Director Report Card: Ridley Scott (1991)

7. Thelma & Louise

In 1988, music video producer Callie Khouri had an idea for a movie. Despite never having written a script before, she drew inspiration from her and her friends' lives. Initially assuming she'd direct the movie herself as a low-budget production, the script eventually crossed the desk at Ridley Scott's production company. Scott was enthusiastic about making the film but was initially uncertain about directing it himself. Michelle Pfeiffer, who was attached to star at the time alongside Jodie Foster, had to talk him into it. This, of course, would be an extremely wise decision on Scott's behalf. “Thelma & Louise” would become one of the most iconic and widely discussed films of the decade, restoring the director's auteur license in the process.

Louise is a waitress with little patience for men's bullshit. Her best friend is Thelma, a housewife who suffers a lot of casual abuse at the hand of her asshole husband. Thelma is talked into going on a weekend fishing trip with Louise, without telling her husband. While dancing and drinking at a honky-tonk bar, Thelma is sexually assaulted by a strange man. Instinctively, Louise shoots the man dead. The two go on the run together, tearing down the south-western roads towards Mexico. They pick up a hunky hitchhiker, rob some gas stations, and become wanted outlaws. The police, led by a sympathetic detective, is on their trails but Thelma and Louise refuse to be caught.

In 1991, “Thelma & Louise” would be considered a landmark feminist film. It achieves this by, in many ways, giving women the exact kind of wish fulfillment fantasies that men have had for decades. It's about two women casting off the restraints of their day-to-day lives and finding themselves in the process. They transform from ordinary human beings into cooler-than-cool outlaws, that get to taunt the cops following them and are involved in exciting car chases. Thelma even gets to sleep with a super hot himbo. Guys have always had stories like this, about being bad-ass and escaping conformity and having hot sex with hot people, but women getting a tale like this really was something largely unprecedented in the early nineties.

There's a very specific part of this fantasy that makes it distinctly different from a male wish fulfillment story. All throughout the film, Thelma and Louise have to put up with abusive, entitled, asshole men. Thelma's husband is a petty tyrant, who has controlled her life since she was eighteen and won't even let her hang out with a friend. While traveling on the road, they are repeatedly catcalled and harassed by a piggish truck driver. At one point, they get pulled over by a cop that lords his authority over them. Each one of these guys – archetypal examples of horrible men women encounter in their every day lives – are defeated. The control freak husband is increasingly humiliated by his wife's antics. The asshole traffic cop is reduced to tears before being shoved in the trunk of his own patrol car. The catcalling trucker gets held at gunpoint, criticized for his behavior, and then has his truck blown up. I imagine these are common fantasies every women has had and seeing them acted out on-screen must've been cathartic.

Of course, there's a big difference between a male power fantasy and a female power fantasy. The trauma of sexual assault looms large over this story. Thelma is raped in the bar parking lot, by a man that sure seemed charming at first but refused to take no for an answer. That turned violent and possessive the minute he got her alone. Louise observes that no one would believe the true story, simply because everyone saw Thelma dancing with him. And she's probably right. Before long, Thelma learns that Louise is a rape survivor too, who has buried her trauma so deep she can't even stand crossing over into the state it happened in. To be a woman is to live under the constant threat of sexual violence, something even a wish fulfillment story like this must unavoidably address. 

But "Thelma & Louise" is not one of those dreary movies that endlessly rehash the trauma of sexual abuse. Nor are its title characters solely defined by their statuses as victims. Instead, this is a movie much more about the bond they have. Thelma and Louise both have men that waltz in and out of their lives. None of them are able to approach the women with empathy and understanding. Thelma and Louise understand each other because they've both been through the same kind of shit. When Louise doesn't want to talk about something, Thelma doesn't push the issue. When one of them screws up, the other does her best to help. They have a bond rooted in their shared experiences as women, treating each other exactly how they always wished men would treat them. That's what makes "Thelma & Louise" a movie specifically about sisterhood. 

"Thelma & Louise" is also part of the long tradition of the American road movie. The titular duo may be on the run from the cops nearly the entire time, forced into their situation by circumstance... Yet there's still something freeing about driving a sports car down the winding highway. If this is a movie about breaking out of the restrains of every day life, the freedom of the endless road represents this. No wonder this is where Thelma redefines herself, finding a skill for being an outlaw. When the gas in your tank is the only limit you have, anything is possible.

It's understandable why Ridley Scott was initially uncertain if he was the right director for this job. This is not a story that features a brooding metropolis, full of white smoke billowing out of sewer grates. Instead, Scott adapts his style to the movie's south-western setting. We have light breaking through the plateaus of the desert. The film noir angles Scott is obsessed with are redone from the seat of a car, as Thelma or Louise drive through the night. Of course, the movie does eventually include car chases and explosions. In fact, Scott has gotten really good at luxuriating in the orange waves of a massive fireball. Besides, one has to actively work to make the deserts of Utah, were the movie was shot, not look incredibly gorgeous and cinematic.

"Thelma & Louise" owes a lot of its success to its leading ladies. Geena Davis actively campaigned for the role. Davis projects an incredible sense of youth and vulnerability at first, seeming totally baby-faced. Which makes her eventual transformation into a free-spirited outlaw all the more surprising. Yet Davis makes this change completely believable, reveling in the joy Thelma feels at being truly free for the first time in her life. It's an enchanting and powerful bit of acting.

Of course, one is not complete without the other. If Geena Davis is the free-spirited kid, Susan Sarandon's Louise is the worrying older sister. Sarandon makes Louise a knot of anxiety throughout large portions of the film. She's lived more than Thelma. She knows how the world, and men, are. Yet this nervousness eventually evolves into a harder shell. Louise breaks down in private, never shying away from her vulnerable qualities, but pretends to be in control when on the phone with the cops or facing off other adversaries. It's a nuanced acting from Sarandon, showing depth and complexity.

Quite a few talented supporting men were drafted to appear in the film. Tough guy character actors, Harvey Keitel and Michael Madsen, are cast against type as two of the movie's less toxic guys. Keitel is seemingly the only man who approaches the duo with sympathy, trying to understand them and not just contain them. Madsen – who still gets to bluster and overturn chairs – is uncharacteristically chill as Louise's boyfriend. He's even romantic, beneath a certain gruff exterior. Of course, Brad Pitt was the breakout star of the film. Pitt's raw sexuality is impossible to take your eyes off of, charm oozing from every pore. He's absolutely irresistible, which makes him the perfect actor for this fantasy role. If these are the movie's kind men, Christopher McDobald is perfect as Thelma's prick husband. He's ridiculous and over-the-top and completely true to life for this kind of guy.

When one discusses "Thelma & Louise," you really can't avoid talking about its famous ending. Upon first viewing, I was honestly a little disappointed in it. The decision by the duo to drive forward into the Grand Canyon seems almost impulsive. It also seems like an almost mean-spirited ending after everything they went through. Yet, ultimately, I can't imagine this tale ending any other way. It's a sad fact that Thelma and Louise would rather drive head first into a canyon than have to put up with a world that won't believe them. That, in dying, they are more free than they'd be alive. And it's really such a tender conclusion, the sisters kissing and holding hands as they plunge off into oblivion. They ended their story on their own terms and there's something admirable about that.

