Back On Board with Alien: Romulus 

ALIEN: ROMULUS. Large as aliens (lower case) continue to loom over our collective curiosity and paranoia — even governments are getting in on the party now — these visitors, real or imagined, tend toward one of two primary species (genera?) suggested by movies and literature. There are, of course, the little gray ones of Whitley Streiber's midnight probings, and the countless cute but potentially threatening offshoots thereof. And then there are the fever-dream horrors for which we can credit Dan O'Bannon, Ronald Shusett, Ridley Scott and H.R. Giger.

Alien (1979), written by O'Bannon and Shusett, directed by Scott and imprinted on everyone's fragile psyches by Giger and a team of brilliant freaks, represents one of the true sea change moments in contemporary genre film, shooting horror into space and introducing a genetically perfect opponent for Ripley's (Sigourney Weaver) ever and always greatest final girl. 

The titular creature, depicted through its various disgusting gestational faces, would become the face of extraterrestrial malfeasance and grotesquery, from face-hugging to chest-bursting to bullet-headed, eyeless teeth-gnashing; that bitch is scary. 

Credit is due, of course, to the entire production team, creating as they did a vision of the future wherein in lives are (still) determined by greedy corporate overlords, where jobs in space are still just jobs — distinctly un-valorous ones, at that — and where space itself is kind of a grimy place to have to exist.

Alien is a sanctified classic of science fiction, creature creation and world building, which in an avaricious parallel world (ours) has, of course, spawned more sequels and crossovers than I care to list here. As an aside, I will warn against watching Alien Vs. Predator (2004) before an afternoon's mycological exploratory mission — bad vibes. But I digress.

The Alien franchise, a couple installments of which I've missed over the years, has benefitted from the richness of the originators' vision, a seemingly bottomless well of socio-political, existential and interpersonal themes emulsified with creature goo and human innards. It is hardly surprising, in that light, that we would have another one, these 45 years on. It is surprising, however, that it should be compelling and fun and expansive, reverent of its origins but unafraid to establish its own identity. 

Fede Alvarez (who co-wrote the screenplay with longtime collaborator Rodo Sayagues) came to popular attention with his reboot (don't like that expression) of Evil Dead (2013). While undeniably a paean to Raimi's original, Alvarez cast his version as a much less homespun, much bloodier, much more horrific vision — fewer sight gags, more body horror. He followed that with Don't Breathe (2016), an original conception that explored another creepy little corner of the house of horror and did so with great aplomb. The Girl in the Spider's Web (2018) was a bit of a misfire, maybe due to the absence of Sayagues, but I won't hold it against anyone, partially because it has led us to this moment, wherein Fede and Rodo get to play in the big sandbox.

Not long after the events of the first movie (I couldn't say how long), Rain Carradine (Caelee Spaeny) struggles to get herself and her synthetic-person brother Andy (David Jonsson) off the Weyland-Yutani-owned mining colony that killed their parents, among many others — we get a quick, poignant shot of a little canary entering the mine. Corporate malfeasance stymies her efforts, so Rain falls back in with a crew of resourceful punks who have discovered a derelict spacecraft floating just above their colony. They make a plan to board the craft, liberate its cryopods and thereby enable the nine-year trip to a planet where natural light is actually a thing. But in space, no one can hear you scream. And there, as on planets, greed and hubris know no bounds. 

In a semi-twist I'll not reveal here, the freedom-seeking youths soon enough learn they are not alone on the ship, which is in fact a Weyland-Yutani research station named for the twins Romulus and Remus (nursed by the wolf and all of that); things get hairy. 

Even as an Alien non-completionist, I found the aesthetic of Romulus delightful, with its hybrid of past and future tech, the analog claustrophobia of a ship holding the vacuum of space just barely at bay. And the filmmakers have created a visual and narrative love-letter to both Scott's original and James Cameron's (debatably superior) 1986 sequel. As much as the Xenomorphs (yeah, very plural) are the bad actors here, it is very much the shortsightedness and intellectual violence of the corporation that creates the movie's real inciting conflict. 

By its very nature, Romulus cannot be as ground-breaking as Alien or as technically precise as Aliens. But it pays homage to both, and to the subtextual spirit of the material, while raising the stakes and contributing some exciting new methods and ideas. Perfect? No, not really, but possibly better for it. R. 119M. BROADWAY, MILL CREEK, MINOR.

John J. Bennett (he/him) is a movie nerd who loves a good car chase.

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For showtimes call: Broadway Cinema (707) 443-3456; Mill Creek Cinema 839-3456; Minor Theatre (707) 822-3456.