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When Alien burst onto the screen in 1979, it was the kind of film that crawled under your skin and stayed there. A masterclass in psychological horror, it didn’t just scare the bejesus out of us—it haunted us. The Xenomorph wasn’t just a monster; it was pure, unrelenting terror, an evolutionary nightmare with acid for blood and a life cycle straight out of a Lovecraftian fever dream. And then there was the mystery—so many questions. Where did this perfect killing machine come from? Who was the Space Jockey, that eerie, fossilized giant slumped over in his derelict ship? What the hell had he been carrying, and why was he crash-landed on that barren, hostile rock?
Then came James Cameron, who took one look at Ridley Scott’s slow-burn horror masterpiece and said, Hold my beer. With Aliens (1986), he flipped the script, swapping dread for adrenaline. It was no longer about one crew being hunted in the shadows—it was war. Cameron turned Ellen Ripley from a survivor into an absolute badass, threw in a squad of space marines, and cranked the action up to eleven. It worked. Instead of diminishing the terror, it made the Xenomorphs even more frightening—because now there were hundreds of them, and they were organized.
Then… things got weird.
Alien 3 stumbled in like a confused drunk at a house party, unsure of what it was supposed to be. David Fincher (who, to be fair, was tormented by studio meddling) tried to recapture the original’s claustrophobic horror but ended up with a bleak, unsatisfying mess. Worse, it killed off Newt and Hicks in the first five minutes (WTF!)—a gut punch that felt more like a slap in the face to fans who had grown attached to them.
But the real tragedy?
The what could have been.
William Gibson, the cyberpunk god himself, had written an early script draft that would have taken the franchise in a wildly different direction—Cold War paranoia, genetic experimentation, Weyland-Yutani versus the UPP (basically Soviet space marines), and a new breed of Xenomorphs. But nah, Fox scrapped that and gave us… a single dog-alien on a prison planet.
By this point, the Alien series had lost its sense of direction. The magic of the first two films—the mystery, the fear, the sheer brilliance—had been watered down by confused storytelling and studio interference. (And no, I haven't forgotten about Alien Resurrection (1997)—I’m just choosing to pretend it never happened. That bizarre, campy mess deserves to be locked in a vault and yeeted into a black hole. A clone-Ripley with alien DNA? A Xenomorph with puppy dog eyes? No thanks. Some things are best left unacknowledged.).
And then, decades later, Ridley Scott returned. He promised to answer those burning questions we’d had since Alien. He promised us something epic, something profound.
Instead, we got Prometheus and Alien: Covenant—films that thought they were profound, but mostly just left us shaking our heads, wondering how some of the dumbest people in the universe got sent on space missions.
Let’s talk about the prequels.
Prometheus: A Beautiful, Dumb Mystery
Prometheus promised us a grand exploration of the origins of life and the Xenomorphs, wrapped in a sleek, high-concept sci-fi package. And visually? It delivered. The ship design was stunning, the interior dripping with that clean, industrial aesthetic that felt like a spiritual cousin to the Nostromo (well the crew quarters really), only way more advanced. The planetary storm sequence? Pure spectacle.
The Engineers?
Towering and mysterious—though, let’s be real, their proportions felt wonky, as if Ridley Scott couldn't quite decide whether they were gods or just really tall dudes in marble skin suits. Do yourself a favour—go rewatch the scene where the crew of the Nostromo first stumbles upon the Space Jockey. Take a good look at the proportions. That thing is massive, ancient, and downright eerie. Now ask yourself: does an Engineer really seem big enough to fit that chair? Yeah, I didn’t think so either.
Performance-wise, Noomi Rapace, Michael Fassbender, and Charlize Theron carried the film on their backs. Rapace brought intensity to her role as Elizabeth Shaw, a scientist driven by faith and curiosity, while Fassbender’s David was the perfect blend of unsettling and fascinating—an android more human than the humans around him. And Theron? Her cold, corporate badassery added a delicious layer of tension.
But for all the things "Prometheus" got right, its flaws loomed as large as the Engineer statues. The whole "our DNA comes from a space giant dissolving in a river" premise felt half-baked at best, eye-roll-inducing at worst. If the Engineers were supposed to be our creators, why was there zero effort to explain their motives? Why did they want to wipe out humanity? What was this planet even for? Instead of storytelling, we got vague hints and unanswered questions wrapped in pseudo-philosophical musings.
Then there was the crew—easily the dumbest collection of scientists and astronauts ever put on screen. Removing helmets in an alien environment? Playing "here, kitty kitty" with a clearly hostile alien snake thing? These people made the space truckers from Alien look like Nobel Prize winners. And the mutations—ugh. Fifield’s transformation into a rabid space zombie was laughably bad, and don’t even get me started on the grotesque, beige "proto-Alien" at the end. It looked like a half-melted action figure.
