The bulk of the talk about Prometheus, from the point it was announced to the day of its release, concerned the degree to which it was going to serve as a prequel to one of its director’s most beloved works, Alien. At first Ridley Scott made mention that there would be a connection between this film and that. Then that position was pulled back on a bit. This kept happening, back and forth, up until it finally screened for audiences. So, now that it’s out, is it really a prequel to Alien? Sort of. It certainly exists in the same universe as Alien. It gives us a look at the beginnings of some of the things we saw in Alien. But where it really counts, in making a direct narrative bridge between what’s happening with the humans in this story and what happened with the humans in that story, the connection is incidental. Prometheus exists on its own as a standalone story to the point where I would recommend you get all thoughts and comparisons to Alien out of your head before you see it. As a matter of fact, I would go as far as to say that this story would have worked better if it had no connections to Alien at all. The connective tissue between the two films seemed incidental and in no way integral to the story that Scott wanted to tell this time around.
What’s the director concerning himself with this time around? Prometheus is a story that’s considered with origins, certainly, but it’s attacking the theme in a much broader sense than just explaining the origins of a sci-fi horror film from the late 70s. The story told here involves a starship full of scientists who have sent themselves off on a journey in search of the beginnings of mankind. You see, some cave paintings that have been unearthed all around our planet have shared the same images of primitive man worshipping Godlike beings, with the same constellation of stars in the background. This particular configuration of stars only exists one place in the galaxy, and the theory is that if we travel there we’ll be able to make contact with the beings who engineered our species. In the end, there’s some truth to that theory, but our scientists don’t end up finding exactly what they hoped for. In fact, what they end up finding is something much more horrific.
Along its journey of discovery Prometheus is asking questions about religion, existentialism, and the search for meaning. The way we think of our gods gets tied up with the way we think of our parents, and what it means to be made and the different ways we react to having existence get explored. The yearning that’s going on in this story, the main conflict that all of the characters seem to be wrestling with, is an unwillingness to accept that their existence might be random. The hope is that we all exist for a reason, that there’s real meaning to our day-to-day struggles, and that we’ll one day understand what it was all for. But how would we react to finding out that we’re not of much concern to those that made us, or that our existence might just be random? How far would we go in blindly raging against the notion that we might not be at all important, that we might not matter? And what might the consequences of our struggling against the inevitable be?
Those consequences, those horrific consequences, that’s the place where Prometheus ties with Alien most closely. If there’s anything in Prometheus that’s bound to please fans of that film, its going to be the horror elements. The bad things that happen in this movie are gory, they’re gross, and they’re biological in nature. People in these films are always getting penetrated in unwanted ways, finding parts of their body gushing and erupting, or getting impregnated with things that nature never intended them to be impregnated with. A lot has been written about the sexual symbolism of Alien, and there’s a lot of that going on here too. Both of these films are tapping into our primal rape-fear, which is one of the most deep-seated fears there is. But, more than that, they’re needling us with the possibilities of what might happen if our bodies turned against us. Right up there with rape-fear is cancer-fear, and these films fictionalize and exploit the constant dread we all share that something might be growing on us, that there might be poison inside of us. It’s pretty scary stuff, its inclusion makes for some of Prometheus’ most effective moments.
From a moviemaking standpoint, Prometheus delivers on two fronts: in its visuals and in its performances. This is an ensemble cast and to do a rundown of each performer, praising what they bring to the production, would require more words than most are willing to read. But the gist of what’s going on here is that this film has a cast that boasts names like Noomi Rapace, Guy Pearce, Charlize Theron, Idris Elba, and Michael Fassbender... among others. They all do strong, if understated work. They’re living in the skin of their characters and no one is overplaying their role or trying to steal the movie out from under anyone else. These characters feel like real people put in extraordinary situations, not dramatic archetypes meant to teach us lessons. Well, all but one of them feel like real people. Fassbender’s character is very specifically not a real person, and as the android, David, he does manage to give a performance that’s a notch above all the others. His portrayal of the android is, at the same time, creepily unnatural and heartbreakingly human. He gets the most to do, the most interesting character arc, and he kept me with this soulless creation every step of the way. It’s too early in the man’s career to start making any proclamations, but if a time traveler from the future were to tell me that eventually Michael Fassbender is widely considered to be the greatest actor who ever lived, it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest (well, the time travel part would).
From the film’s advertising you might think that its main attraction was in its visual effects work, and admittedly it’s all very impressive. But there are a few things that separate this film from many of the other, recent blockbusters that have intended on impressing visually. First off, Prometheus takes a page out of Alien’s playbook and tells a slow-burn story. Before you get down on the planet and start exploring a good deal of time is spent on the ship just getting to know the lay of the land. And even after the scientists start exploring they end up spending a lot of time in seemingly deserted tunnels. Scott let’s these scenes sit. His camera moves slowly and sparingly, letting the tension and dread build. Too many modern films try to make it feel like something exciting is happening every moment. They whip their cameras around dramatically and edit their shots rapid-fire in order to introduce a sense of kinetic excitement, and they, as a result, end up feeling like frantic messes. For having such gorgeous, cutting edge special effects, Prometheus is shot in a very classic style, and it’s all the better for it. Add in the intricate and inventive production design that has been a trademark of the entire Alien franchise, and you get a perfect storm of visual delight.
All of that is not to say that Prometheus is a perfect filmgoing experience, however. It has problems—several of them—and they all come down to concerns with the screenwriting and the storytelling. While the buildup to the landing on the alien planet and the first foray into the mysterious dome that the scientists explore was handled deftly, the film is plagued with questionable choices thereafter. One could debate the pseudo-science of what happens to the people and the creatures over the course of this film, and how some of it doesn’t seem very well thought out or particularly in the vein of the biology of the xenomorphs from the original Alien franchise. You could nitpick how far the struggles of Rapace’s character—who becomes our default protagonist over time—devolve too thoroughly into unbelievable action movie tropes by the end of the film. And one could certainly debate the mysteries surrounding Theron’s character and whether or not they add up to much or add anything to the film overall. But the fatal flaw that keeps Prometheus from being a completely successful viewing experience is one of storytelling structure.
Other than in a fairly ridiculous side-plot involving the character Guy Pearce plays, the characters in this film aren’t working toward any concrete goals. This is a story of exploration, one where we never quite know what’s going to happen next. Big things do end up happening, huge things as a matter of fact, but since we never know what’s going to come next there’s no sense of anticipation to the viewing experience; only a sense of vague dread. There’s just no struggle to the action that happens in the third act. The characters aren’t fighting against something, trying to prevent something, or trying to defeat something—they’re merely reacting to the things that happen to them. That fits into the larger themes of being at the mercy of the universe and our creators, but it doesn’t really make for an exciting movie climax. And it explains why a scene that closes out the second act, involving Rapace’s character and a medical robot, is, far and away, the best and most affecting scene in this film. It’s the one moment where there’s a very specific goal that needs to be achieved, where the stakes of the situation are grave and apparent, and where we’re truly emotionally engaged in what the outcome of the situation is going to be. If the entire film had maintained that streamlined simplicity, that laser focus on what it was trying to accomplish, then it could have been something special. As is, it’s a bit too heady, a bit too meandering, and it probably even gets saved from being something of a failure by Michael Fassbender’s staggering talent.
