while high" (or even worse, with the old-as-time "woah, they must have been on drugs to come up with this!") is a tremendous disservice to the clear amount of deliberate thought and imagination Bakshi and company implemented when making this film. There's a reason the plot creates a false sense of build-up towards an anti-science moral, the same way there's a reason so much Nazi imagery is used throughout; Wizards is a puzzle, and it's up to the viewer to put the pieces together. Just about everything we're given serves some sort of a greater narrative purpose, even if it doesn't appear so at first glance.

At first, it appears as though the film is going for the classic "nature trumps technology" theme we've seen so many times before. The villains all use WW2-era panzers and rifles while the barefoot forest creatures fight with swords and arrows. However, the film gradually subverts the audience's expectations, espousing the merits of pragmatism and compromise. The World War 2 parallels are plain to see; the downtrodden mutants are clearly in dire straits, forced to reside in an unforgiving hellscape where both the air and water are toxic. However, they end up rationalizing their misfortune as justification to adopt the ideals of the Nazi party, lashing out at those they deem as oppressors. Meanwhile, the peaceful fairy-folk have outlawed science and put all their faith in peace and harmony and happy feelings of oneness with nature. This essentially makes for a population of complacent layabouts who fall into disorganized shambles the second their leaders are compromised; when asked why they can't simply fight back and win, a fairy mother tells her child "because, they have weapons and technology. We just have love."

It seems to be a recurring theme in fantasy fiction that there is no greater force in the universe than generic feelings of love, but Wizards is having absolutely none of that. Make no mistake, love matters a great deal, but the film shows the importance of balance in both beliefs and morals. The good creatures place far too much reliance on love, peace, and harmony, and are thus wholly unprepared for the ruthless enemies that seek to do them harm. Meanwhile, the slovenly mutants are completely devoid of such emotions, and thus end up nothing more than dull cowards with no drive or conviction. This is where the power of propaganda comes in. The propaganda used by the villains is so overt, it's easy to miss that the "good" creatures make use of it as well, albeit through subtler means. It's fascinating how quickly one is able to accept something as egregious as outlawing science and technology as no big problem at first glance; perhaps it's because so much media exists warning us of the dangers of valuing technological progress over nature, but Wizards shows flat-out that both sides of the primary conflict are equally indoctrinated in their respective dogma. 

This is, again, where a sense of balance comes into play. The film pokes fun at the superstitions and rituals associated with organized religion, yet also levels with the audience, stating that a silly, complicated moral code is better than no morals at all. We see countless creatures slaughtered by superior firepower, despite their belief in love, magic, and the natural world. In the end, the side that claims victory doesn't win because of their superior morals, but because they are willing to bend and change as is necessary, without losing a sense of who they are. This is a story where the most powerful weapon is literally the use of propaganda; it can be used to inspire both hope and fear, to keep populations complacent or rally them to commit acts of violence. The film inspires the viewer to take a hard look at their own beliefs and ponder whether or not the viewer is just as indoctrinated as those they would call enemies. By painting morality as anything but gray, the nuances of a given conflict are buried and obscured, all in favor of saber-rattling and battle cries, ensuring that a peaceful resolution remains elusive to those who need it most.

While Wizards certainly offers a lot to think about, there are other aspects of the film that don't hold up quite as well. Ralph Bakshi is a legend of animation for a reason, yet while the character designs and backgrounds are sheer works of art, the animation quality tends to wildly fluctuate from good to bad and back again. The voice acting is also relatively hit-or-miss and the plot completely falls apart when viewed as anything other than a surrealist parable on the dangers of indoctrination. It's definitely a cult film for a reason, as I could very easily see someone not picking up what the film is putting down. Personally, I was somewhat lukewarm on it at first, yet I find myself loving and respecting this film more and more the more I think about it. While it's not for everyone, Wizards is most definitely a well-crafted, thoughtful, and thoroughly bizarre work of art that has earned its place of recognition in the annals of animation history.

