REVIEW: The Predator

There are a few notable trends that I keep noticing in modern movies that I'd like to talk about for just a bit. The first (and most irritating) is Hollywood's obnoxious over-reliance on 80's nostalgia. G.I. Joe, Transformers, Ninja Turtles, Robocop, Terminator, Thundercats, Ghostbusters; if it existed in the 1980's, you're probably gonna see its fetid corpse unearthed and propped up by a hack studio to make a quick buck. We've also witnessed the rise of the soft-reboot; a film that is, for all intents and purposes, a remake/reboot of a classic film franchise, except it's stated to take place in the main series continuity, making it a sequel, and thus okay. I feel like the most notable of these is The Force Awakens, but it's hardly a rarity nowadays, especially for big-budget franchises with a lot of brand recognition. We've also been seeing a lot of movies get utterly destroyed through reshoots. Normally, reshoots are a relatively innocuous practice, but it feels like as of late, more and more big-budget projects are suffering the slings of studio interference, producing an end result that turns out worse than anyone could have possibly predicted. The reason I choose to mention all of these phenomena is that Shane Black's The Predator manages to be a sterling example of all three with shockingly little effort.

The film opens as one would expect a Predator film to, with a spaceship hurtling towards Earth. After crash-landing in the South American jungle, everyone's favorite human-hunting space monster has a run-in with an Army Ranger by the name of Quinn McKenna (Boyd Holbrook). Battered from the crash, the Predator (Brian A. Prince) is actually incapacitated by the hard-boiled sniper, who makes off with the creature's mask and wrist gauntlet. Sensing that he's seen something he wasn't meant to have seen, Quinn mails the alien tech back home before he's taken into custody by government agents. Naturally, the government has captured the Predator as well, who inevitably escapes and sets out in search of his stolen gear (which has since ended up in the hands of McKenna's autistic son, Rory, played by Jacob Tremblay). With the help of a renegade biologist (Olivia Munn) and a ragtag gang of disabled veterans, it's up to Quinn to keep his son out of the way of an interplanetary blood war, all while avoiding the shadowy government agents who want him disappeared. Despite how exciting that may sound, I assure you large chunks of this movie are dull as all get-out.

When this movie was first announced, I was understandably optimistic. Shane Black is a solid director (who also starred in/wrote parts of the original Predator), and a natural choice to helm the next entry in the franchise (redundant title notwithstanding). Predator is one of those rare films like Robocop that works both ironically and unironically well; it's the movie that made Arnold Schwarzenegger an action superstar, and it's chock-full of all the hilariously dated tropes and clichés one would expect from such a film. At the same time, it executes its deceptively simple premise startlingly well, balancing both action and suspense until things reach a head at the surprisingly small-scale climax. It's got all the excess that 80's action movies are lauded for to this day, but it also understands and appreciates the effect some quieter, more intimate moments can have when establishing atmosphere and tone. If they wanted to have a soft reboot of Predator that took itself seriously for the most part, they could certainly do so and have it work out nicely; 2010's Predators is living proof of this.

Alternatively, if Shane Black wanted to turn the whole thing into an utter farce, lampooning the various action tropes that the original Predator helped establish, I could see that working out as well; plenty of relatively serious films have successfully made the transition to more comedic fare as time's gone on (the most notable example that comes to mind being the Evil Dead trilogy). Black has a penchant for snappy dialog, and his role as Hawkins in the original film provided much of the early comedic relief. This appears to be the approach that The Predator is going for, but unfortunately the whole thing runs into a critical error; it's not particularly funny. There's a few one-liners that got a sensible chuckle out of me, and the gore has the tendency to reach Monty Python and the Holy Grail levels of cheap, slapstick-y excess, but I doubt anyone would describe The Predator as a rollicking good time (unless a character saying "get to da choppa" before escaping on a bunch of stolen motorcycles is your idea of clever writing). Really, the script here is so bad that it gives Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom a run for its money, with such winners as "Motherf-cker hacked our vehicles" and "F-ck me in the face with an aardvark".

