Alien: Romulus

The Xenomorph, as we all know as film buffs, is the perfect organism. In film, at least. Conceptually, there's nothing creepier than being chased by a horrifying beast from the deepest part of H.R. Giger's artistic abysses, and yet, despite this being the case, the iconic monster has had an all but perfect franchise. Resurrection remains a major disappointment to this day, and Alien creator Ridley Scott quickly lost the plot with his ambitious but misguided prologue films about the origin of man. A new direction was needed and the hope is that horror master Fede Alvarez is the answer.

I can start by saying that Romulus starts off very promisingly. The hopeless tone of what appears to be one big mining planet owned by Wayland-Yutani feels wonderfully dystopian. Parents routinely die in the mines leaving behind their futureless offspring, born to be enslaved in the cradle-to-grave policy of big business. Protagonist Rain and her childlike android Andy dream of sunshine caressing their skin, somewhere beyond Wayland's stranglehold on the colonists. So, when she is given the chance to escape the hellish mining community for good, she snaps at it. Since the film is named as it is, however, we know that eventually the young heroes will find themselves trapped on an abandoned space station, and not alone...

While the characters aren't exactly the most memorable figures in this sequel, I think Alvarez definitely understood the assignment in terms of the film's tone and look. The uneasy creepiness, the convincing practical effects, the flawless retro aesthetic, the distinct Alien: Isolation vibes; there's a lot that works in Romulus. And holy shit, what a great looking film this is. I thoroughly enjoyed the sweeping shots of the hauntingly empty cosmos and the sweat-inducing claustrophobia evoked by the dimly lit corridors. Alvarez also manages to tie Prometheus and the classic Alien movies together in a hybrid world full of nasty surprises.

It becomes clear, however, that there's not much of a fear-factor under the hood of Alvarez's spaceship. Once the frightening monster makes its entrance, things soon go downhill, rather than continuing to build on the dense atmosphere of the film's first act. The creepy, chilling terror of having a living nightmare nipping at your heels fades halfway through and it becomes clear that Alvarez didn't have much more to say. The palpitations that set in at the start of the film quickly subside, sadly. The film's twists aren't about taking the narrative in interesting ways, but more about new disgusting ways to revolt the audience. That's not wrong in itself, but it could have been much more than just a drooling fanservice sandwich.

It's clear that the director loves the Alien films, and Romulus is a love letter to Alien in many positive ways, but it's almost impressive how little the Xenomorph comes into its own when the script starts to take some rather silly routes towards the film's later acts. Towards the second half, the film falls somewhere between the exhilaratingly creative and the ridiculously unimaginative - especially when the film then starts spitting out references from previous films, and pulling the nostalgia strings this late into the franchise feels almost daft.

Still, I can't say I had a single dull moment with Romulus. Alien fans will probably find a lot to like here, even if it rarely gets creepy. Romulus may be stunning and violently entertaining, but I really miss that cosmic psychosexual terror that the film series managed to evoke 45 years ago.