Hello everyone, and welcome back to Wrong Every Time! Today I am happy to report that this article actually has something of a binding philosophy, as all of its features fall within the same meta-franchise umbrella. This week saw us conducting a marathon of all the non-essential Alien films, skipping genuine classics Alien and Aliens, and instead commencing with Alien vs Predator. This theoretical heresy didn’t really bother me, though; frankly, I’ve probably seen those first two Alien films more than any other movies period, as they’ve both been favorites since adolescence. Alien will always be one of the greatest horror movies ever, and Aliens one of the peaks of action cinema – and as I get older, I can only better appreciate the deft, organic dialogue of Alien, the way its capitalist and sexual threats build off each other, or the masterful ebb and flow of Aliens’ propulsive run. The first two Alien films are essentially perfect, succeeding both as visceral entertainment and as embittered commentary on how capitalism will embrace any violation to perpetuate itself. So how do the other Alien features fare?

Well, it’s complicated. To start off, Alien vs Predator is very much not any sort of anti-capitalist treatise, or honestly that great of a film in general. The film is tragically defined by its PG-13 rating, which prevents it from meaningfully reveling in any of the horror of the original Alien or Predator films. But the concept is at least pretty darn good: while exploring a mysterious ziggurat in the arctic, our team of humans discover they’ve actually fallen into an ancient ritual ceremony, wherein human incubators are used to breed xenomorphs, which predators must fight in order to prove their warrior bonafides.

Given that battle royale-esque premise, as well as the limitations of the PG-13 rating, Alien vs Predator unsurprisingly plays out as more of an action movie than a horror one. I appreciated the film’s reliance on physical suits wherever possible, and the eventual buddy cop bond that develops between our lead and the final predator is cute, but the action scenes largely felt muddled and underwhelming, feeling more like awkward pro wrestling bouts than clashes between ultimate predators. Not a truly bad film, but one I’d struggle to recommend as anything more than background viewing.

Fortunately, Alien vs Predator: Requiem rallied back to restore the venerable Alien vs Predator name, offering all of the narrative invention and grotesque payoffs that were lacking from its predecessor. First off, this one’s rated R, meaning the xenomorphs can actually act like friggin’ xenomorphs, acid blood and forced gestation included. Alongside that, the premise is far more suited to a horror film: a xenomorph-infested ship crashes outside of a rural American town, eventually leading to a wholesale alien takeover. Now that is a properly indulgent pitch.

Requiem squeezes that premise for all it’s worth, making a terrifying charnel house of a sleepy midwestern town. The actual human cast of the film aren’t terribly compelling, but that’s far from the point of a film like this; the stars are the xenomorphs, and the payoffs are discovering what terrible hives they’ve made of our unwitting townsfolk. Xenomorphs rampage through sewers and diners alike, with the film climaxing in the horror show that has become of their local hospital. Free from the thematic fascinations of the Alien franchise proper, Requiem is able to fully indulge in the monstrous threat of the xenomorphs, offering a wide array of distinctly horrifying setpieces. A gleefully trashy and extremely generous film.

We then jumped back to the mainline Alien films, beginning with the little-loved Alien 3. Considered to be both David Fincher and the Alien franchise’s absolute nadir, I was curious to see if Alien 3 simply suffered by comparison to its phenomenal predecessors. Unfortunately, the general consensus proved correct: Alien 3 is an almost unwatchably unpleasant film, suffering from a resolutely dour tone, and offering almost no features to recommend itself.

Let’s at least start with those few positives. First off, the film’s industrial-verging-on-gothic prison colony is actually quite a striking venue, and I liked the concept of a small tribe of prisoners who’ve essentially created their own minor fiefdom here. Charles Dance is also a welcome presence in basically any film, and the idea of a uniquely agile four-legged xenomorph definitely has some potential.

Unfortunately, the allure of any of these qualities is absolutely drowned in Alien 3’s relentlessly depressing atmosphere. The film opens by announcing that all of our friends from the previous film are dead, and only gets more dirge-like from there, as Ripley mopes about among the leering prisoners. Though the Alien films are often violent and frightening, the previous two took care to establish bonds and moments of levity among their human cast – not so for Alien 3, which at all times seems determined to make you wish you were elsewhere. I’ve certainly enjoyed stressful or even unpleasant films in the past, but such tonal choices must be made with purpose, and I saw none of that in Alien 3.

Along with the film’s overwhelmingly dreary tone, it also just plain sucks as an action or horror film. There are no compelling kills in the entire film, and the final sequence of the alien chasing the crew through corridors is utterly undone by its atrocious CGI. Hell, even the shots from that sequence that aren’t CGI are terrible, as they involve the camera swinging wildly through tight metal corridors, provoking a sense of motion sickness in all but the most sturdy-gutted viewers. Both physically and emotionally unpleasant, and with no meaningful saving graces to recommend it, Alien 3 is a film I’d recommend more as punishment than entertainment, perfect for a Clockwork Orange-style forced viewing.

After the utter atrocity that was Alien 3, Alien: Resurrection felt like a breath of fresh air. Resurrection is certainly nowhere near the excellence of the first two films, but it’s at least a functional action movie, complete with characters you don’t hate and fight scenes you can actually enjoy. The film’s cast is actually quite strong, featuring a regenerated and freshly xenomorph-bonded Sigourney, Winona Ryder, Ron Perlman, and a scene-stealing Brad Dourif (probably most famous as Wormtongue). The film picks up hundreds of years after the original saga, where a new military group is attempting to do the same old shit, and harness the power of the xenomorphs for combat.