In the film's defense, the first act is more or less exactly what I wanted it to be; it's by no means groundbreaking, but it's a reasonably fun monster movie with some solid action (in particular, the sequence in which the Predator escapes from a government lab). But everything goes downhill quickly soon after that scene, up until the point that our bigger, badder, entirely CGI rival Predator shows up. After this new monster is introduced, the entire film breaks and goes down the drain, devoid of any intellect or charm it may have possessed beforehand. Before that point, the lackluster performances, groan-worthy one-liners, and bland, forgettable characters were just sort of there, but it was around this time that it all compounded and started actively making the movie worse, dragging it down into the realm of pure trash. From what we've learned, apparently the entire third-act of the movie was rebuilt from the ground up at the behest of 20th Century Fox, so it seems as though this is another film that may have had the potential to actually be something not terrible before a bunch of studio suits decided to stick their slimy paws all over it. Honestly, I'd have happily accepted a Predator movie that was "just okay", but instead got something that appears to put active effort into being terrible. And that's not even touching the way The Predator attempts to tackle such weighty topics as mental illness and climate change.

There was a clear attempt at having some subtext, pitting a team of mentally-disturbed veterans and a young child with Asperger's up against an alien menace who has modified his own DNA to become a genetically-perfect being. Truth be told, giving the main group of heroes in an action/slasher flick a host of neuroses and disorders to deal with in addition to the impending extraterrestrial threat is a pretty fascinating idea that could really result in something spectacular if handled properly by a talented filmmaker (like, say, Shane Black). Instead what we get is a series of jokes where the punchline is "the guy with Tourette's said something profane" and a kid who can use the power of autism to operate alien technology as if he were R2-D2. The disorders in this movie are treated as either a punchline or a plot convenience; I'm not even going to harangue The Predator for how potentially offensive such a portrayal is, that's just lazy writing. I'm still struggling to wrap my head around how this even turned out so bad; this is a movie written by Shane Black and Fred Dekker. These are the guys who gave us The Monster Squad for crying out loud, what the hell happened? Was this a Producers-esque scam? Or did the studio seriously interfere that much? No amount of explanation is really going to save this trainwreck, but I'll admit that I'm the least bit curious.

I'll admit, for all of its problems, The Predator would actually make for a pretty good bad movie. I can easily see this working well in a room full of intoxicated friends, or with a rowdy audience at the local theater; but at the same time, it's important that everyone understand that statements such as these aren't exactly points in the film's favor. If the kindest thing you can say about a movie is "it's not offensively bad, it's just stupid and forgettable", there's clearly a problem, especially when talented people are involved. It could be fun with the right audience, but then again so is the first Predator. Predator didn't need to be "ironically good", it was just "good". Every idea we see here (Predator hounds, genetic modification, a crazed government alien-hunter, a ragtag gang of ex-military guys throwing out vulgar banter, etc.) was already done far better in other Predator movies (yes, even Predator 2). Is it the worst thing ever? No. But is there a solid reason to run out and watch it? Also no.

If you're at all curious about just how stupid the plot to The Predator can get, make sure to check out my fresh-out-of-the-theater plot rundown on YouTube!

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: Prometheus

It's a testament to the quality of both Alien and Aliens that we hold this franchise in such high-regard. These first two films rank among the best ever made, yet everything since has ranged from merely okay to pure garbage. Prometheus was a film that I (and I'm sure many other Alien fanatics) was greatly looking forward to. With Ridley Scott back in the director's chair and a viral marketing campaign that promised something more in-line with the original 1979 film, I was sure that this would be the film to restore this franchise to its former glory. As Noomi Rapace's Dr. Elizabeth Shaw says, "I was wrong. We were so wrong." Perhaps I'm being a tad harsh; the last and only time I watched Prometheus was back when it released in the summer of 2012. Like with Batman V Superman, I left the theater feeling as though the film was passable at worst (albeit a tad unsatisfying), only for that feeling of middling acceptance to quickly sour into outright contempt. The more I thought about it, the more elements of the plot and characters disintegrated before my eyes like so many buff, albino spacemen. However, as hard as it is to believe, that was just about half a decade ago. I decided to give Prometheus another chance, to see if it holds up better upon a second viewing. It does, though only slightly, and I'm still very much inclined to chalk this one up as yet another 'miss' for the Alien franchise.

