An intelligent, deliberately paced exercise in fear

Rating: 10/10 (4 October 2011)

Alien is a most difficult film to define. In one sense it's a sci-fi film, in another it's a Gothic horror film. Ridley Scott's vision of the future was so intriguing at the time due to its modest implications. The usual sense of humans as infinitesimal in contrast with their universe is there, as is the feeling that one could be engulfed without incident. But for all its cosmic commonalities; Alien is grounded in a sense of realism. This is indicated by the Nostromo, a space Junker operated by eight ragtag crewman, which is a remnant of heavy industry and mass production that is void of the futuristic sheen of fictionalised ships such as the Enterprise, or the Millennium Falcon. Moreover, the crew is representative of the working middle-class; a humble collection of eight crewman whose expertise lies within the most basic provisions of engineering, spare two scientists, these people are the everyday collection that make up our society. Which is why Alien is an exemplary horror film: it deals with ordinary people under extraordinary circumstances – its sci-fi trappings notwithstanding.
Like John Carpenter's minimalist horror film The Thing; Alien is a subtle exercise in tension punctuated by moments of absolute horror. It deals with the venereal and psychological elements of its characters. The Alien is seldom seen, akin to the shark in Jaws, but its presence is always felt. The horror is engendered by its characters rank paranoia, which in turn instils the audience with the same kind of impending dread. The emphasis on the venereal works exceptionally well because it triggers our most basic patterns of instinct and fear. Alien has a distinctly European quality in that it unfolds through the composition of stillness and music. Dialogue is certainly present; however there is an ethereal quality to the proceedings evoking images and sounds that are both chilling and resonant. This is why Alien is such a superior genre film: it takes well established ideas and endeavours into new territory with them.
Ultimately, Alien is a "B-film" just as Jaws and the Fly are, but in compounding the formulaic elements with fresh ideas it elevates itself not from its roots, but from people's preconceived views on the genre's limitations. This is particularly apparent in subverting the male-centric heroics in favour of its female lead: Ripley – played with much sincerity and poise by Sigourney Weaver. In fact Ridley Scott discards the film's potentially masculine element so curtly and with such cold precision that he can only really be praised for it. As for the creature itself, Scott was loath to consider having his monster being anything other than terrifying. In defining the aesthetics of the Alien, it is best described as an immensely intimidating figure with a phallic head coupled with a retractable secondary mouth that operates like a dagger coated in translucent goo. But what's more significant is the form it takes. The alien mutates and evolves much like a virus throughout the film and is all the more horrifying for it. Perhaps this was intentional on Scott's part to contrast the perpetually latent paranoia of the characters with the burgeoning senses of the Alien. In any event the Nostromo functions as a proxy for fear and instinct.
The greatest virtue of Alien is the sense of sheer terror it invokes, whether it is through the lens of the cosmos, or in the claustrophobic confines of a spaceship. Like all great films, Alien remains a remarkable achievement and cinematic landmark as it engages the senses and invites discussion from the casual and ardent film goer.