"Thelma & Louise would be a box office success  and receive five Oscar nominations, including Ridley Scott's first Best Director nod. More importantly, it would drive discussion all throughout the media. Naturally, some very sensitive dudes accused the movie of misandry. Others debated whether the movie was the right kind of feminist. The fact that the movie has survived as an iconic statement, still feeling totally relevant in 2021, suggests "Thelma & Louise" were on the right track all along. Some have suggested that a woman probably should've directed this, which really isn't wrong. (Though the writer's voice absolutely shines through.) Yet this feels like nitpicking when the movie gets so much right. The frequent parodies and references have done little to diminish it's power. [Grade: B+]

Director Report Card: Ridley Scott (1989)

6. Black Rain

As the eighties came to a close, Ridley Scott would continue to operate as a director-for-hire. Screenwriters Craig Bolotin and Warren Lewis – whose previous few credits included an episode of “Miami Vice” – found themselves with a hot script with “Black Rain.” At one point considered as a blue print for the second “Beverly Hills Cop” movie – which, somewhat ironically, would ultimately be directed by Ridley's brother – Paramount producers Stanley R. Jaffe and Sherry Lansing would shop the script around to multiple big stars in Hollywood. Michael Douglas, who had starred in the Jaffe production “Fatal Attraction,” would sign on to star and apparently got Ridley attached to direct. The film would end Scott's loosing streak at the box office, becoming a surprise blockbuster in 1989 and being nominated for two Oscars. 

Hard-boiled New York Cop Nick Conklin is currently in hot water. After his partner was caught taking bribes, Nick is under investigation by Internal Affairs. While spending time with his partner Charlie in an Italian restaurant, he is witness to a Japanese gangster stealing a box from a mafioso and murdering him in cold blood. A chase ensues and Nick catches the guy. Nick and Charlie are assigned with transporting the killer, a Yakuza enforcer named Sato, back to Japan. Upon arriving, Sato escapes. Nick immediately butts head with by-the-book Japanese cop Masahiro Matsumoto. When Charlie is killed by Sato, the investigation becomes personal for Nick. Going against official orders, he uncovers a counterfeiting scheme and a war between different factions within the Yakuza. 

In the late eighties and early nineties, certain voices in the United States claimed Japan was America's fiercest economic rival. Some were concerned about Asian corporations investing in American businesses. That this meant Japanese businessmen, with their high-tech electronics and wacky vending machines, were going to start buying up stateside competition. This supposed economic friction, steeped in old fashion xenophobia and reheated yellow peril, would spawn a handful of productions. Mostly reactionary schlock like “Rising Sun” or “Debt of Honor.” (Though it did make it into the plot of a “Godzilla” movie.) Considering its premise and the time period it was made, it's impossible not to think about “Black Rain” as part of this era of reportedly tense U.S.-Japan relations.

You can mostly see this in “Black Rain's” take on the age-old buddy cop formula. Nick is a loose cannon. He chases after bad guys on foot, guns down gangsters in the streets, and casually disregards the letter of the law. He is the archetypal American cowboy cop. Masahiro, meanwhile, displays a strict adherence to rule book. He is incensed and angered by Nick's flagrantly illegal actions. He feels it is his duty to be a cooperative, law-abiding officer. The movie plays into stereotypes of the Japanese as honor-bound samurai, as Masahiro explicitly describes Nick's actions as bringing dishonor on all cops everywhere. Of course, this is a buddy cop movie. Eventually, Masahiro and Nick learn to respect each other. They start the film as bitter rivals and end it as close friends. Nick learns from his Japanese pal to follow the law more often while Masahiro learns that, sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do to catch the bad guy. It's a story type we've seen play out a hundred times, before and since.

That's not the interesting part. What's interesting is how “Black Rain” reflects changing Japanese attitudes towards the West and vice-versa. I expected an entire movie built around fish-out-of-water shenanigans, of an American cop bristling against Japanese culture. Most of that stuff is shoved into the first half-hour and largely revolves around the language barrier. There's a laid-back comedic sequence set in a karaoke bar and that's about it, as far as scenes of Americans being baffled by Japanese customs go. Instead, the subplot about strife within the Yakuza proves more intriguing. Sato is presented as part of a new wave of Americanized Japanese, who disregard traditional concepts of honor. The older mob boss he hopes to usurp is a survivor of the bombing of Hiroshima. He hates American values and resents the growing Westernization of his country. That this character ends up being more sympathetic is especially surprising. Is “Black Rain” suggesting that, while the exchange of ideas between the U.S. and Japan is ultimately good, some of the island nation's resentment of America is probably well-founded?

This is a possibility but that's not what “Black Rain” is really about. In fact, “Black Rain” is barely about Japan at all. Instead, this is a movie devoted to Michael Douglas playing the most belligerent asshole action hero possible. Nick is introduced competing in a motorcycle street race, which he wins by jumping his bike over a ramp. He has a ball-busting ex-wife, so faceless that she literally never appears on-screen. When being interrogated by Internal Affairs, he's constantly aggressive towards them. He batters Sato on the plane ride across the Pacific. Upon meeting the Japanese police force, he immediately berates them with profanity. He outright refuses to take responsibility for his actions, even when admitting to blatantly illegal actions. By the movie's end, he's even forms a truce with the Yakuza. Nick Conklin is the most exaggerated cowboy cop this side of Marion Cobretti. He's such an over-the-top macho asshole that I honestly wonder if “Black Rain” isn't a secret satire of eighties action movie excess. 

I wondered about that but it's probably not true, as Nick never faces any consequences for his utterly reckless behavior. Mostly, I think that because “Black Rain's” script is hopelessly beholden to action movie cliches. The minute we meet Charlie, Nick's beloved partner, the movie is re-enforcing what good friends they are. This immediately puts a bullseye on Charlie's back in the audience's mind. Sure enough, the younger cop gets killed about a half-hour in. Naturally, he's murdered by Sato, in order to make Nick's quest against him all the more personal. That opening motorcycle race is inserted strictly to set-up a climatic motorcycle race with the bad guy at the film's end. The Japanese police chief is a hard-ass. There's a shoot-out in a factory that seemingly manufactures nothing but sparks and lava. “Black Rain” happily and uncritically indulges in just about every trope you associated with this era of action cinema.

That doesn't mean there isn't some fun to be had with “Black Rain's” full-throttle embracing of cliches. As an over-the-top action movie, this is fairly entertaining stuff. The motorcycle race is ridiculous stuff but well-shot. The foot chase proceeding the factory shoot-out is similarly well framed. That sequence ends with an exploding bike and lots of collateral damage. The climax of the movie, where Nick and Masahiro declare all-out war on the Yakuza's base, is certainly exciting stuff. There's lots of goons getting shot through walls, machine guns blazing, and cars going up in flames. You know this shit is good because Al Leong has a cameo, as a henchman who gets gunned down into the back of a limousine. The climatic fight between Nick and Sato even attempts to extend the East-meets-West themes of the movie, as Sato fights with karate and Nick uses bare-knuckle boxing. It's not especially distinguished, as far as dubious action movie thrills go, but it still tickles the lizard brain. 

And you can bet your ass that Ridley Scott makes sure it looks good. Jan de Bont is credited as D.P., though apparently Howard Atherton shot most of the movie. This combined talent creates a frequently gorgeous looking film. Ridley Scott happily applies his style to the metropolis of Osaka. That means lots of shots of rays of light cutting through darken areas, including behind a spinning fan, and multiple occasions of smoke billowing up through the streets. The sequences devoted to Nick and Charlie being harassed by a motorcycle street gang – a real Japanese phenomenon – on the neon-soaked streets of Osaka is especially memorable. It all looks as slick as can be, proving once again that Ridley Scott's aggressively cool style goes a long way. 

“Black Rain” was, I guess, Michael Douglas' big attempt to make it as an action hero. The same level of obnoxiously toxic machismo that he displayed in “Wall Street” and “Basic Instinct” is on display here. Nick Conklin is such a ridiculous character. He smokes in-doors and wears his sunglasses at night. He barks insanely hard-boiled dialogue like “Fuck you very much” or “you'd be so tight you couldn't even pull it out your ass.” (No, I don't understand that one either.) He frequently peppers his sentences with “babe.” I don't find much charming about Douglas' belligerent asshole act but it's extended to the point of self-parody here. Nick is such a cartoon character that I can't help but laugh. Whether this was intentional or not, I'm still not sure but it does make “Black Rain” more entertaining.

