Rating: 🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈

Isolated, trapped, living in fear of a singular, untrackable enemy. Anyone could be next. In a pandemic, horror films just hit different.

Like many people, I’ve seen some of the Alien movies, but not the first two. I knew they were major, obviously, considering they had earned an entire franchise. But the 1979 original is so much more iconic than I expected, and I haven’t been this excited about a film in a long time. It’s been over a month since I watched it (and, subsequently, Aliens) and I’m still thinking about it.

Why did this film resonate with me so much? Of course, there’s the parallel between the horrors of the film and of the current pandemic: when Ripley demanded that the crew abide by the quarantine rule, my partner and I shared a chuckle. The claustrophobia (get me out of the Nostromo/my house), the terror (who’s the next victim?), the lack of trust (Ash is literally anyone refusing to wear a mask) all felt more familiar under these strange circumstances that I only wish were sci-fi.

Beyond that, though, there’s another, more sinister parallel. Unlike the characters in most space-centric films, the crew of the Nostromo are not the typical astronauts, or explorers, or researchers. They’re hauling cargo between planets; they’re essentially the blue-collar workers of the future. The only reason the titular alien makes it onto the ship in the first place is due to their obligation to follow orders from the employer, the Weyland-Yutani Corporation, to investigate (and bring back) any sign of intelligent life. The crew is never made aware of the danger of that order until they’re already in the thick of it, with Kane succumbing to a chestburster in the middle of dinner.

Even onboard, there’s a hierarchy. Aside from Kane, the first crew member to lose his life is Brett, one of the engineers who we see repeatedly trying to negotiate raises to match their colleagues’ pay, to no avail.

“Listen,” Parker says, “you notice how they never come down here; I mean, this is where the work is, right?”

“Well, it’s the same damn reason we get a half share to their one,” Brett responds.

This is exactly what we’re seeing now: the pandemic has made more clear than ever the distinct difference between the working class and the people who hold power over them. While many of us are comfortably working from home, many more are risking their health and safety on a daily basis by showing up to work. Whether it’s at the register of a high-end grocery store, in the distribution center of a massive online retailer, or behind the wheel of a delivery truck, people are being faced with two options: follow orders, no matter how risky, or lose your employment (and wages along with it).

As the ship’s warrant officer, Ellen Ripley straddles the line between those giving commands and those who follow them. Initially, she respects the chain of command and doesn’t follow her instincts; after analyzing the message from the derelict ship, she wants to follow Lambert, Kane, and Dallas to warn them, but allows Ash to talk her out of it. However, when the trio return and Kane is injured, we see a tension emerge: Ripley is adamant that the crew follow the 24-hour quarantine law, and denies her superior’s orders to let them in; Ash, her inferior, lets them in anyway. Thus begins the conflict of the film, and is also the moment when Ripley begins to emerge as the protagonist.

Also my face when men don’t listen to anything I say

The following events of the film sees her come into a position of leadership, both de facto and de jure, as the crew is picked off and Ripley alone is left to fend off the xenomorph. Ultimately, she is left with the option to destroy company property (i.e. blow up the Nostromo, including the cargo it was towing) or comply with the order, allowing the xenomorph to return to earth and be weaponized by The Company. Ripley’s defiance of The Company’s demand is demonstrative of valuing people over profit, as she’s willing to even put her own life at risk if it means saving many more on Earth. In the sequel, we see the consequences of her choices: she’s put on trial, accused of dishonesty and psychosis, and demoted. However, she continues to take action for the people (and against the company) in the events that follow, while the Weyland-Yutani Corporation remains focused on revenue at the cost of more lives.

There’s so much more I could say about Ripley and how the film engages with gender, but that’s not as pressing to me now, and besides, a film this popular already—literally—has books written about it. The thesis of this review is this: corporate profiteering, not alien life, is the real killer here.

ALIEN vs. Proletariat