FILM ALIEN DIRECTOR RIDLEY SCOTT
Morphologies of identity,
Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) — Part One
Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) — Part One
There is a scene towards the end of Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) that I want to explore in some depth. Having just successfully detonated a gigantic star-freighter, Ripley (Sigourney Weaver), the remaining survivor of a seven-man crew, busies herself prepping the Narcissus lifeboat (her spaceship) for the journey home; from out of nowhere, the alien’s hand springs up defensively. The full-grown creature has actually stowed itself aboard the Narcissus and makes for her as if to attack. But does it? The hiss it makes is tellingly reminiscent of the cat Jones when it first laid eyes on (former crew-member) Brett’s killer in the undercarriage room (and Jones backed away from the danger (smart cat) rather than foolishly staying to confront it — a point I’ll return to if I remember). Ripley scrambles for safety, but the alien remains where it is. A lethargic beast packed into its dark cubby hole.
Why the lethargy? Why the refusal to extract itself voluntarily from its self-styled dray? The alien’s senses appear to be muted, its sharply honed skill for outmanoeuvring its prey non-evident, its survival instinct defeated. Why, then, does it now not include Ripley in its routinised game of death? Eschewing for the meantime Ridley Scott’s suggestion of some kind of interspecies sexual chemistry here (implicit of course in the imagery of the monster’s jaw opening and extending to full arousal), there appears to be two possible explanations for the creature’s behaviour in this segment. The first, largely convention-driven, is hibernation. Following its survival instinct to the letter, the alien stows itself secretively onboard the lifeboat so that it might return with its (last remaining) victim to a populated planet, where upon arrival the amusement park-style death trip will recommence with presumably apocalyptic results. To this end, the creature appears to anticipate Ripley’s entry into hypersleep for the long journey by entering into a dormant state of its own. This explanation doesn’t fully account for the alien’s sense of passivity aboard the Narcissus.
The alien reveals itself to Ripley by springing its arm when it is accidentally disturbed — an action we can agree is contrary to the stealth-like expertise demonstrated perfectly earlier. One might presume that a Machiavellian creature with grandiose designs on reaching Earth to exterminate an entire population would demonstrate some restraint; it’s (famously) a survivor, after all, meaning that it can control its own aggression. The arm gesture, however, suggests it is caught by surprise — an incoherent reaction for an insidious creature whose deep malevolence is apparently matched only by its shrewdness to follow Ripley home.
It remains inactive (Ripley having by this point fled the room), outstretched in the shadowy compartment, lodged innocuously behind several control panels. There follows a cute montage of the alien mouthing, hypnotically maybe, the various technological components which surround it (and into which might be read Ridley’s final suggestion — one that challenges the point I’m actually making — that the alien is inebriated, experiencing an arousal, or sexual pleasure ... and if that’s the case, then we have a whole other explanation to investigate; but alas, not in this post). It is left to Ripley, finally, to forcibly eject the creature from first its deathbed — where it slumps in visible agony to the floor of the lifeboat and only very slowly begins to right itself — and then from the ship altogether. Before she does however, the alien mounts its last “attack”; as Ripley turns around from another control panel (these things are everywhere in the Narcissus), she sees the alien beside her, jaws agape, tongue extended and ready to punch out. This action is unexpected for two reasons. Notwithstanding the fact that we've never seen this equivocation in the alien before (it killed Parker and Brett cleanly and efficiently, delaying the final gruesome moment admittedly, but nonetheless delivering the fatal head trauma itself in single blows), the creature’s “attack approach” is ill conceived; premature in sexual terms. It allows Ripley the opportunity to eject the alien through the open hatchway and terminate it in the ship’s engine boosters.
For some, including Ridley, the creature’s equivocation is sexually motivated: captivated by the fleshy “fullness” of Ripley the alien approaches her to investigate the heroine’s very physicality; and so its death can be traced back to this form of hesitation. But this reading doesn’t allow for the fact that Ripley has (1) left the room altogether (thus calling into question the creature’s spatial awareness. Does it think the same person is re-entering its space after he/she has already fled?) and (2) crawled into her spacesuit (reducing the curves of her body, removing her scent). Though the suggestion of an alien erotic subjectivity is fascinating, and not altogether theoretically preposterous in this most sexualised of science-fiction universes, I think I stray from this line of thought with regard to the film’s ending.