I have no doubt that this movie would've been sturdier if it had focused squarely on the Japanese cast. Ken Takakura – a huge star in Japan best known, ironically, for starring in Yakuza movies – plays Masahiro. The story of a Japanese cop forced to put up with this absurd American, desperately trying to hold onto his own honor, is definitely far richer than “Black Rain's” action movie wish fulfillment shenanigans. A quiet scene in his apartment, after Nick gets Masahiro demoted at work, is a showcase for Takakura's nuanced and subtle acting skills. The fact that he still seems to question whether he's doing the right thing or not, even after he stands alongside Douglas for some vigilante justice, is intriguing. “Black Rain” is ridiculous but Takahura suggest a serious drama, about a old-fashioned cop deeply disappointed in himself, would've been worthwhile.

Takahura leads off an accomplished supporting cast. Tomisaburo Wakayama plays Sugai, the old-school Yakuza boss. The “Lone Wolf and Cub” star delivers the title-lending monologue, a withering moment in a movie otherwise lacking in dramatic weight. Yusaku Matsuda plays Sato as a stone-cold and reptile-eyed psychopath, who takes utter delight in the violence he causes and thirsts only for power. Matsuda was dying of bladder cancer at the time – the movie is dedicated to his memory – but you wouldn't know it from his fierce performance. An absolutely baby-faced Andy Garcia is charming enough as the doomed Charlie. Kate Capshaw appears as Douglas' expat love interest, a largely disposable role. Capshaw is given nothing to work with but at least looks glamorous in a series of fancy gowns. 

“Black Rain” is also notable as the first Ridley Scott movie to be scored by Hans Zimmer. Zimmer contributes an intense electronic score, that almost avoids cliched Orientalist sounds. The director hated shooting in Japan, by the way, as production was frequently hassled by local authorities. Despite the troubled production, “Black Rain” would gross 134 million at the worldwide box office, making it an enormous hit. Wikipedia informs me that the movie has since become a cult favorite, though I've seen no evidence of this. In fact, “Black Rain” is better described as a forgotbuster, considering the complete lack of cultural impact it left despite making so much money. The movie is dumb as hell but I kind of enjoyed it anyway. Certainly do not confuse it with the Japanese film of the same name, from the same year, which is a serious black-and-white drama about the survivors of Hiroshima. [Grade: B-]

Director Report Card: Ridley Scott (1987)

5. Someone to Watch Over Me

By 1987, Ridley Scott was still best known as the director of “Alien.” Yes, that was an immediately iconic and widely imitated blockbuster but it was also only one movie. “Blade Runner's” influence wouldn't be felt for years and it was regarded as a weird disappointment at the time. “Legend,” meanwhile, was an unambiguous box office failure, its cult following far away. In other words: Ridley Scott needed to prove he could still be a commercial filmmaker. This is when the director would begin a brief work-for-hire period in his career. “Someone to Watch Over Me” was first pitched to Scott by its writer, Howard Franklin, at a party. It must've been a hell of a pitch, as Scott would make the high-concept cop thriller a few years later as his first attempt to regain box office support.

Mike Keegan is a newly appointed NYPD police detective, a humble guy with a wife and son who love him back at home. Claire Gregory is a Manhattan socialite who lives a refined life, of high-class parties and fancy art shows. At one such show, she witnesses an old friend being violently stabbed to death by Joey Venza, an unhinged criminal. Keegan's first assignment is to be Claire's bodyguard, protecting her so she can identify Venza when the police apprehend him. As Keegan spends more time with Claire, an attraction develops between the two. Soon enough, they fall into bed. Not long after that, Venza comes after Claire.

From its opening minutes, “Someone to Watch Over Me” emphasizes the differences between its two characters' world in as obvious a fashion as possible. Keegan is introduced at a party celebrating his promotion. There's lots of shouting from kids and adults. Pop songs of the day play on the radio. People get sloppily drunk and fall over. Claire is introduced at a party in a swanky night club, where women dress are in fancy gowns and the men wear expensive tuxedos. Claire's scenes are largely scored to big band music. After being assigned to take care of her, more than one scene follows of Keegan being baffled and confused by the world of haute couture Claire inhabits. The film really hammers home the differences between this average guy who lives in a small, cramped home in a bad part of town and this glamorous lady who always has on expensive clothes and spends a lot of time at high society gatherings.

Aside from emphasizing the normalcy of Keegan's home life, the film also goes out of its way to make you understand that he really does love his wife and kid. The two have a charming life together. He makes dinner on the weekends. She tries to fix his car for him. He has a quirky rapport with his smart-ass son, who has a bad habit of leaving his skateboards sitting around the house. He wants to move into a better neighborhood, because he cares about their protection so much. I guess the idea is to make sure the audience likes this character and know he's a good human being, even though his entire character arc revolves around him screwing around on his wife.

At this point in his career, Ridley Scott had sometimes been criticized for the slow pace his films exhibited. An infamous review of “Blade Runner” referred to it as “Blade Crawler.” I, personally, didn't have any problem with the pacing in Scott's first four features. “Someone to Watch Over Me,” however, is painfully slow. Keegan and Claire don't actually sleep together until the first hour mark. Up to that point, their relationship is composed of clipped conversations and many tedious scenes of him accompanying her around the city. The most romantic gesture the cop makes towards the woman under his care up to this point is placing his coat over her as she's cold, an interaction so cliched that it can only come off as stilted. From the very beginning, we know these two are going to end up in bed together. Watching the movie creep towards that inevitable event is nothing short of tedious.

Once the two protagonists finally hook up, “Someone to Watch Over Me” attempts to mine as much melodrama out of the fallout from the affair as possible. Keegan feels conflicted over his obvious attraction to Claire. He tries to hide it from his wife, during several painfully drawn out sequence, but it's only a matter of time before she finds out. There's screaming and fighting once that happens and he ends up sleeping on a friend's couch for a while. While watching over Claire, the two trade more meaningful glances and silent glares, afraid to acknowledge what they've done together. Claire calls the affair a mistake before they end up sleeping together again. The movie really wants you to know what a big deal these events are in the lives of their characters.

Unfortunately, there's nothing compelling about the romance at the center of “Someone to Watch Over Me.” As you'd exactly expect, Claire doesn't seem interested in her bodyguard at first. She treats him as an inconvenience, dragging him to his ne of her fancy parties. This leads to the kind of belligerent sexual tension we’ve seen in a hundred romances. As inevitable as it is that Keegan and Claire will have an affair, it’s equally foreseeable that his wife will take him back after he saves their lives. The repeated references to the danger in the neighborhood affect his family. The film is predictable and everything happens exactly when you expect it to. It’s hard to feel too much tension or drama when you know exactly where all of this is headed from scene one. The movie is exactly as trite as it’s high-concept “cop falls in love with the witness he has to protect” premise suggests. 

I don’t know what it was about “Someone to Watch Over Me” that attracted Ridley Scott but the director certainly does his best to elevate the material. One of the film’s earliest shots features rays of light cutting through a moody nightclub. Shortly after that, smoke billowing up from a sewer grate features prominently in another scene. In fact, there’s a lot of white smoke floating up from the streets in this movie, Scott attempting to transport the ambiance of “The Duellist’s” French countryside or the Nostromo to the New York City streets. It’s unmistakably his style, Scott ensuring the movie at least looks nice, 

At the beginning of this review, I referred to “Someone to Watch Over Me” as a thriller. This is technically correct, though most of the movie is devoted to the maudlin romance and personal melodrama of the story. There's really only a handful of scenes that feel like a thriller. When Venza sends a gun-toting thug into Claire's home and when the bad guy himself takes Keegan's wife and kid hostage at the end. The former scene features a pretty cool tracking shot of the thug shooting another cop, a shoot-out in a mirrored dressing room, and lots of that atmospheric Ridley Scott lighting. The climax is similarly dramatically shot and lit. These are the rare moments when "Someone to Watch Over Me" actually comes alive a little bit.