Taking place well before Alien (and retconning those god-awful AVP movies out of series canon), the film follows the crew of the Prometheus, a research vessel commissioned by the eponymous Weyland Corporation. Archaeologists Elizabeth Shaw (Rapace) and Charlie Holloway (Logan Marshall-Green) have discovered star maps in several locations across the Earth, believing them to be directions to the origins of mankind's makers. Intent upon finding these so-called Engineers and uncovering the purpose of human life, the crew travels to a planet known as LV-223 (not to be confused with LV-426 from Alien and Aliens), only to find a massive pyramid filled to the brim with a strange, goopy alien pathogen. Instead of answering the questions posed by Alien (mainly regarding the origin of the iconic xenomorph), the film instead poses a host of new questions and chooses to answer exactly zero of them.

In some ways, this was a functionally flawed film from the get-go. Part of the appeal of Alien was the sense of mystery and uncertainty. We knew as much about the creature that terrorized the crew of the Nostromo as they did; the alien represents the unknown, and the unknown is always inherently terrifying. That is, until you attempt to explain it. Really, we don't need to know where the xenomorph came from. Any origin they could present would just feel unsatisfying compared to some thirty-plus years of speculation and conjecture. Luckily, however, the xenomorph gets to retain its mystique because it doesn't appear at all in this film. Instead, we're given an unsatisfying (and canonically dubious) explanation for the Space Jockeys (now called Engineers). Being that the xenomorph has existed in pop culture for so long, it's understandable why Ridley Scott chose to omit the creature from this entry in the series; people love the big chap, but we've had nearly four decades to look at the monster. Safe to say he's lost a bit of his initial shock and awe, so it's important to innovate and keep things fresh. Unfortunately, the film forgets that there's a difference between being mysterious and simply being ill-defined.

In Alien, we're able to understand how the creature functions, even if we know very little about what it actually is. We can gather that it reproduces by implanting an embryo inside a host and that it's got pressurized molecular acid for blood. It's incredibly resilient but, like most animals, is averse to fire. There's just enough there that the xenomorph is still strange and terrifying, but coherent enough in concept that it remains conceivable. We aren't distracted by this fantastical creature skulking around a ship knocking off space truckers because it feels like something that could very well exist in the cold depths of space. That's precisely what makes it terrifying. 

Meanwhile, in Prometheus, we know all the wrong things about the Engineers. We know that they created human life, we know that their DNA is somehow a direct match to ours (despite them being an ancient race of alabaster giants), we know that they want to destroy us for whatever reason, and we know that they possess a sinister black goo that you certainly don't want to get near any mucus membranes. We don't know, on the other hand, what the black goo even does; as is, it basically functions in whichever way is most convenient for the plot. Sometimes it causes life to disintegrate, sometimes it causes rapid evolution, and sometimes it just turns people into zombies. While we assume the creature in Alien is just acting on animal instinct, the Engineers are clearly intelligent. So why don't they operate under any sense of logic? Why do they want to destroy Earth so badly? We have some sense of what the stakes are, but we don't know what motivates any of it. I was so busy trying to make sense of all the plot holes and oversights that I completely forgot to be emotionally invested.

I could spend a great deal of time picking apart the insane amount of plot holes in this movie (and I would, if a certain pair of hackfrauds hadn't perfectly summed everything up five years ago), so I'll instead pick apart the characters. Whereas Alien spent the entirety of its first act familiarizing us with a small crew of normal, everyday people, Prometheus instead opts for a comparatively larger cast of sci-fi cartoon characters. Logan-Mashall Green is completely unbelievable, playing the part of a doctor of archaeology with all the impulsiveness of a boorish frat-boy. He's completely unlikeable and I felt nothing but joy upon seeing him bite the dust. Rafe Spall's biologist character is a jittery coward for the entire film, up until the point he sees a phallic alien snake and decides to try and shake hands with it. Apparently there was a cut scene in which he encounters a decidedly non-hostile version of these creatures, establishing the idea that they pose no threat to him; why this scene was cut, I have no idea. We also get to watch Sean Harris comically smoke weed out of his space helmet while trapped in an ancient alien pyramid. This movie features the most appallingly incompetent excuses for scientists I think I've ever seen, and that's aside from the scene towards the end of the second act where Idris Elba explains the premise thus far to any audience members who might be having trouble keeping up.

