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'Alien: Romulus' briefing

8/16/2024

2 ½ (out of 4)

If you were at all interested in how Ridley Scott’s prequel trilogy was working out, WELL FORGET IT! Hell, let me start off by maybe controversially admitting I admire the thoughtfulness and mystery of Prometheus and still do, somehow more than Aliens, sorry but enough of the James Cameron acolytes and apologists! It’s hard to love Alien: Covenant, the only entry I believe to be truly repulsive rubbish — it has the series’ most moronic cast of characters (all couples, coincidence?), almost exclusively CG xenomorphs, plus even faultier, even more pretentious philosophical, intellectual posturing than Prometheus. If Scott weren’t so hit and miss in his own right it would be hard to believe he had anything to do with Covenant, especially considering he’s got criticisms for all the Alien sequels past his personal high watermark, the original 1979 classic (c’mon it’s better than Blade Runner).

But considering this is the first attempt post-Fox-acquisition, I can’t be too mad at the Mouse since 20th Century was clearly no stranger to the soft reboot. Under cuddlier stewardship, often it’s amazing how hard an R Alien: Romulus reaches for, still some of it is troublingly Disnified. The seventh installment is hardly the first Alien sequel to feel like a retread, it’d be weird if it DIDN’T when regardless of a few more deviations in the narrative DNA of Scott’s oft-debated prequels basically every successor has felt like the latest wrinkle on the recipe. No reason then to expect anything extra from director Fede Álvarez, who is at least a few leagues below the auteur status of Scott, Cameron, David Fincher and even the Amélie dude Jean-Pierre Jeunet.

Maybe Fede will ultimately stand out by finally rejecting director’s cuts, or abstaining from posting deleted scenes released early on YouTube. Obviously one look at his debut (the Evil Dead revamp) and you can feel out exactly how Romulus will rub off — with that 2013 sorta remake of Sam Raimi’s classic, crafty, cacklingly-funny splatstick treats, Alvarez doubled down on the gore, young everyday characters and a portion of fan-service nose-thumbing. Álvarez’s first quasi-reinvention also similarly took place in a series full of one-off riffs on the same great horror idea (Dead by Dawn immediately ignored continuity and reconfigured the original, then Army of Darkness leaned deeper into comedy-heavy horror). Evil Dead For Millennials is far too joyless to make its grindhouse, possession-forward take on Deadites anywhere close to Raimi’s high-reward horseplay, and likewise Romulus lives in the shadow of its preferable predecessors, its a functional half-decent entry point for new fans shaking things up juuuuust enough for devotees.

For Fede I would say Don’t Breathe has more economy, originality and clever thrills (let’s just pretend The Girl in the Spider’s Web doesn’t exist, AGAIN with the franchise refresh) but Alien: Romulus is his most handsome movie yet, finding him handing in sci-fi lighting arrangements worthy of Interstellar (or better) and production design reminiscent of the breathtaking retro-future/aged-tech atmospherics (almost to the point of textural fetish) of Blade Runner 2049, another late sequel that slipped from Scott’s creative grip. Though it harkens back to better days, all that Alien universe “porn” reeks of Disney’s assaults on your nostalgia through mood and feeling, but after the silent opening credits the movie only feels less and less like it’s been ripped from the late 70s.

I hate that Romulus was the Marvelization of Alien (Whedon took it halfway there) but I also feel as if, like with Mission: Impossible, eating your own tail is just a product of existing for such a long while surviving largely only stylistic elements between installments to be excited about, with plot all but predetermined. I don’t think it’s too crazy to call a digitally resurrected Ian Holmes (why spend more time than a cameo’s worth on not even the same Ash from the original?) a glaring fucking error, as well as any of the other easy Easter eggs and streamlined decisions that make it feel like this comes with A Star Wars Story spinoff subtitle beneath. At its most intrepid and involving it fulfills pretty outstanding fan-fiction moments (45 years and no zero G? I don't mind a mu/th/erload of exploits), and because of the filmmaking craft the fan-fondling moments are all the more unbearable.

Fincher’s notorious debut Alien 3 appears to be Romulus’s closest companion, with parallels from a thick-accented platter of xenochow, the moodiest, grungiest mise-en-scene you could muster and the unrelenting pursuit of the nastiest notion of a space slasher setup. Even though Fede is even edgier and less scrupulous than Fincher, even with MCU-tier swill holding it back, this flick somehow bests Fincher’s ugly, interminably repetitive initial trilogy capper — even the Assembly Cut of Alien Cubed doesn’t have quite as many gonzo gotchas or beautiful shots. However, for perspective Romulus doesn’t have an advantage over the stylized shlock that followed, the campy camaraderie from Joss Whedon’s insistent script for Alien: Resurrection — this new one rips off the surprise coda of hybrid abominations, but even superb visual effects circa 2024, that kooky fourth installment is more energetic, freakier, sustained by surer sequences and populated with more interesting people. I admit Cailee Spaeny must be our best lead player since Aliens (though she's sadly stuck with a dogshit ensemble), since Sigourney was a little too horny in 3 and is barely even herself in what might be Winona Ryder's show in Resurrection — as the best Ripley stand-in she outstrips Katherine Waterston from Covenant (saddled with a crap script and a deleted James Franco for a dead husband) and Noomi Rapace, the faith-fueled final girl of the best modern xeno-kino Prometheus.