Beyond wanting to direct a movie that might make some money, I can only speculate why Scott chose to direct this one. You can see a little bit of "The Duellists" and "Alien's" working class themes in the stark class divide between Keegan's blue-collar home and Claire's rich lifestyle. Otherwise, "Someone to Watch Over Me" does little to distinguish itself from similar stories like "The Bodyguard." Right down to some typical cop movie crassness, about how hard it is to be an officer, and a less-than-progressive suggestion that Keegan's climatic act of violence is what really assures his wife that he still loves her, that she should forgive him.

Another reason why the movie is so inert is that the stars have little chemistry. Tom Berenger is fine, stiflingly fine, as Keegan. The script never gives him much of a chance to add depth to the character but Berenger does what he can to give a little personality to the part. Mimi Rogers is similarly totally acceptable as Claire. She has plenty of vulnerability, which is about the only likable note the script gives her to play. Yet the two have no sparks, which only furthers the suggestion that the only reason the characters fall in love is because the script says they have to. 

The only performer in the movie who makes much of an impression is Lorraine Bracco as Elle, Keegan's put-upon wife. In one of her earliest screen appearances, Bracco shows plenty of humor and pep as a woman who does her best to support her husband and child. It helps that she might be the only truly sympathetic character in the movie. Andreas Katsulas is serviceable sleazy as Vinza, making for a mildly memorable villain. One also can't help but notice Jerry Orbach, ridiculously overqualified to play a typical balls-busting police chief. 

By the way, if you were curious, the title lending George and Ira Gershwin song plays twice through the film. First as a maudlin cover from Sting over the opening credits and then as a sappy version from Roberta Flack over the end credits. If my suspicions are correct and Scott directed "Someone to Watch Over Me" in the hopes that it would become a hit, that plan backfired. The movie only made ten million dollars against a twelve-million-dollar budget, making it another flop for the filmmaker. The film has slipped largely into obscurity in the years since, being among the most forgotten films of Scott's career. And with good reason, as it's a completely snooze. [Grade: C-]

Director Report Card: Ridley Scott (1985)

4. Legend

While making “The Duellists,” Ridley Scott had an idea for a film inspired by fairy tales. He consumed as many classical stories, including those by the Brothers Grimm, in preparation. He reached out to novelist William Hjortsberg to further develop the idea and the two birthed an epic screenplay that would've been impossible to film. Scott was so fascinated with the premise that unicorns even worked their way into “Blade Runner,” which he was filming at the same time. Over the course of fifteen drafts, they pared the story down to something manageable. “Legend” would enter principal photography in 1984. Production was difficult, with a fire consuming the sets ten days before filming was due to end. Post-production was worst, as unfavorable test screenings led to alternate cuts, and the movie did poorly at the box office. In time, however, “Legend” would become a cult classic and one of the defining fantasy films of the eighties. 

Princess Lili shirks her royal responsibilities to spend time in the woods with Jack, the boy she loves. One day, he shows her the unicorns, the guardians of light who are attracted to innocence. Unbeknownst to either, the Lord of Darkness has sent his goblin Blix to kill the unicorns, to plunge the world into eternal night and allow him to rule over it again. As the stallion's horn is severed, a wintry freeze grips the forest. Blix abducts the mare and Lili, dragging them to Darkness' subterranean lair. Jack must team up with a troop of fairies and elves to descend into the underworld, rescue Lili, retrieve the unicorn, defeat Darkness, and bring light back to the world.

In “The Duellist,” Ridley Scott re-created baroque paintings among real fields and locations. In “Alien” and “Blade Runner,” he created whole entire worlds on sound stages. The director combines these two instincts with “Legend.” Inspired by the redwood forest of Yosemite, Scott sought to recreate cascading forest on a sound stage. Realism was not a concern. The few live animals we see, a bear here or a fox there, seem almost hilariously out of place. The painterly quality of “The Duellists” is obvious in shots of the blue sky, of Lili walking through a field of flowers. Of pink petals blowing through the wind as Blix approaches the unicorn or a unicorn standing in a ray of light amidst a blowing snow storm. The world here is not as immersive as the one in “Blade Runner” or “Alien,” simply because it's not as deliberately real. Yet it's still an impressive achievement. 

“Legend” is most fascinating for the way it synthesizes so many ideas and themes from classical fairy tales and mythology. Jack has elements of “Peter Pan” to him, a boy who is closer to nature than the royal princess, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. The other Pan-ian elements are gifted to Gump, who is even more of a trickster. Gump also has a Tinkerbell-like companion, a glowing sprite named Oona. She harbors a crush on Jack, another parallel to Peter and Tinkerbell. Jack has the most archetypal of heroic names, recalling Jack and the Beanstalk and Jack the Giant Killer. Oona leads him to a horde of magical weapons. A golden armor brings the Golden Fleece to mind, a reflective shield is taken from the story of Perseus, and a shining blade recalls Beowulf and Grendel's mother.

These are far from the only stories that “Legend” willingly invokes. While traveling a bog, Jack and his friends encounter Meg Mucklebones. An archetypal bog witch, in the mold of Jenny Greenteeth, Jack trying to trick the cannibalistic she-beast also recalls legendary encounters with Baba Yaga. In the film's final reel, Jack awakens a sleeping Lili with a kiss, pulled directly from “Sleeping Beauty.” The stories of these two innocents, frolicking in an idyllic forest, can't help but remind you of the Garden of Eden as well. Especially once a single mistake the girl makes – attempting to touch the unicorns, in this case – brings chaos into their realm. Later, the Lord of Darkness even temps Lili with an apple. Along with a pile of gold and a decadent feast, which brings “Hansel and Gretel,” “Goblin Market,” and other traditional fairy tales to mind.

The Lord of Darkness doesn't merely abduct Lili. He aims to seduce her as well, having become so enchanted with her innocent soul. This is seemingly another deliberate allusion to Greek mythology, to the story of Hades and Persephone. The Lord cuts a clearly Luciferian figure, the spitting image of a classical devil who speaks of animal nature, of sin and being damned, of influencing man through dreams. Yet he also has beastly hooves and bull-like horns. The Beauty and the Beast parallels become all the more apparent when he emerges from a mirror, a shout-out to Jean Cocteau's “Beauty and the Beast.” (An acknowledged influence on the film.) If Darkness represents beastly masculine sexuality, seductive and animalistic, than Lili eventually out-thinking him makes her something of a “Little Red Riding Hood” figure too, who survives and defeats the man who desires to gobble her up.

With its blatantly Satanic villain and adventure through a underworld in the second half, “Legend” rides the line between fantasy and horror. Images of masked torturers chopping up bound victims against fiery pits are certainly hellish. Images of horned imps and winged demons leaping around recall silent horror films like “Haxan” and “L'inferno.” There's certainly plenty of horror-like ambiance in many other scenes. Such as when Jack and the elves are crossing Meg Mucklebone's swamp, fog dancing over the water as shadows of trees shaped like bat wings are cast overhead. This is also true when Darkness is vamping in his lair, dramatically gesturing from another bat-shaped throne. 