That said, the film is not without its highlights. Noomi Rapace is totally believable in her role as Elizabeth Shaw (even if she's just a tad too spry immediately following a last-minute cesarean). The idea of a character struggling to hold onto their faith despite literally meeting their maker is leagues more fascinating than every other bit of sci-fi schlock the film throws our way. There's also Michael Fassbender as David the android, by far the best takeaway of the entire film. The theme of creations rebelling against their creators is about the only thing the film gets across well, and that's almost entirely thanks to Fassbender's incredible performance. He displays such a subtle turn from helpful and innocent to jealous and spiteful, completely commanding attention while on-screen. It's actually kind of stunning; few films display such an aptitude for wasting talent like this one does, yet I'd go as far as to say that David is right up there with Ripley as one of the best characters this franchise has ever produced. Fassbender earns every bit of praise he gets for this one, and he's one of the few things I'm certain will be good about Alien: Covenant.

Visually, this movie is stunning. The cinematography is gorgeous, the special effects are holding up nicely, and the reliance on practical sets and creatures is greatly appreciated. For as much as I gripe about the story and characters (care of Lost's Damon Lindeloff), I can't deny that this is a superbly good-looking film. Everything aesthetic, from the lighting to the score, is top-notch. I can even respect the film for daring to be as ambitious as it is; it goes to some truly far-out places, yet rarely scuffs the atmosphere that it builds. The first act is a strong preamble to a massive-yet-gorgeous letdown. With a better script, this really could have been a masterpiece to rival the first Alien. Instead, it will just have to join the long line of interesting films that were ruined during re-writes.

Prometheus is a film that I truly wish was as good as I wanted it to be. It sets lofty goals for itself and falls far from accomplishing them, as admirable as the attempt was. Unfortunately, there's just too many things wrong with the story being told on a fundamental level to save the film as a whole. Michael Fassbender is incredible and the visual direction is truly a sight to behold, but beyond that it's a disappointingly vague, shallow mess of a prequel. It may be somewhat unfair to compare it so vigorously to Alien, but I feel as though such comparisons are inevitable when both films are not only in the same franchise, but share the same director. There's so many cut corners and lazy plot holes here that were completely absent in Alien, so one has to wonder what changed in the interim. 

In the past, Ridley Scott has expressed frustration that Alien has become yet another blockbuster franchise, with schlocky sequels and a ride at Disney World. In many ways, Prometheus feels like an attempt by a director to reclaim an idea that has since gotten away from him; in the process of doing so, he ignores everything that made the original idea good, just for the sake of separating himself from the past that everyone knows and loves. I've seen the original draft of this film, back when Prometheus was known as Alien: Engineers. It certainly sounded like something better than what we got and it's unfortunate we'll never get to see it reach fruition. Hopefully he'll have more luck with Alien: Covenant.

REVIEW: Event Horizon

Sci-fi horror is a genre that is difficult to nail down. Genuine fear comes from the audience identifying with the characters and their predicament. This can be tough when your cast is entirely made up of futuristic space-people, but it's why something like Alien works so well (essentially a movie about a bunch of blue-collar everymen who find themselves isolated while dealing with a particularly nasty insect problem). Space seems to be a less common setting for horror movies these days, despite a wealth of potential for pants-wetting scenarios. By casting your characters into a cold, soundless void filled with god-knows-what, you'd think scares would be relatively easy to come by. Event Horizon is a film that gets very close to scratching the surface as to what I'm talking about, but is held back by its own mediocrity.