So I would argue these points: that the alien reacts defensively when it is disturbed; that Ripley caught the creature by surprise; that the creature’s retreat into an innocuous corner of the craft indicates a significant shift in its behaviour; that the creature is no longer privileged as the “perfect” “survivor” in the film’s denouement, and that through a combination of inaction, lethargy, and hesitation, the creature becomes responsible for its own downfall; and finally, that it does not board the Narcissus with intentions of following Ripley back to her homeland at all . . . (cont’d.)
Why the lethargy? Why the refusal to extract itself voluntarily from its self-styled dray? The alien’s senses appear to be muted, its sharply honed skill for outmanoeuvring its prey non-evident, its survival instinct defeated. Why, then, does it now not include Ripley in its routinised game of death? Eschewing for the meantime Ridley Scott’s suggestion of some kind of interspecies sexual chemistry here (implicit of course in the imagery of the monster’s jaw opening and extending to full arousal), there appears to be two possible explanations for the creature’s behaviour in this segment. The first, largely convention-driven, is hibernation. Following its survival instinct to the letter, the alien stows itself secretively onboard the lifeboat so that it might return with its (last remaining) victim to a populated planet, where upon arrival the amusement park-style death trip will recommence with presumably apocalyptic results. To this end, the creature appears to anticipate Ripley’s entry into hypersleep for the long journey by entering into a dormant state of its own. This explanation doesn’t fully account for the alien’s sense of passivity aboard the Narcissus.
The alien reveals itself to Ripley by springing its arm when it is accidentally disturbed — an action we can agree is contrary to the stealth-like expertise demonstrated perfectly earlier. One might presume that a Machiavellian creature with grandiose designs on reaching Earth to exterminate an entire population would demonstrate some restraint; it’s (famously) a survivor, after all, meaning that it can control its own aggression. The arm gesture, however, suggests it is caught by surprise — an incoherent reaction for an insidious creature whose deep malevolence is apparently matched only by its shrewdness to follow Ripley home.
It remains inactive (Ripley having by this point fled the room), outstretched in the shadowy compartment, lodged innocuously behind several control panels. There follows a cute montage of the alien mouthing, hypnotically maybe, the various technological components which surround it (and into which might be read Ridley’s final suggestion — one that challenges the point I’m actually making — that the alien is inebriated, experiencing an arousal, or sexual pleasure ... and if that’s the case, then we have a whole other explanation to investigate; but alas, not in this post). It is left to Ripley, finally, to forcibly eject the creature from first its deathbed — where it slumps in visible agony to the floor of the lifeboat and only very slowly begins to right itself — and then from the ship altogether. Before she does however, the alien mounts its last “attack”; as Ripley turns around from another control panel (these things are everywhere in the Narcissus), she sees the alien beside her, jaws agape, tongue extended and ready to punch out. This action is unexpected for two reasons. Notwithstanding the fact that we've never seen this equivocation in the alien before (it killed Parker and Brett cleanly and efficiently, delaying the final gruesome moment admittedly, but nonetheless delivering the fatal head trauma itself in single blows), the creature’s “attack approach” is ill conceived; premature in sexual terms. It allows Ripley the opportunity to eject the alien through the open hatchway and terminate it in the ship’s engine boosters.
For some, including Ridley, the creature’s equivocation is sexually motivated: captivated by the fleshy “fullness” of Ripley the alien approaches her to investigate the heroine’s very physicality; and so its death can be traced back to this form of hesitation. But this reading doesn’t allow for the fact that Ripley has (1) left the room altogether (thus calling into question the creature’s spatial awareness. Does it think the same person is re-entering its space after he/she has already fled?) and (2) crawled into her spacesuit (reducing the curves of her body, removing her scent). Though the suggestion of an alien erotic subjectivity is fascinating, and not altogether theoretically preposterous in this most sexualised of science-fiction universes, I think I stray from this line of thought with regard to the film’s ending.
So I would argue these points: that the alien reacts defensively when it is disturbed; that Ripley caught the creature by surprise; that the creature’s retreat into an innocuous corner of the craft indicates a significant shift in its behaviour; that the creature is no longer privileged as the “perfect” “survivor” in the film’s denouement, and that through a combination of inaction, lethargy, and hesitation, the creature becomes responsible for its own downfall; and finally, that it does not board the Narcissus with intentions of following Ripley back to her homeland at all . . . (cont’d.)
16 November, 2007
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