The element linking “Legend” most strongly with the horror genre are its incredible practical creature effects. Created by Rob Bottin, right off “The Thing” and at the peak of his power, the latex and rubber beasts here are some of the best in all of the fantasy genre. Blix, with his curling nose and pointed ears and seemingly always dripping skin, is the archetypal fantasy goblin brought to life. He's joined by the perfectly pig-like Pox. The dwarf-like figures accompanying Jack and Gump on their quest, with names like Screwball and Brown Tom, seem to have stepped right out of the Rankin-Bass “Hobbit.” Meg Mucklebones is similarly the ideal swamp witch, green and warty and covered with slime. Darkness is an unforgettable visual too, towering and muscular with an enormous pair of horns. The effects are so good that they transcend special effects. You accept each of these characters as flesh and blood, living beings. 

Upon release, “Legend” was frequently criticized for its perceived lack of depth in the characters. This seems to overlook that the movie is obviously trafficking in archetypes. Tom Cruise, looking fresh-faced and sprightly, stars as Jack. The youthfulness of this long-since-established star works in “Legend's” favor, making Jack seem even more like an innocent boy who is going on his first quest. Cruise's strange breed of movie star charisma also helps sells Jack's luck and daring. Mia Sara, in her first role, has a similar quality as Lili. She projects complete innocence and naivety as the young princess, while also making it believable that Lili can out-scheme the Lord of Darkness as the end of the film.

Speaking of which... If people remember nothing else from “Legend,” they remember Tim Curry as Darkness. Despite being completely buried under make-up for all his screen-time, Curry never lets you forget who is playing this devil. The unforgettably perverse sensuality that made Dr. Frank-N-Furter a cult icon is well on display here. There is something seductive about Darkness, who seems utterly sincere in his desire to possess Lili's heart and soul. Curry, of course, also had a legendary ability to go gloriously over-the-top. Playing the literal devil provides lots of opportunity for that too. Darkness bellows and growls. He makes condescending comments to his enemies and grandiose speeches in his attempts to seduce Lili. It's the kind of villainous performance any other eighties fantasy flick would've killed for.

As much as I admire it, “Legend” is still a flawed film. It's greatest weakness is that, for a fantasy adventure movie, its adventure elements are frequently underwhelming. The first time Jack swings his magical sword, against Meg Mucklebones, the results are not horribly clear in any of the versions of the film. An encounter with the pair of over-sized torturers in the underworld is more lumbering than exciting. Jack's confrontation with Darkness is probably the most kinetic action sequence in the film. And even that has the rather cheesy effect of Darkness spurting fire from his fingertips, which is never convincing. Certainly nothing here compares to the exciting sword fights Scott created in “The Duellists.” It's these moments that “Legend” seems the most dated.

Of course, “Legend” isn't really an action movie so maybe it's not a big deal if those scenes are weak. Despite being dark and weird, one gets the distinct impression that this was Ridley Scott's best honest attempt at making a children's movie. This is most apparent in the movie's attempt at comic relief. The goblins are frequently farcical creatures. Blix uses the magical unicorn horn to blow up chairs and eggs in a cottage, bickering with his partners. Later, Glum's companions comically attempt to deflects arrows with a frying pan. The following scene, where the same dwarf mistakenly believe himself to be fatally wounded, goes on for much too long. This kind of broad comic relief, which even includes someone's ass getting caught on fire, is badly at odds with the rest of the movie's tone. 

Once again, we must ask which version of a Ridley Scott movie we are watching. At least three versions of “Legend” exist with two cuts – the 1984 U.S. Theatrical Cut and the 2002 Director's Cut – being the most widely available. In hopes of making the movie more commercial, the theatrical cut clipped twenty minutes out of the movie, rendering it a slim 89 minutes. The material added to the director's cut is mostly for the better. More time is devoted to setting up the heroic plot used to defeat Darkness. The encounter with Meg Mucklebones is much longer, a definite improvement over the brief sequence in the theatrical cut. We see more of Jack and Lili's relationship, of her singing to him. Jack and Glum's first meeting and Darkness' seduction of Lili are also expanded. Over all, the director's cut is a more coherent film than the truncated U.S. version.

Having said that, the theatrical cut is the version of “Legend” I had on VHS as a kid. It's the “Legend” I grew up watching. There are certain elements to this version that I do like. In Scott's preferred cut, Darkness does not actually appear on-screen until an hour into the film. This excises a wonderfully creepy sequence at the film's beginning, where he sits on his throne and monologues about his scheme, his eyes and nails glowing in the dark. The theatrical cut's ending also implies that Darkness isn't so easily defeated, that there is some truth to his words that the light cannot exist without the dark. Which I like. And certain elements are the same across both versions. One of the villain's goblin henchman randomly changing sides and becoming a good guy is equally unexplained in every version of the film. 

The most obvious difference between the two cuts is the music. Scott's preferred version has a traditional orchestral score provided by Jerry Goldsmith, which was also maintained in the original European cut. Goldsmith's score is certainly very good. It's full of lovely melodies, such as the romantic themes for Lili and Jack. The goblins are given a creepy theme all their own. It's  a fittingly pastoral and mystical score and one worth listening to. The U.S. cut, meanwhile, has an electronic score from Tangerine Dream, full of strange noises and pulsating synth melodies. It provides a totally different energy for the film, creating a much more dream-like and off-beat feeling experience. And while the addition of Jon Anderon's “Loved by the Song” over the ending is a slice of pure cheese, Bryon Ferry's “Is Your Love Strong Enough?” is a fantastic pop song to close the movie on. In short: Both scores result in a totally different feeling “Legend” - one a traditional fantasy film, the other an eighties cult oddity – and I like them both. 

“Legend” would more-or-less flop in theaters in 1985, failing to attract an audience. Cable television and video is where the movie would attract an audience. That's certainly where I found it. Along side other eighties fantasy classics like “Labyrinth,” ”Willow,” and “The Dark Crystal,” it was a frequent presence in my childhood VHS player. I imagine this is true for a lot of fans. In time, “Legend” would beget special edition DVDs and merchandise, cementing its cult status. Though critics remain divided on the movie's merits, Scott has always defended the movie as a favorite of his own. Undeniably flawed yet still utterly fascinating, “Legend” remains an intoxicating case of fantasy-melding and world-building with an unforgettable villain. [Grade: A-]

Director Report Card: Ridley Scott (1982)

3. Blade Runner

“Alien” would be Ridley Scott's first box office success and his first science-fiction film. He would follow both of these interests by agreeing to direct a long-gestating adaptation of Frank Herbert's novel “Dune.” The project was ultimately doomed and Scott would leave the project after toiling on it for seven months. Scott would next turn his attention to Philip K. Dick's “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” A film adaptation of the book had been floated for a while but none had gained much traction, partially because Dick was skeptical of Hollywood. Scott, however, was determined to bring Dick's vision to life with cutting edge special effects. Taking a title from a William S. Burrough's book, “Blade Runner” would be born. In time, it would become regarded as one of the greatest science-fiction films ever made.

If you're reading this blog, you probably know the plot of “Blade Runner” already but I'll add a synopsis anyway. In 2019, Earth is a sprawling, polluted city and humanoid robots named replicants work on distant space colonies. Replicants only have lifespans of four years. This has led to a rebellion, led by a male replicant named Roy Batty, on one of the colonies. As the replicants return to Earth, a private detective that specializes in hunting down the machines – known as a Blade Runner – named Richard Deckard is employed to track Batty and his compatriots. As Deckard investigates, he develops a relationship with Rachael, the replicant daughter of Tyrell, the inventor of the machines. 

One cannot undersell the impact “Blade Runner” had on the world of science-fiction. The film begins with a stunning fly over the futuristic city setting, cutting away to a single starring eye. As flying cars float by and fire belches from rooftops, pyramid-like structures in the distance, one is immediately awed by this world. Yet this world is far from an inviting one. The cities are crowded, polluted. Filthy looking neon lights bath almost every street corner. The flying car spew white smoke and its seemingly always raining. The sheer amount of detail on-screen immediately gives us an idea of what this world is and what it is like. The enormous video billboards that line the skyscrapers have practically become a cliché of the “cyberpunk” subgenre. Yet “Blade Runner” looks just as impressive now as it did in 1982, largely thanks to the utterly stunning miniature effects and production design. 