The plot concerns a group of colorful military types and engineers who are sent away on a secret mission after receiving an ominous distress signal. They bring a civilian along as an advisor, and no, this is not where the similarities to the Alien franchise end. From the cryo-pods, to the numerous ladders connecting different levels of the ship, to the various pinup posters that paper the walls of the white, modern dining area, this entire movie looks like someone wanted their movie to look just like Alien (only cheaper and without the distinct touch of H.R. Giger). Entire shots are stolen wholesale from the first Alien film, and the group of multi-ethnic crewmen aboard the Lewis and Clark come off as a cheap imitation of the Colonial Marines from James Cameron's 1986 sequel. Rather than xenomorphs, the threat in Event Horizon is much more vague and psychological in nature, as members of the rescue party begin to experience hallucinations and visions that seem intent on driving them mad; The Shining in space is a concept with legs, but the film doesn't really do anything interesting with it. There's no profound message or character study, but there is an obligatory shot of a bloody deluge flowing towards a character, as if the comparisons were too difficult to draw before.

In all seriousness though, the plot had real potential, as generic as the framework is. As explained by Dr. William Weir (Sam Neill), the Event Horizon was an experimental spacecraft designed for faster-than-light travel; thanks to a gravity drive designed by Weir, the ship would essentially rip open a singularity and use the rift as a gateway between two points in space, travelling between them instantaneously. Seven years after mysteriously disappearing during its disastrous maiden voyage, the titular ship has resurfaced around Neptune, far from any populated outpost. Naturally, some terrible things happened as a result of this flagrant violation of the laws of physics, and the rescue crew of the Lewis and Clark are sure to end up dealing with it.

The idea of crossing dimensions and the incomprehensible horrors that might lie beyond is a strong, if a bit heavy, concept for a horror movie. Done properly, it could result in something truly terrifying, on a purely psychological, cerebral level. Unfortunately, the film focuses far too much on the wrong aspects of this idea. It's all but outright stated that the Event Horizon blinked into what is essentially literally Hell. A spaceship that flies to Hell and returns as a malevolent consciousness is, put bluntly, a really stupid idea. We should know very little about where the ship has been, only left with the implication that there's something horrible on the other side. Instead, we have characters talking about how the ship is "alive" and "won't let them leave". Combining a sci-fi film with a haunted house movie worked for Alien, but that's because they didn't make the Nostromo into a literal haunted house. Conversely, while we hear far too much about what's going on, we know far too little about our actual characters and why the ship is affecting them in such a way. We understand that the ship is forcing the crew to confront their inner demons, but only a few characters have any depth to their visions. We don't know why the medical technician is seeing her son with horrible lesions on his legs and we don't know why Sam Neill feels guilty for his late wife's suicide; there's a few throwaway lines that technically act as explanations, but it's obvious that these character details should have been the true meat of the film, rather than the paper-thin set dressing that they are.

The cast is by and large forgettable. There's the spunky young guy, the single mom, the two moody British guys, blonde woman, Sam Neill, Laurence Fishburne, and black Hudson. Note how only Sam Neill and Laurence Fishburne are the only memorable ones there; Fishburne is an excellent leading man and Neill plays a great obsessive scientist (even if his disbelief that anything odd could be going on borders Mr. Magoo levels of blindness). Honestly, these two are the only things that make the movie tolerable; not that the rest of the cast is bad (though there are definitely some lousy performances here), it's just that Neill and Fishburne are the only ones with anything beyond the most basic characterization. It's only natural that one's attention is drawn to the least-wooden things in the film. This is a movie that thrives on psychological horror, yet starves the audience for any organic humanity.

Event Horizon is an interesting premise that unfortunately amounts to little more than a forgettable ripoff of better horror movies. Sure, the sets are impressive and the plot feels like it's going somewhere interesting, but the lack of rounded-out characterization, coupled with the abundance of unanswered questions, makes for an aimless experience that makes me wish I was watching Alien instead. Not exactly new ground for director Paul W.S. Anderson; like most of his work, it's a shame that a concept with this much potential turned out to be so middling and bland.