This is doubled-edged swords all the way down, highs and lows, my god this movie made me question my sanity before the end I’ve rarely been whiplashed or flip-flopped back and forth more as a movie went along, It made me momentarily feel like I didn’t even know what it means to like or dislike something… Beyond technical aptitude the film has pretty sublime spectacle here and there and twists on the Alien archetypes that make this something a little more than ‘79 for zoomers. But damn, tastelessly resurrecting Holmes digitally like Peter Cushing in Rogue One? Referencing basically every previous movie, even lifting whole scenes? A host of supporting players that can barely act? That one awkward, negligible exposition scene just there to acknowledge that the Ridley Scott movies happened? Tepid reflections on AI in a history of fascinating ethical dilemmas (that never stooped to ISN'T THIS, LIKE, A NEW FORM OF RACISM)? I feel like I could go on, suffice it to say there were myriad flaws that made me want to give up on this movie and nearly as many that eagerly found a way to win me back (That launch into orbit? Dodging acid blood in zero gravity? Goofy WTF genetic hybrids that make less sense than the end of Prometheus, following the nastiest alien birth you could ever ask for?).

At least there’s no ‘plan’ about trapping the titular villain in a certain part of the ship and then blowing it out, although thems the brakes regardless. This third act is a reasonably scary crowdpleaser, redeeming sloppy humor, annoying background players even by monster movie standards, dimwitted nostalgic breaths and the quaint, rushed, compendium feel of the movie. It’s an anomaly, Alien: Anomulus, and even with slight box office waves we’re getting the direct sequel… Why does a franchise exclusively built around the mysterious "other" always end up the same same same? Why is the cosmic unknown so predictable? Maybe the stupid TV series Alien: Earth will touch on whatever Neil Blomkamp was up to for so long?

'Trap' briefing

8/2/2024

3 (out of 4)

“Dad I'm concerned, why are we making a movie about a teenage girl with a serial killer for a father prominently starring me, your teenage daughter?”

So Saleka Shyamalan, eldest daughter of M. Night, appears a touch more talented than Ishana Shyamalan, who devised this summer's The Watchers the kookiest supernatural horror premise about evil woods and nocturnal people-peeping monster-voyeurs? The fuck? The younger Ishana served as a second unit director for her father’s last two films and directs her more pop-star-aspiring sister’s music videos. Saleka is more than commendable and thankfully her real-life persona bleeds naturally enough into this movie’s fascinating escape-thriller father-daughter dynamic. Based on the one featured single credited to her at least and the bits of performance onscreen, she has songwriting skills, and fine enough chops in acting and singing. Sure, she very nearly nepo-baby’s her way to commandeering the screen, her all too righteous character tailored for a prolonged Bring Your Daughter to Work Day.

I probably prefer the philosophy and more airtight bottle structure of Knock at the Cabin, but Trap is arguably another step in M. Night’s revival — I say he’s still back baby, one more and it’ll be a renaissance. Such a comeback was hinted at in the farce-forward found footage thriller The Visit, still Trap is capably put together even if it’s too indulgent to be swift and tidy. Josh Hartnett’s hidden two-face is outta the stadium within an hour, and after exploiting the cold-blooded cat and mouse concert setting, the film leaves you wondering how they’re gonna fill up an act and maybe then some over the course of the extended finale in search of a climax. At its most lazy and regrettable, Shyamalan spins his wheels a little too generously with offscreen asspulls forcing you out of killer’s perspective merely for convenience.

But gosh darn it, ignoring silly monologues and protruding plot contrivances, Trap is pure De-Palma-does-Hitchcock gratisfaction, M. Night’s Snake Eyes (from Gary Sinise’s POV in this scenario), a consistently absorbing, split-diopter-stocked, deeply Shyamalanian (peripherally Pennsylvanian) affair of less is more filmmaking wizardry, flat character oddities and some dodgy dialogue. All that backhanded praise is counterbalanced by the SHEER FLIPPING WILLPOWER of Hartnett, who even leaning completely into the campiest idea of the family man/secret serial killer dichotomy somehow comes out the other side incomparably unscathed, particularly when measured against James McAvoy’s mugging, untenable travesties in Split. Young Ariel Donoghue as the unwitting, holiday picture of a daughter sells the love, and the underappreciated Alison Pill as the suspicious madre also saves the day in more ways than one.

For late summer servings this is one spicy meatball, a real old-school thriller that doesn’t require a classic M. Night last minute yank on the rug to be memorable or tie things together — the twists come along with delicious punctuality, as well as laughs genuine and unintended. It could’ve been sad or funny walking into a movie called Trap and getting stuck listening to a set of zoomer pop music, the kind with triplets or whatever, that garbage Ariana Grande sound. Trap does indeed smell a little fishy and is very nearly a bait and switch, but really its just good fun, making it the bees frickin’ knees after a mostly craptastic summer.

Cinema Briefing

'Alien: Romulus' briefing

'Trap' briefing

To keep it brief...

Months in movies

Kino
of the Crop
(A recent selection of
consummate classics)

Cinema Briefing

'Alien: Romulus' briefing

'Trap' briefing

To keep it brief...

Months in movies

Kinoof the Crop(A recent selection ofconsummate classics)

Kino
of the Crop
(A recent selection of
consummate classics)