The amazing sets and effects are not the only thing that so expertly creates an alternate world in “Blade Runner.” In one of the earliest scenes, a man speaks a strange language to Deckard. Slang terms like the titular phrase or “skin job” are tossed around liberally, without much in the way of explanation. We visit night clubs and businesses that don't look like anything from our world. The technology is advanced enough as to appear alien. It's obvious that “Blade Runner” is a fully thought-out fictional universe, with a culture all its own. We are stepping into a different world here and every decision on a creative level – whether that meant writing, special effects, or costumes and set – reflects that.

What makes “Blade Runner” even more of an impressive visual experience is how Ridley Scott shoots it. From the beginning, the mastery of light and cinematography that was displayed in “The Duellists” and “Alien” is also on display here. The shots of Deckard standing inside the Tyrell building, the sun setting behind him, are iconic. So is every moment of light passing through an empty building or a fan creating flashing brightness on a character's face. Scott also continues to fill every frame with as much information as possible. The cluttered, toy-filled apartment of J.F. Sebastian or the grimy street food carts, usually bathed in sickly blue-green light, gave such a wonderful impression of what this place is. The amount of personality in every minute of “Blade Runner” is truly commendable. 

The world-building in “Blade Runner” is outstanding. But what about the story? The film is, essentially, a film noir pastiche. Richard Deckard is deliberately in the mold of any hard-boiled private dick. Cases get passed his way by a hard-talking, ball-busting police chief. He spends most of the movie investigating leads, looking for clues in photographs or digging through apartments, in order to track down his targets. Ultimately, like every noir protagonist, he gets way in over his head. With his trench coat and distinctive firearm, he even looks like a cinematic detective. Pris the replicant is a classical femme fatale, disguising how dangerous she is by pretending to be helpless around easily smitten men. Rachael is the virginal, “pure” love interest that represents the other type of women most commonly seen in noir. The film's presentation of sci-fi tropes were groundbreaking and new in 1982 but its narrative intentionally hearkens back to older traditions. 

If the film's story trades in familiar ideas, bolder thematic concerns wrestle throughout the runtime. “Blade Runner” is a movie that asks the weighty question of what it means to be human. Throughout the film, it's repeatedly floated that the replicants Deckard are chasing are more human than he is. Deckard has hardened his heart against killing, callously expressing how easily he can get over the shock of pulling the trigger. Rachael and Batty, meanwhile, seem shaken to the core every time they encounter death. In the climatic scene, Batty spares his enemy's life, showing how empathetic these inhuman machines truly can be. Rachael and Leon, an earlier replicant, have their heads filled with implanted memories. Which brings into question how mutable our own memories are, how much of our minds are our own. Whether we are fully formed humans or, like the replicants, “created” by our experiences and the people around us.

Another contrast between the humanity of “Blade Runner's” hero and its villain are their approaches to romance. Roy Batty is always tender with Pris, the sex-bot that has become his lover. Deckard and Rachael, meanwhile, have a very strange romance. They are antagonistic towards each other at first. He, almost unintentionally, reveals to her that she's a robot, which shakes the girl to her core. Shortly afterwards they have an intensely uncomfortable seduction scene, where Deckard practically forces himself on her. Yet there is something strangely compelling about this romance. Rachael seems utterly enraptured by Deckard, completely overwhelmed by him. He, meanwhile, is enamored of her purity. Like in a hundred noirs, the girl is the only good thing left in a crazy world.

“Blade Runner” has greater pretensions than just grappling with what humanity exactly is. The film is peppered with religious and mythological allusions. Batty repeatedly compares himself to Lucifer, quoting “Paradise Lost.” Much like Satan, he is rebelling against what he considers to be an unjust God. Tyrell grants life to his creations, making them as conscious and aware as any person, yet only giving them four years to live a full life. When he confronts Tyrell, he's assured that he lived more in these four years than most humans do in a life time... Yet this does little to pay back Roy for the suffering he's endured, which is why he squeezes Tyrell's head until it bursts like a tick. The film goes even further near the end, when Batty drives a nail through his own hand, suggesting he's meant to be a perverse Christ of some sort too. 

If you want to dig even deeper into the supposed deep meaning of “Blade Runner,” you certainly can. Animals are used as interesting symbols throughout. Tyrell has a robotic owl in his office, a symbol of both wisdom and occult gods. The bird watches from on-high, observing but never interacting, much like how a cruel and unjust god would. A snake – bringing the Garden of Eden to mind – also puts in a prominent appearances. There are repeated references to cats and dogs now being rare species, suggesting how loveless this future world is. And then there are those origami swans and unicorns, which fans have pondered over for decades. To me, the unicorn represents Deckard's longing for an idealized, fantasy world  - running away to be happy with Rachael – that probably doesn't exist.

Yet we probably wouldn't be talking about “Blade Runner's” symbolism and philosophical themes if it didn't function as an exciting thriller too. Much like in Scott's previous two films, there's a frequent air of tense unease here. From the first scene, where a twitchy Brion James is interrogated before shooting a man through a wall, the feeling that horrible violence can happen at any minute is never far away. This is most apparent in the moments when Deckard is caught off-guard by replicants, each time getting closer to being punched, slammed, or squeezed to death. Deckard's vulnerability, as a mere human, is made all the more apparent in the climatic fight with an increasingly unhinged Batty. Scott shoots this scuffle similar to the tense chases in “Alien,” where a howling and implacable Batty is pursuing a panicking Deckard through a foggy and wet abandoned building. Much like the chestburster scene, violence also hits here with a horrible strength. Bodies twist and burst with blood, twitching wildly as life slips away. 

I've been pretty positive about “Blade Runner” so far and, yeah, I think this is a great movie... But I've never been sure how to feel about Richard Deckard. He's played by Harrison Ford at the peak of his eighties sex appeal, so obviously we're inclined to think he's cool and appealing. Yet his behavior doesn't actually follow that. I suppose he's a pretty good detective but, unlike super slick tough guy Han Solo or the inventive and determined Indiana Jones, Deckard spends the entire movie getting his ass kicked. He has a bad habit of running into a situation, assuming he can handle it, before realizing he's completely out of his element. When combined with his roughness towards Rachael and his cold acceptation of his job's brutality, I believe Deckard is actually meant to be a subversion of the traditional hero roles Ford had played up to that point. 

Further supporting this theory is that Roy Batty is a much more sympathetic character than Deckard. Ford is playing an asshole slowly stumbling towards redemption. Batty has been denied a real life and desperately wants it. Naturally, the legendary “tears in rain” sequence cements that a deep thinker and complex person is lost when Batty's battery runs out and he accepts his fate. No matter how sympathetic the replicant may be, Rutger Hauer makes him an intimidating villain too. The naturally steely intensity behind Hauer's blue eyes suggest someone always willing to go to extremes to achieve his goals. Throughout the film, Batty seems like a tightly wound trap, ready to go off at any point. That point is the end, where a shirtless and bleeding Hauer becomes fully unhinged while chasing Ford and tearing through walls with ease. 

The film also contains an iconic and eclectic supporting cast. It was Daryl Hannah's first film role, as Pris, and an early role for Edward James Olmos. As Pris, Hannah is enchanting when need be but grows increasingly alien-like as she reveals how deadly she can be. By the time she has Siouxsie Sioux style war paint on, she's become a snarling killer, as graceful and deadly as a panther. Olmos, meanwhile, grumbles through strange dialogue as the film's most mysterious character. Sean Young has a certain degree of attitude in Rachael's earliest scenes but seems more vulnerable and wounded for the reminder of the film. Joe Turkel brings a precise eccentricity to Tyrell, seeming all-knowing but remote. William Sanderson, meanwhile, is deeply child-like as Sebastian, a genius inventor with a lonely streak. Even the smaller roles are inhabited by familiar faces like M. Emmet Walsh, perfectly cast as the asshole police chief, and James Hong, as a panicked eyeball specialist. 

