Romulus?

 I wrote a couple of blogs about Aliens.  

Revisting this because Nick and I just went to see Alien: Romulus.

The Frankenstein theme and ideology that ripples through our culture fascinates me.  I think Jurassic Park stated this well:  

Ahh.  Jeff Goldblum.

Sure, Jurassic Park, Terminator, and Aliens explore this driving passion: man creates a monster that can destroy him.

One of the wonderful ways that the Alien movies does this is in the dual monsters.  Certainly, and perhaps most obviously, man created the aliens (or develops them).  The aliens continue to become more demonic and more terrible, evolving into plagues that infect humans.

But the other monsters that the Alien movies use are the synthetics.  This is such a lovely tension: the synthetics in the movies have cloaked motives and desires, and in the most recent movies (Prometheus and Covenant), some synthetics are almost as monstrous and horrible as the aliens--of course, in much different ways.  The synthetics have incredible characters and tension.

Both the aliens and the synthetics are marvelous and amazing monsters, created by humans, yet the humans do not fully understand the potential devastation or destruction they cause.

The opening of Covenant was beautiful.  In about 2 1/2 minutes, we meet the two main characters, learn their relationship, understand the strange tension between them, and see no aliens.  

This opening is brilliant, lovely, and terrifying.  I probably could watch another 10 minutes of this.  I want more.

Now we get to Romulus.

Huh.

The opening in Romulus is quite strangely, none of these things.  Sure, no aliens.  The opening includes too many characters, too much artificial and unnecessary character development, and dark scenes with no beauty or cloaked tension.

Perhaps the most disappointing character is the synthetic, Andy.  Andy is simple, almost ridiculously so.  Some of the other characters tease him, and Andy appears hurt, but this does not quite make sense.  When the powerful lead woman (girl, doesn't hold a candle to Sigourney Weaver) reprograms Andy, his motives are still obvious--this does not lend to any real tension.  The other characters learn about his motives quickly.

I am keeping this very brief because I wish to focus on the incredible Frankenstonian theme.  This does not get old.  We continue to reuse this theme because, I believe, we fear this in our own lives and own world.  Whether we fear the power of AI taking over our world or the bureauchratic systems controlling our lives, this theme is just as poignant and applicable today.

And yes, I will watch any Alien movie.

Science Fiction meets Literary Criticism

Today, dear readers, I’m going to break from my grammatical tirades (cheers!) to bring you a brief treatise in literary criticism (groans).

Stick with me for a minute.  It might be fun.

I have noticed interesting patterns in today’s art—loosely defining art as writing, film, music, etc.  Generally, I tend to believe that originality has been drying up in the last couple of decades, and most current art tends to rehash previous art.  But that is not the discussion I wish to explore here.

Here's the general thesis: Current patterns and trends in art can make interesting statements about our society. 

To clarify: the old debate about whether art imitates life or life imitates art delves into a complex and wonderful discussion.  This again is not the discussion I wish to explore here.

Specifically, science fiction movies reflect current fears in American society.  Take the late 1990s with Armageddon and the other movies about asteroids plummeting towards Earth.  Or shortly after, The Day After Tomorrow and the slew of other mass destruction movies from volcanoes or weather going wild.

From a marketing angle, these movies make sense.  In a time when the media and scientific research feed American fears, chugging out these blockbusters plays on our imaginations and exaggerates our fears.

Fast forward a bit.

I rarely go to the movies, so this trend has been percolating over the past years.  I've just picked up on it recently.

A common plot element: a group of people journey on a spaceship bound for a faraway place—a better place.  They travel to this place in a prolonged sleep-hibernation, and they plan to wake up, however many years or decades later, in this wonderful, new world.

The conflict arises when one or more of the people wake up before they arrive in the new world.  Not only is their sleep interrupted, but also they wake to some horrific/tortuous situation that they must face.  Some of the people never wake up and never make it to their destination.

Certainly, Alien Covenant and Prometheus are excellent examples of this (I do not believe I am giving anything away in telling you this).  Add to this list Passengers, and going back a couple of years, Interstellar, and a few more years, Solaris.  I’m sure there are more.

Again, I’m not so brazen to assert whether these movies (art) are imitating society (life) or if it is the other way around.  However, I see this common thread as a possible insight into some of the deeper fears of American society.  Twenty years ago, we were afraid of asteroid hitting Earth.  Now, our fears, at least reflected in these movies, appear much more complex.

Here’s my sticking-my-head-in-the-guillotine theory: these movies, and the companies that fund them, may be more intentional, psychological, and spiritual than we realize.  The characters are trying to get to a better place they haven’t seen (heaven?).  They all wake up in hell or purgatory along the way. 

The one exception to these movies is Passengers.  Spoiler alert: even though they wake in hell, the characters turn the situation around and end up happy.  Of course, this movie is a romance.

Are movies and science fiction exploring our most psychological and spiritual fears?  That we will never make it to heaven?  We will simply wake in hell?  That our journey to heaven is futile and our passage will end in a tortuous hell?