Oh, and that rolling Engineer ship? The fact that Vickers—who had been competent up until that moment—somehow forgot to run sideways and got pancaked was the cherry on top of this frustrating mess.
"Prometheus" was a film of incredible potential, weighed down by weak storytelling and infuriatingly dumb character decisions. It gave us glimpses of something greater but never had the courage to actually show us anything meaningful.
Visually breathtaking, thematically ambitious, but ultimately… a beautifully designed pile of nonsense.
Alien: Covenant: A Gore-Soaked, Half-Baked Hybrid
If Prometheus was Ridley Scott's attempt at deep, existential sci-fi, Alien: Covenant was his half-hearted apology to fans who just wanted some classic Xenomorph carnage. And to be fair, it sort of delivered. We got facehuggers, chestbursters, and plenty of gruesome deaths. But at what cost? The film felt like it was straddling two worlds—trying to bridge the philosophical musings of Prometheus with the horror elements of Alien—and it never really nailed either.
Let’s start with the good. Visually, Covenant was just as slick as its predecessor, with some beautifully haunting cinematography. The ship design was solid, the eerie desolation of the Engineer city was striking, and the alien-infested sequences had some intense, gory payoff. And, once again, Michael Fassbender absolutely crushed it—his dual role as the psychotic David and the more naive Walter was easily the most compelling part of the movie. The flute scene? Weird, but Fassbender made it work. "I'll do the fingering" may have been unintentionally hilarious, but it also cemented David as one of the most fascinatingly twisted characters in the franchise.
But then we get to the problems—and, oh boy, there are many.
The crew? Somehow even dumber than the ones in Prometheus. These were colonists tasked with establishing a new human home, yet they made every idiotic decision possible. Landing on an uncharted planet without hazmat suits? Poking at alien life forms again? Splitting up the team when they know there’s a hostile presence? It was like watching a slasher movie where the victims are actively trying to get themselves killed.
The Xenomorphs? They felt… off. The Neomorphs were creepy, but they never really lived up to the terror of the original creatures. And when we finally got to a full-fledged Xenomorph, the CGI just didn't have the same weight or presence as the practical effects from Alien and Aliens. Instead of lurking in the shadows, dripping menace, the creature just kind of… sprinted around like a hyperactive dog.
And then there was that twist. We all saw it coming a mile away—David taking Walter’s place—yet the movie played it like some grand revelation. The final scene, with Daniels realizing the truth as David smugly locked her into cryosleep, had so much potential to be chilling. But it was frustrating because it was just another rehash of the same “crew doomed by their own stupidity” trope we’d already seen before.
Alien: Covenant had all the ingredients of a great sci-fi horror film, but it never fully committed to either its horror roots or its philosophical ambitions. It wanted to be both a blood-soaked monster movie and a deep meditation on creation and destruction, but instead, it ended up being a half-baked mash-up that pleased neither camp.
It was more entertaining than Prometheus, sure, but it was also proof that Ridley Scott had no clear idea where he was taking this franchise.
But don't take my word for it, here's a detailed analysis of the franchise's decline by the Hollywood Lore.
Cautiously Optimistic About Alien: Romulus
So, after the Prometheus-Covenant debacle, should we dare to hope again? Enter Alien: Romulus, Ridley Scott’s latest attempt at resurrecting the franchise—though this time, he’s stepping back into a producer role, with Fede Álvarez (Evil Dead, Don’t Breathe) taking the director’s chair. The film is set between Alien and Aliens, with a new cast, a new setting, and—hopefully—a return to the franchise’s roots.
Now, full disclosure: I haven’t seen it yet.
But from what I’ve gathered, early reviews suggest that Álvarez might actually get it. Critics have praised the film for leaning into the claustrophobic horror that made the original Alien so iconic. The visuals are supposedly striking, the tension palpable, and Cailee Spaeny’s performance as the lead, Rain, has been getting solid buzz. If Álvarez managed to capture that creeping dread of the original—without bogging it down in over-explained mythology—then we might just have a winner.
That said, not all reviews are glowing. Some critics feel the film leans too hard on nostalgia, offering little that’s truly new to the franchise. Others have called out a controversial digital recreation of Ian Holm’s Ash, arguing that it adds more distraction than depth. And there’s always the risk that Romulus ends up feeling like a well-shot rehash rather than a true evolution of the saga.
So, am I hopeful?
Cautiously, yes.
It sounds like Alien: Romulus might finally be the course correction we’ve been waiting for.
But I won’t know for sure until I see it myself.
And when I do, you can bet I’ll be back with my thoughts.
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