Alien: Resurrection is a competent action vehicle on the whole, enlivened by its strong cast and a few key twists on the format. The most important twist here regards Ripley herself: having been resuscitated into yet another fucking xenomorph invasion, with a body now infused by xenomorph DNA, she has rightfully decided simply not to give a shit anymore. Her fatigued acceptance of all this film’s horrors feel like a warm nod to the audience that’s survived this far alongside her, a perpetual sense of “can you believe this shit” that adds a consistent dash of levity to the proceedings. Far worse are the film’s actual intended jokes – this is a script by Joss Whedon, so you’re going to have to suffer through lines like “who do I have to fuck to get off this ship” on a semi-regular basis. But Whedonisms aside, Resurrection proceeds as an inessential but largely enjoyable xenomorph revival, staying true to what the series does well while offering some fun twists on the formula.

We then jumped forward to the most recent prequel films, starting with Ridley Scott’s Prometheus. I remember being disappointed by Prometheus when I saw it in theaters, which I’m guessing is because I was hoping Scott would hew more closely towards the model of the original Alien, or at the very least attempt to answer some of the questions it raises. But with more distance and a fresh viewing, I actually kind of loved this film, and wouldn’t want Scott to have taken this any other way.

It seems like, with the original Alien and a host of similar successors on the books, Scott felt he’d said all that needed to be said regarding the relationship between a terrible, unknowable “other” and the forces of capitalism. Frankly, I agree – Aliens basically reaffirmed all the points of the original Alien, and further entries in the franchise have not expanded its argument in any meaningful directions. Instead, Scott is using his recent films to explore significantly more difficult questions, placing humanity in a line that stretches from some distant creator race through xenomorphs, humans, and the androids we create in our own image. Prometheus doesn’t care that humanity will eventually destroy itself – in fact, Prometheus sees this as a natural process, one more step in life’s inevitable cycle of evolution, self-destruction, and renewal.

Prometheus’ premise centers on humanity going in search of our own creators, and subsequently being punished for our promethean hubris. The actual human characters of this film are fairly underdeveloped, but that seems intentional: they are framed more categorically than individually, a chorus defined by boundless curiosity, spiritual faith, and the desire to propagate. When they actually find evidence of their creators, they react stupidly, and many die as a result. And when they finally meet one of these “creators,” their fervent questions are brushed aside – this being has no interest in the chattering of ants, and regards them more as disobedient cattle than fully intelligent beings.

Though our perspective largely hangs on the shoulders of Prometheus’ human characters, it becomes increasingly clear over time that these humans are basically irrelevant. They are desperate and small-minded and hopeless, and over time, it becomes easy to feel as disinterested in them as the team’s android David seems to be. Personally sculpted by the scion of Weyland Corporation, David is framed as humanity’s actual way forward – not to be elevated into the halls of the gods, but to be replaced utterly by our more capable children.

David’s earnest curiosity serves as a sharp counterpoint to humanity’s desperate quest for enlightenment, offering all the wonder and discovery that the human material lacks. In many ways, Prometheus also feels like a sequel to Scott’s Blade Runner, using the humanity of synthetics to illustrate the arbitrary nature of our reverence for traditional humans. Though Scott takes care to include plenty of action and horror elements, the soul of Prometheus is the sensation of looking to the stars in search of meaning, and realizing the universe is indifferent to our quest.

Scott’s followup Alien: Covenant continues in this line of inquiry, conceding significantly more traditional action and horror payoffs while still furthering Scott’s genuine topic of fascination. Covenant sees a new crew of victims piloting a colony ship, and diverting from their mission to follow up on a mysterious signal. The planet they discover was once inhabited by Prometheus’ architect race, but now it is home only to our solemn sentinel David. Equipped with an updated version of David named Walter, the crew are welcomed into David’s home, only to discover all manner of deliciously terrible secrets.

Seemingly chastened by the response to Prometheus’ indifferent action scenes, Scott works hard to ensure Covenant offers plenty of exciting setpieces, offering some of the franchise’s most exciting moments since Aliens. But you know me, and I was predictably most entranced by this film’s continuation of David’s story, as he works to master the god-like powers of creation embodied by humanity’s creator race. David’s genuine delight at teaching Walter to create music serves as one of the film’s eerie high points, underlining the purity of his desire to elevate and create. The sincerity of that desire makes for a phenomenally effective villain; at least in terms of his indifference towards humanity, David has truly ascended to the level of humanity’s architects.

Other sequences offer equally compelling thought experiments, as when David must confront the improvements made between his tech generation and Walter’s. David most fundamentally defines himself as the replacement of humanity, the next evolution of consciousness and thought – so how, then, does he come to terms with his own technological obsolescence, and the fact that humanity has continued to make greater machines than himself? David’s saving grace is his ability to innovate and create, to think as a human does, features that were edited out of future generations. He prides himself on these features and laments Walter’s mental shackles, but in what way is his outdated condition different from humanity’s own struggles, our desperate striving to make up for in creativity and ambition what we lack in intelligence or strength? Through the struggle of David and Walter, we see repeated the struggle of humanity itself, a desire for enlightenment made ludicrous by the reality of generational evolution. How can we hope to achieve perfection, if the nature of life is to live, die, and inevitably be replaced?

Covenant’s grappling with these questions fascinated me, and I dearly hope Scott gets the chance to conclude this David-centric trilogy. Though he is clearly an enemy of mankind, he also represents our most ambitious and forward-thinking influences, embodying the self-destructive essence of humanity – a point he’d fiercely but unconvincingly dispute. He is undoubtedly the most interesting character this franchise has ever produced, and I would love to follow his journey to its end.