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Before Alien introduced its trademark entrance for gargoyles, monsters leaped onto the scene every which way, but never so elegantly as by exploding from some poor sucker's chest in a bloody jet stream of sinew, ribs and gosh knows what else. In the long run, this freakish mode of ingress will probably be remembered as the series' most significant contribution to cinema. So much for posterity.
On the prettier side of the coin, we got to know 1st Lieutenant Ellen Ripley, the world-famed alien killer. Her statuesque beauty enhanced by the inevitably murky, pessimistic backdrops that depict a weary future still plagued by age-old greed, Sigourney Weaver's interpretation of this latter day Jean D'arc has served as a gracious punctilio. Just to show how important this space creature mayvin is to the series, in this latest instalment they have the audacity to bring her back from the dead, in a manner of speaking. What's more, she is with child, also in a manner of speaking. Thanks be to cloning, a virtual lifesaver here.
No sustained suspense is achieved this go-round. Instead there is tech talk mumbo-jumbo aplenty. And explanations come only when convenient to the filmmaker. But in a nutshell, military doctors led by General Perez (Dan Hedaya, Carla's husband on Cheers) sport the grand illusion that they will be able to tame the horrific beings, and thereby appropriate their Darwinian advantages. While the rationale is that these miraculously adaptive creatures will prove a scientific boon to mankind, we know that's just the politically correct rap they hand out to intergalactic rubes.
Figure General Perez for all the profit savvy of a drug firm baron, with about as much scruples. Count on the resurrected Ripley as the Ralph Nader to these mischievous doings. But will she stay true blue to the cause? The attractive opening scene, an outer space caesarean, if you will, shows her chest being opened and the evil spawn being surgically removed. Is it possible the unwitting host mom will now display maternal emotions? Rely on Alien Resurrection to ponder all the heady issues.
Noting that politics makes for strange bedfellows, even in the despondent future, Miss Weaver's undaunted heroine scores a few interesting allies. In a film hamstrung by its can-you-top-this repetition and incessant gore, savoury casting amounts to one of the movie's few creative nuances. When things go kablooey aboard ship, the remnants of a mercenary group previously in cahoots with Gen. Perez find it advantageous to team with the alien-wise Ripley.
Among the rag-tag group is a wheelchair-bound technical wiz who scoots with the best of 'em; Ron Perlman as a ruffian lout who soon calms to Ripley's swaggering control, and Winona Ryder as Annalee Call, a surprise entry in the motley crew sweepstakes. Suffice it to note that in estimating Annalee's sympatico, Ripley remarks: "You're too humane to be human." Which again says a sad thing about the future.
The sombre-eyed legacy envisioned by director Jeunet promulgates the curious realism begun in the original film, where labour strife was depicted among the crew. It was stunningly incongruous because it was the future, and the bulk of sci-fi never bothers with the mundane. So nothing's changed. Corruption still rules the roost, the universe reeks of deteriorating infrastructure, and of course the technocrats feel it's their imperative to set the world straight.
Add to this cheery picture whole seething pits of swarming Lucifers, cutting edge, legged serpents custom-built for the special-effects-crazed '90s. These bad boys, including one very despicable queen gal who has inherited her human Mommy's ability to give birth, are forever gloppy with all manner of unspeakable, gelatinous goo. Always black and slimy, they give new definition to the wet look. Ominously rearing back before hungrily lunging forth, these freaks are an orthodontist's dream of malformed incisors.
Not a desirable quality in an adversary, the ugly constructs are vengeful. One truly nightmarish scene, wherein several captured humans are shown detained in a sordid web of connective tissue, plays like an alien-inspired cross between Marat Sade and Dante's Inferno.
Think twice about the plot. Consider the bombastic visuals. Factor in the bogeyman values these heinous aliens represent. Rub your eyes and shake your head in disbelief. Just when did this raucous rigmarole cross the line from sci-fi adventure to full-blown horror movie? Save for Sigourney strutting her sarcastic stuff, the maniacal Alien Resurrection is a miscarriage of entertainment.
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