REVIEW: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2

It seems so quaint nowadays to think that Guardians of the Galaxy was once considered a risky venture for Marvel Studios. Back in the summer of 2014, a multi-million dollar investment in one of Marvel's more out-there and obscure properties helmed by a director who primarily worked on schlocky indie horror films seemed like quite the odd choice. Many assumed it would be the studio's first big flop, the first chink in the armor of the MCU. Iron Man and Thor had become household names, but there was no way that mainstream, non-comic-reading audiences would respond to a movie starring a talking raccoon zipping through the cosmos alongside a talking tree. Lo and behold, Marvel's gamble paid off and the film went on to be one of the series' most popular (not to mention profitable) ventures, a surprisingly heartfelt space opera chock-full of gorgeous visuals, endearing characters, and unexpectedly in-depth reverence for its cosmic source material. Considering that it was a runaway success, it's no surprise that James Gunn and crew are back with Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2, a sequel that gives us more of everything we loved the first time around, both for better and for worse.

Taking place a mere three months after the events of the first film (essentially making this a period piece set in 2014), the titular Guardians have since gone on to become renowned as cosmic do-gooders for hire. After a lucrative monster-slaying contract goes south, the gang of misfits find themselves on the run again, both from the totalitarian regime of the Sovereign and the gang of space pirates known as the Ravagers. This is when they come across an enigmatic being known as Ego (Kurt Russell), an ancient celestial god (and living planet) who claims to be Peter Quill's (Chris Pratt) biological father. What follows is an appropriately absurd galaxy-hopping adventure chock full of twists, humor, and gratuitous cameos, all held together by an unexpectedly hard-hitting theme of parenthood and the responsibility that comes with it.

The first Guardians film succeeded, not only because of its colorful visuals, imaginative settings, and classic rock soundtrack, but also because of how it took a bizarre, fantastical premise and tied it to an easily recognizable human element. The idea of downtrodden misfits finding a sense of family in one another is an idea used in everything from The Breakfast Club to The Goonies; it's a classic story convention that helps the audience connect with all the weird space-creatures fighting over magical rocks. Something of a cliché, sure, but it is the way in which this idea is presented that keeps it from coming off as overly-trite and done-before. Vol. 2 goes for something a little grander in scope, which is respectable. The film explores the dynamics of what exactly defines a family, and how that can factor into dealing with the ghosts of one's past. Literally every main character in this film has had to deal with some sort of hardship early on in life, and the film sets out to illustrate that it's the people who help us through these hardships who truly deserve to be called family. We see what happens to those with a support system and to those who go it alone; in terms of subtext, Guardians 2 is a tightly-wound clock, every proverbial cog and gear meshing together perfectly.

Unfortunately, the stronger emphasis on characterization means less focus on the plot and pacing, both of which suffer when compared to the first film. After our gang of Guardians arrive on Ego's planet, things slow down considerably and, aside from a few enjoyable sequences here and there, don't really pick up until the massive dramatic turn that kicks off the third act. There are also moments in which the film feels as though it may be trying a bit too hard; as I said, everything we loved in the first movie is here in even greater amounts, for better or for worse. There's far more comedic relief which, though well-written and effective for the most part, seems to undercut some of the more dramatic and serious moments the film has to offer. There are loads of genuine laughs here, but the film feels far too eager to make us smile at times, to the point that tonal dissonance begins to really feel like a genuine problem at some points (specifically around the ending).

That said, there are also a number of ways that Vol. 2 builds and improves upon the groundwork laid by the first Guardians film. One of the most striking elements of the first movie was its use of classic rock songs; the soundtrack was immensely well-received and became one of the iconic, defining elements associated with the film. The pressure was on James Gunn to make sure that Awesome Mix Vol. 2 lived up to its predecessor, and I'm happy to report that it doesn't disappoint. It's clear that tremendous care was taken in regards to the specific songs and lyrics that are implemented, tying in explicitly with the plot, characters, and themes of the film (the most impressive examples being the film's use of The Chain by Fleetwood Mac and Brandy (You're a Fine Girl) by Looking Glass). While the inclusion of these songs can feel a little mandated at times, the music is certainly one of the details that is sure to only improve upon repeat viewings. 