If “Blade Runner's” special effects paved the way for countless video games and anime, then its score defined the sound of eighties sci-fi. Vangelis' pulsating electronic score recalls the past and predicts the future. In keeping with the film's noir roots, the music often evokes a variation on the boozy saxophone music, or simple piano-driven romantic themes, we associate with the genre. Yet it's the throbbing electronic tones that most people remember. They are expertly paired with the film's sci-fi vistas, the movie summoning a sense of awe. The score is also more divergent than that, incorporate world music sounds during visits to Chinatown or the exotic dancer's club. That the music is still widely imitated to this day goes to show how immediately iconic it became. 

When discussing “Blade Runner,” one also has to discuss which version of “Blade Runner” you're talking about. There's no less than seven different cuts of the film in existence. For this review I watched the 1982 U.S. theatrical cut, the 1992 director's cut, and the 2007 “Final Cut.” The theatrical cut is widely loathed, due to Harrison Ford's monotone voiceover, but I don't actually dislike it. The narration is another nod to the private detective genre and the voiceover helps clear up the film's sometimes vague plot. The differences between the Director's Cut and Final Cut are less obvious. Both contain the notorious unicorn dream, which launch speculation that Deckard is a replicant himself, but the Final Cut has remastered color and visuals as well as the more explicit violence from yet another cut of the movie.

Even if the narration is sometimes cumbersome, any version of the film is about equal. (The Director's Cut is probably my fave, for what that's worth.) I actually don't love “Blade Runner” the way many people, who claim it as one of their all-time favorite films, do. I've always found the plot a little hard to get invested in and, as I said, Deckard a tricky protagonist. Yet I can't deny what an incredible accomplishment it it is from a technical perspective. Even after being imitated countless times, it's still an impressive achievement. Weaving deeper themes throughout makes it an endlessly rewatchable movie too, which can be discuss over and over again. It is a groundbreaking classic of the science fiction genre for good reason. [Grade: A-]

Director Report Card: Ridley Scott (1979)

2. Alien

”Alien” is a movie that looms very large in my brain. It was one of the earliest R-rated movies I can remember seeing and perhaps the first “grown-up” horror movies I ever saw. When I was a kid in the early nineties, thanks to the various toys and video games, I certainly knew what the titular alien looked liked. I was terrified of it. Somehow, through pop culture osmosis, I became aware of the concepts of the chestburster and the facehugger. After watching the movie, I was smitten. For years, it was one of my favorite movies. As a budding fan of both horror and science fiction, “Alien” was one of the first genuine masterpieces of the genre my young brain was exposed to. “Alien” is still a landmark film.

The Nostromo, a mining rig ship, floats through the barren stretches of space. On the way back to Earth from their latest job, it’s crew of seven is suddenly awoken from cryo-sleep. They have received a distress signal. The ship, acting automatically, has re-routed them towards an unknown planet in response. Upon landing, the crew discovers a bizarre alien ship, full of strange fossils and living eggs. One such egg impregnates a crew member, sneaking an unearthly organism onto the Nostromo. Bursting from his chest, the monster grows in size and begins to exterminate everyone it encounters.

“Alien” wears its influences on its sleeve. Screenwriter Dan O’Bannon previously wrote John Carpenter’s absurdist stoner space saga “Dark Star.” O’Bannon essentially recycled “Dark Star’s” premise, of space truckers and the alien running loose on its ship, as a serious film. This was not the only idea O’Bannon willingly recycled. An earlier idea, about a gremlin terrorizing a World War II airplane, was worked into “Alien.” The film likely never would have been made if O’Bannon hadn’t worked on Alejandro Jodorowsky’s doomed “Dune” adaptation. Meanwhile, the movie obviously recalls many sci-fi B-movies of the past. “It! The Terror from Beyond Space” was an earlier film about an alien stowaway killing the crew of a space ship. The scene were the characters discover the giant skeleton of a strange creature inside a derelict ship was likely taken from Mario Bava’s “Planet of the Vampires,” though both Scott and O’Bannon deny having seen the film. “Alien” is even simpler then all of that. The movie is essentially an old dark house movie in space. “Alien” recombines these familiar ideas and troupes into a fascinating new whole, remixing past art to create something new.

The core concept of “Dark Star” is maintained: Truckers in space. The cast of “Alien” are not the high-ranking scientists and astronauts of NASA’s space program. Neither are they the peace-seeking military explorers of “Star Trek,” in their clean, crisp suits. The crew of the Nostromo are blue-collar workers. They argue about wages and raises. They bitch about the lousy quality of the food and the conditions on the ship. They wear smudged and smeared jumpsuits. The world of “Alien” is awash in future technology, such as interstellar travel, cryo-sleep, and advanced robotics. Yet some things never change, such as people not being paid enough to do hard, monotonous jobs. This decision creates a cast of everymen, natural characters that anyone can relate to.

The characters are normal, down-to-Earth people and they inhabit a common, dirty world. The clean lines and shining surfaces of “Star Wars” and other sci-fi flicks are nowhere to be seen. The future technology of “Alien” leaks, rusts, gets dirty and greasy, and breaks down. The sets, miniature effects, and production design remain impressive. The film successfully creates a lived-in, plausible world. Its space ships, meanwhile, seem like possible technology. Everything moves slowly with a lot of noise, steam, and difficulty. The labyrinthine corridors of the Nostromo are full of pipes, tubes, and metal cylinders. The bulky, green-on-black computers monitors don’t seem realistic anymore. Yet somehow that works too. “Alien” is the kind of film where the future is as broken down and corroded as the present. The unwieldy computers seem to support this idea.

“Alien” is a science fiction film, obviously. Despite this, Ridley Scott realized the story he was telling was primarily one of horror. From the beginning, “Alien” establishes a stark, unsettling atmosphere. As the opening credits appear, the title forming out of hash marks denoting the alien’s latest kills, the camera pans through the vast, coldness of space. This is not a place for humanity. The camera silently moves through the ship, outdated machines clicking away without man’s touch. The ship is silent and, save for Jerry Goldsmith’s foreboding score, so is the film. “Alien” is deliberately paced, slowly establishing its world, an uneasy feeling forming the entire time. Scott’s camera remains tight on his actors’ faces, emphasizing their cramped environment. Despite the Nostromo being huge, when the alien is unleashed, there’s nowhere to run. The quietly off-putting tone creates a nightmarish world where anything can happen, preparing the audience for the more explicit horror to come.

The environment of “Alien” also helps create that tense feeling. The title is appropriate, as “Alien” creates a truly unearthly feeling world. When the crew lands on the planetoid, its surface is black and steeped in thick mist. An ominous wind constantly blows. The derelict ship looms in the distance, a strange, curling shape. The Nostromo and its shuttles are rough but still clearly human. The derelict ship is black as coal inside. The gaping entrances are vaginal. It’s surface looks less like natural technology and more like dead, festering flesh. The egg chamber is seemingly protected by a laser light and a layer of fog. This is the nightmare world of H.R. Giger, the Swiss surrealist whose haunting, sexual, bio-technological artwork informs “Alien’s” horrific setting. The ship’s contents are also fascinating. No wonder “Alien” would spawn an extensive expanded universe. The space jockey, an immediately iconic image, would spurn debate for years. Where did it come from? What was it doing? Why was there a hatch full of xenomorph eggs inside the ship? We have answers to these questions now. Yet “Alien” remains more intriguing as a mysterious, disturbing world where things do not follow man’s petty rules.

