Chapter Two: Aliens
By Brett Beach
June 18, 2009
BoxOfficeProphets.com
I don't remember a lot of my initial theatrical experience with Aliens (I was ten at the time); however, I feel confident in asserting that my stomach was considerably wrung out when it was all over. I was no cynic (at that age at least).Even now when viewing the 154-minute Director's Cut (which will be the version referred to in this column), there is still the sense of carefully calibrated wind up and no release, which is amazing considering how much wonderfully staged sound and fury there is. Cameron goes for a mood of constant dread (as opposed to cheap shocks designed for satisfying but momentary jumps in our seats) and maintains it from start to finish.
The calm of the final fadeout featuring Ripley and Newt taking the well-deserved cryo-sleep "free of dreams" that they have both earned is diminished by the minor tones in James Newton Howard's score. Though the music is suitably pumped up during the rah-rah moments where Ripley is kicking ass, the closing theme is disquieting as it draws the film to an end. It insidiously suggests the possibility that all is not right, and does so more subtly than a final Carrie-like hook that deliberately leaves the door open. (The opening minutes of the third Alien film bear out this pessimistic mood, after which that film spirals ever downward, stopping first at poignantly tragic before settling on infuriating and incomprehensible.)
While I freely admit that the specifics of my initial reaction to Aliens have been lost to time, the particulars of the viewing have not. I saw it with my dad, which is kind of weird, and my grandfather, which was truly loony. Some background, to clarify these statements. I had been watching "grown up" (re: R-rated) films in the theaters since I was seven and my parents took me to see the Roy Scheider cop/helicopter drama Blue Thunder. Prior to that, I was allowed on a case-by-case basis to stay up with them and watch films on Home Box Office. Pivotal moments from that epoch include The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, which I did see all of and The Fog, which I most certainly should not have stayed up for. Technically, I wasn't supposed to be seeing it at all. I had been sent to bed but snuck back down, hid behind Dad's recliner and took furtive glances around the upholstery when I dared. My penance was having the final image of Hal Holbrook receiving a swift ax blow to the stomach hard-wired into my circuits for decades to follow.
I digress in order to set the stage for what will become fairly obvious (if it hasn't already) in this and columns to follow. My parents encouraged my love of movies and let me watch damn near everything. The caveat was they reserved the right to watch it with me. So I watched G-rated Disney films (Mary Poppins, yay!), NC-17 indie dramas (actress Jane March either naked or getting there, woo hoo!) and everything in between during my stay under their roof. Thankfully, Spanking the Monkey came out after I went off to college. That would have been too awkward for any of us to bear. We often went out to the theater as a family unit as well. It was a rare thing, though, for me to see a film with only dad. Mom yes, quite frequently. But not for horror films. That was dad's territory. And my grandfather, well, bless his departed soul, he just managed to get looped in for the ride when we three generations of Beaches went to see Aliens in July of 1986 (In all honesty, I was certain that this came out in mid-June, which would have made for a great Father's Day story as to why we were all together that weekend. The facts are the facts however, and I imagine it was simply one of the many summer excursions that he and my grandmother took to visit us).
It may have been dumb luck that my grandfather came along, but it was solid word-of-mouth for the quality of Aliens that kept it on top of the box office for a month and led it to become to the highest-grossing ($85 million in real dollars) film in the series, which it still holds today, even when the Alien vs. Predator films are included. Cameron's screen story (co-written along with Walter Hill & David Giler) and his screenplay deserve mention in consideration to this. A number of the director's recurring themes become evident with this film, not the least of which is his fascination with a physically and emotionally tough female protagonist.
Visually and symbolically, the key moment for me in Aliens is when Ripley, after having received training from Hicks on using the plasma gun/grenade launcher, returns to her room to check on Newt (Carrie Henn). Finding the child sleeping fitfully under the bed she sets her gun down and lays down next to her. Yes, I acknowledge it's a dumb move to relinquish one's firearm in the middle of alien central, but it also illustrates Ripley's capacity to be nurturing and caring as well as hard-ass, and it also establishes Weaver as one of the few actresses ever to look convincing carrying large weaponry. (Others include Geena Davis and oddly enough, Scarlet Johansson).
The payoff late in the film, as Ripley rescues Newt from the Queen and torches a plethora of eggs, amplifies Ripley's sorrow from early in Aliens when Burke (Paul Reiser) informs her that the young daughter she had back on Earth has since grown old and died in the 57 years that have passed between the two films. She has lost her spawn and she'll make damn sure the bitch knows how that feels. That fierce, protective maternal instinct is a progenitor for Linda Hamilton's Sarah Connor in Terminator 2: Judgment Day. Cameron always emphasizes the human relationships at the heart of his films before the action takes off, even in the more parodying over-the-top True Lies and so far hasn't allowed his obsession with state-of-the-art effects to overpower or trump the human element.
This leads into the other prevalent themes of Aliens (and Cameron's work in whole): the lines between man and machine, between perfection and shortcomings, between hope for the future and despair. Each of the four Alien films is certainly a product of their time (Late ‘70s to mid ‘90s) and their respective directors (Ridley Scott, Cameron, David Fincher, Jean-Pierre Jeunet). Cameron's gung-ho, take-no-prisoners Marine squad is firmly set in the Reagan era mentality of big guns "Law and Order" but although that mantra worked well for Rambo in his second film - for which Cameron co-wrote the screenplay - here the Marines go down for the count early. Their state-of-the-art equipment is undercut by their cockiness and is no match for the relentless warriors.
And yet, Cameron doesn't dwell on any of their deaths overtly. Aliens is an action-filled film but not overly gory. (Indeed, I feel that Alien: Resurrection is by far the and most gruesome stomach-churning of the four.) The only "death" that receives explicit detail is Bishop's impalement and shredding by the Queen. It lasts for nearly a minute and is considerably upsetting. He may just be an artificial person but his bravery plays a key role in the latter half of Aliens and Cameron's emphasis on his pain and suffering at this moment, in the face of the humanity he has evidenced, foreshadows a lot of what transpires in learning for the T-800 in T2.
Thankfully, there is comic relief to round out the claustrophobia and Paxton grabs his part as the motormouth tough-talker and hyperventilates away with it. He comes on as all machismo and swagger, but once he's seen his platoon get chewed up and spat out, he's a mama's boy at heart. Coming just a year after his scene-stealing role as the bratty older brother who winds up turned into a gross creature in Weird Science, Paxton stepped into the upper tier of character actors with this performance. Hudson should be uber-annoying, and is, but not just. Paxton takes the cliche of the coward beneath the bravado and finds something fresh. Considering how relentless Aliens is in all other respects, it makes sense that the humor shouldn't be any different.
Next time: Chapter Two could not truly be a column about second films without this seminal work from the 1980s. Two words, folks: Lucinda Dickey.