As mentioned before, the human element and characterization at play here are stronger than ever before. While the first film had a number of memorable and endearing character moments, it feels here as though every main character gets a moment to shine this time around. I was truly relieved that Baby Groot (Vin Diesel, appropriately pitched-up for comedic effect) wasn't the irritating toy mascot I feared he'd be; James Gunn swore that the character's infantile appearance and mindset served a greater thematic purpose beyond simply selling ample amounts of merchandise, and damned if he wasn't telling the truth. Characters like Rocket Raccoon (Bradley Cooper/Sean Gunn) and Yondu (Michael Rooker) are given more to do this time around, proving that some characters can completely steal the show if you give them the chance. I also positively adored the new additions to the cast, namely Pom Klementieff (as the innocent and empathetic Mantis) and Kurt Russell as Ego the Living Planet. Now, while I rarely dabble in spoiler territory, I feel as though it's necessary to discuss certain specific plot elements in order to review this film properly. If you've not seen the film yet, I recommend it; while it falls short of its predecessor in some key areas, it most assuredly improves in others (especially during the phenomenal climax). All in all, I enjoyed myself and would gladly go see it again (if only to really dissect the film further, without scanning every shot for some hidden reference or cameo). With that out of the way...

SPOILER ALERT: the remainder of this Review spoils key plot elements of Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2!

If there is one egregious error that so many Marvel films are guilty of (including the first Guardians of the Galaxy), it's the franchise's history of lackluster and half-baked villains. For every Loki or Killgrave, it seems that there's a dozen Malekiths and Kaeciliuses; characters that, compared to the protagonists, are criminally underwritten and lacking in any kind of fleshed-out motivation. They serve merely as obstacles that our heroes have to punch and/or blast out of the way once it's time for the climax to take place. Which is why I'm so happy that Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 successfully bucks this trend with Kurt Russell's take on Ego the Living Planet. James Gunn insisted that the majority of footage used in the advertisements for this film only come from the first 20 minutes; anything else had to be shown completely without any context. It seems this strategy paid off in the long run, since the film completely threw me for a genuine loop. 

I was originally led to believe that the primary antagonist would either be Ayesha (the high priestess of the Sovereign, played by Elizabeth Debicki) or Taserface (a mutinous pirate who takes control of Yondu's crew, played by Chris Sullivan). Both were built up as the main threat, and it was only when we were completely comfortable with Ego's presence that his true intentions were revealed. It's not often that I audibly gasp during a movie; frankly, it's not often that I hear anyone audibly gasp during a movie. But the second Kurt Russell casually delivers his line about killing Peter's mother, all the air was sucked out of the theater. That, to me, is proof of an effective and well-crafted villain. That was the film's "Luke, I am your father" moment. While the film definitely drags in some areas, everything from that moment at the end of the second act onward is unquestionably excellent, bringing everything to a head for an exciting, emotional climax.

While I wouldn't necessarily say that Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 is better than its predecessor, it definitely has its moments. Like the first film, this is a gorgeously-shot space opera that utterly revels in the more bizarre aspects of Marvel's long and colorful history (the mandatory appearance by Stan Lee left me positively giddy with excitement this time around). The pacing suffers noticeably around the second act, but it more than makes up for it with its intense, emotionally-charged conclusion. Each character is fleshed out to an impressive degree and the movie exhibits masterful control and understanding of its subtextual themes, incorporating them into everything from its plot to its characterization to its soundtrack. Yes, it has its flaws, but this is a film that is overall very hard to dislike. It bit off more than it could chew, but it still manages to swallow and digest a commendable amount of content. Not quite Marvel's best, but it's certainly up there.