The chief component of that mystery is the alien itself. Scott, O’Bannon, and everyone else working on the film understood that the central threat had to be believable for “Alien” to be successful. It couldn’t be a guy in a cheesy rubber suit. Inspired by Giger’s “Necronom IV” painting, the alien is perhaps the greatest creature design ever made for a film. Despite a superficially human shape, it remains unearthly. There are no visible eyes, no way for a viewer to project emotion onto it. Its body is both skeletal and mechanical. It has a rib-cage like exoskeleton, with tubes and ridges running under the surface. Something like industrial smokestacks emerge from the back. The head is deliberately phallic, adding a very sexual, visceral layer to this horrifying design. The juxtaposition makes it even more disturbing. As unnerving as Giger’s work is, there’s an interior logic to it. The xenomorph is hideous but it also makes sense. Without resembling anything else on Earth, it still seems like a plausible life form.

Conceptually, the monster is even more interesting. The alien’s life-cycle fascinated me as a child. This was not a monster that started as one thing and stayed that way. The pod-like eggs beget the facehugger, a creature between a spider and a giant hand with long, slender fingers. The alien has a powerful acid as a blood, making it difficult to kill by any traditional means. The alien is constantly dripping with slime and drool, always being ready for the kill. And then comes the most disturbing weapon of all, a secondary mouth inside the regular mouth. Also phallic in shape, the opening also makes it vaginal, topped with snapping, silver teeth. Fans have taken to calling it the xenomorph, an obscure term used once in the sequel, because its easier to say than “the alien from “Alien.’” It’s an appropriate term, meaning an “alien shape.” As unearthly as the monster looks, as as frightening as its behavior is, that’s a fitting name.

The incredible design and the brilliant concept makes the alien impressive. What makes it frightening is further beneath the surface. The blatant sexual imagery in its design points towards this. “Alien” is a movie about the forceful invasion of the body and the horrible damage that reaps. In other words: Rape. The facehugger forces its tube down the victim’s throat. The explosive chestburster is a perverse variation on the concept of birth. A man’s body tears apart and a naked, screaming child comes forth. The chestburster is even more phallic in design than the mature xenomorph. It is a essentially a bloody, toothy, screaming penis. And all of this is forced onto a man, a brilliant idea by O’Bannon that avoids the usual horror trope of the victimized woman. The monster gestating inside us plays on fears of parasites. The adult alien is far more intelligent than it appears, navigating the ship’s vents and easily outsmarting its pray. It’s easy to simplify “Alien” as a movie about dick-headed rape demons from space. Yet it’s about other things like disease, our discomfort with our own bodies, fear of the unknown, and the blackness of space being synonymous with the blackness of death.

The same skill that created the alien and its home planet was put to use making “Alien” a truly effective horror film. That foreboding tone of discomfort is first disturbed when the facehugger explodes from the egg, in a flash of twirling appendages and high-pitched shrieking. The chestburster scene was a horror movie moment unseen before 1979. It’s a boldly original concept that is utterly disturbing, visceral, and shocking in execution. The quick-cutting between Kane’s shaking body and the bloody shape pushing its way out still unnerves me. Afterwards, “Alien” resembles a slasher film in structure. The creature picks its victims off, one by one. However, the strangeness of the design is utilized well. As Brett is attacked, all we see is a tail, limbs, jaws and teeth, always dripping with drool and slime. The panicked editing emphasizes the suddenness of the scene. Yet Dallas’ encounter with the beast in the vents may be even scarier. The audience knows the monster is closing in and Dallas is helpless to escape it, awkwardly fumbling through a place unsuited for him. The sudden shrieking appearance is the perfect cap to the tense moment.

In its later half, “Alien” builds on this frenzied fear. The xenomorph emerges suddenly to confront Parker and Lambert. The monster's hands and body tremble in strange ways that do not make sense to us. It’s glistening secondary jaw, violently penetrating its victims like a razor-toothed piston, is viscerally unnerving. Lambert’s death is kept off-screen. We see the pointed tail curl around her leg, further suggesting sexual assault. From Ripley’s radio, we hear her agonized death cries. Now, Ripley is alone on the ship, leading to an intense scrabble for escape. Why does the Nostromo fill with smoke and fire as it's detonating? Because Ripley might as well be navigating her own panicked mind. Even after escaping the ship, Ripley is not safe. “Alien” does not exist in a safe universe. The monster sudden appearance on the shuttle, its hand jutting from the piping of the ship, remains a viable jump scare. The finale, the show-down between the vulnerable Ripley and the stalking beast, remains one of the most intense finales in horror history.

“Alien” is an ensemble film. The cast is easy to keep track of. It’s seven people on a cramped spaceship, the cast feeling even more exposed and vulnerable because of that environment. Like any variation on “And Then There Was None,” “Alien” keeps its audiences guessing over who will be next. Dallas seems like the expected hero. Tom Skerritt is a reasonable authority figure. His scruffy beard and quiet, commanding presence makes him seem like somebody’s dad. Skerritt is even top-billed. He doesn’t survive. Parker seems like the most likely next hero. He is played by a bawdy, physical Yaphat Kotto. Kotto is all forehead sweat and macho anger, creating a believable tough guy character. He doesn’t survive either. Instead, it’s Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley that becomes the unlikely hero. Ripley is cool-headed and strong-willed, never letting her panic take over her mind. If she had gotten her way, and the alien had been left on the planetoid, none of this would have happened. Weaver’s determination powers the character, creating a strong, focused heroine that would soon become an iconic figure.

The supporting cast is similarly filled out with fantastic character actors. Ash is played by Ian Holm, a stately figure of British genteelness. As a science officer, Ash is logical and calm. Which makes his eventual reveal as a homicidal robot all the more shocking, Holm’s casting becoming another subversion of the audience’s expectations. Veronica Cartwright, already a veteran of the horror genre by this point, is Ripley’s polar opposite as Lambert. The character is sprayed with blood when the chest-burster punches through. Cartwright’s unplanned panicked becomes the character’s defining characteristic. She spends the rest of the movie with wide eyes and gritted teeth, always weeping and blubbering. This, in a way, makes her the most realistic character. Kane and Brett, played by Harry Dean Stanton and John Hurt, exit the film relatively early. Brett plays into Stanton’s easy-going, slightly eccentric skills as an actor, creating a character who would’ve been the comic relief in a different movie. Kane, meanwhile, makes good use of Hurt’s working man charm.

The final sign that “Alien” does not exist in a hospitable world is the late film reveal that all of this was planned. The corporation wanted to capture the monster, bring it inside, and take it back to Earth. This reveal comes via Ash’s breakdown. In close-up, a milky substance runs down his face, a bizarre image presented without context. His murder attempt, choking Ripley with a rolled-up magazine, is even harder to understand. Finally, when his head comes off, the audience is left truly baffled and unnerved. He spits milk while intestine-like tubes dangle from his decapitated head. It’s the most unusual type of robot. What he says is further damning. Even in the future, big business shits on the common worker. The killer alien is just the most obvious sign of a nihilistic world-view. There’s life out there, all right. And it’s going to get us. Assuming we don’t get ourselves first.

“Alien” remains a landmark film, as effective now as when first released. Extensive merchandising and multiple sequels have diminished the purely unnerving power of the main creature’s design. Scott’s direction and composition is without fail, creating an atmosphere of mounting dread. The cast is subdued and subtle, creating a performances full of tiny nuances. Jerry Goldsmith’s dread-filled score and the fantastic special effects cements the deal. And the film’s rich undercurrents makes it a classic. Many films would emulate it but few have matched the genius of “Alien.” [Grade: A]