Alien: A New Breed of Horror

When 2001: A Space Odyssey was released in 1968, it was hailed as a tremendous step forward for both the genre of science fiction and cinematic technology as a whole. It was a hugely ambitious film, whose delicate mixture of wonder and terror reflected the feelings of the American audience towards the Space Race, and the tantalizing scientific possibilities associated with it. While Kubrick’s sci-fi opus remains one of cinema’s most influential films, the genre itself would evolve past the idealistic outlooks of the 1960s to reflect the socio-political attitudes of a changing audience. Ridley Scott’s Alien was emblematic of this tonal shift, sharing the terror of 2001’s deep space journey, while grounding the setting in an aesthetic that the seventies audience would appreciate. This setting evoked the blue collar, rust belt industrial settings that were common to both America and Ridley Scott’s home country of England during the economically depressed seventies. Yet, just like 2001: A Space Odyssey before it, Alien has remained influential for decades after the trends, both socio-political and aesthetic, that created it.

Alien is an incredible film in many ways, but its strongest quality is how well it manages to build atmosphere. The first third of Alien is deliberate and carefully constructed, as we are introduced to a cast of mostly ordinary, working class miners, tasked with recovering a mysterious distress signal on a dangerous and uninhabitable planet. In its first act the film takes its time to establish its setting and characters. These ordinary domestic scenes will stand in stark contrast to the gory horror that dominates the film’s other two acts. The thoughtful first act also gives the audience the chance to appreciate the film’s expansive and creatively realized effects and sets, from the iconic opening shot of the spaceship Nostromo, to the eerie sequence where the crew lands on the surface of the mysterious planet and approaches the surreal, abandoned alien ship. While the pace of these scenes is pretty slow, they’re remarkably effective at building tension for the arrival of the titular Alien.

When the Alien finally reveals itself, Alien transforms from a clinical science fiction film into the horror movie it’s popularly remembered as. From establishing mood and setting, the film switches gears to one tense set piece after another, as the crew engages in a desperate and one-sided battle with the monster. The domestic setting of the Nostromo turns into a terrifying maze, where the darkness and smoke of the ship’s industrial design provide ample camouflage for the monster. The late HR Giger’s design for the Alien has become iconic in its own right, a truly unique vision of terror that’s become the defining piece of visual iconography from the franchise. The film’s quality isn’t only due to production design however; Scott’s direction subtly increases in intensity with the pace of the film, leading to one of the most exhilarating climaxes in cinematic history.Alien isn’t only memorable for its visual spectacle, however. While the cast of characters aren’t the deepest in the genre’s history, the personal journey of the protagonist Officer Ripley (played with a cool resolve by Sigourney Weaver) is still highly engaging. Like the rest of the crew, she has been wrapped up in a corporate conspiracy whose implications stretch beyond the scope of the immediate plot. The film’s twist, in which the entire crew is revealed as a disposable sacrifice so that their corporate bosses can capture the alien, is a strong allegory for a beleaguered seventies working class put under increasing pressure from ever-growing corporations. Thus, Ridley’s final confrontation with the Alien is not only a cathartic battle for her own survival, but also a moment where she overcomes the corporate conspiracy that had caused the disaster to begin with. Alien is proof that an economical narrative can still convey several layers of meaning, and it’s these underlying themes that have made Alien one of the most influential horror and science fiction movies of all time.

M: The Blueprint For a New Generation of Cinema

In the history of film, advancements in technology have caused many paradigm shifts. From the introduction of color to more contemporary developments like digital filmmaking and computer generated images, new technologies have fundamentally changed the medium. The one technological achievement that altered the filmmaking landscape most radically was the introduction of sound. With sound, filmmakers could manipulate the rhythm and pacing of scenes in new ways, and use soundscapes to enhance the atmosphere of their films. One of the most pivotal films in the early application of sound is Fritz Lang’s M. An early serial killer story, M was an innovative film that would go on to be an invaluable influence on the modern crime and thriller genres. From its radically influential sound editing to the exceedingly memorable noir visuals, M stands out as not only a forward thinking film, but an all-time classic in its own right.

M’s premise is morbid. A child serial killer is on the loose in interwar Berlin, and the disappearance of yet another victim sends the city into a frenzy to track down the murderer. What makes M’s narrative stand out from other films of its time is how comprehensively it shows the impact of the child’s disappearance on the city. On the surface level you have the police response and the civilian response. The police crack down on the city, connecting clues to identify the killer and limit his ability to keep killing. The civilian response on the other hand turns into a witch hunt, with angry mobs of citizens storming the streets demanding to know the killer’s whereabouts. This is contrasted with the seedy criminal underworld, whose illicit activities are thrown into shambles by the police crackdown. Unable to do business as usual, Berlin’s crime bosses convene to also track down the killer. From each of these perspectives you get another window into Berlin society in the early 30’s; from the overburdened police force, to the paranoid and marginalized lower classes, to the powerful and shadowy forces of organized crime lurking just beneath the surface.

These contrasts feed back into the film’s aesthetics and style. M is heavily predictive of the noir genre, with its visual style proving very influential on the classic black and white noirs of the 40’s. The film delicately balances darkness and brightness, reflecting the themes of good versus evil and justice versus injustice that underlie its story. For example, most of the scenes on the streets of Berlin themselves are brightly lit, but scenes depicting the lurid underground of Berlin are much darker. The audience is meant to see the former as familiar and inviting, while the latter are more alien and sinister. Another great example is the famous scene where mobs of civilians roam the streets searching for the killer. The scene takes place at night time and is dimly lit except for the barrage of torches, reflecting the burning desire of Berlin’s common people to end the serial killer’s reign of terror. While these are well trodden visual motifs, M was one of the first films to use them so effectively and memorably.

These dynamics are also reflected in the film’s sound design. One of the film’s most potent leitmotifs is the killer’s whistled interpretation of “In the Hall of the Mountain King” by Edvard Grieg. The film bends the audience’s association with whistling (a completely innocent act) with the knowledge that the motif accompanies the killer’s presence, thus reinforcing the theme of evil lurking just below the surface of normality. As with Lang’s other films during this time period (notably Metropolis) these weighty and often disturbing themes of the battle between good and evil, and how evil festers just beneath the surface of society’s normalcy was reflective of Germany’s political atmosphere at the time. With the economic deflation that occurred due to the devastating effects of World War 1 and the stock market crash, the interwar period for Germany was a time of increasing radicalism and hatred cast against the nation’s first attempt at democracy. The artists of the Weimar Republic were keenly aware of this, and the cinematic movement known today as German Expressionism was a reflection of this socio-political atmosphere. However, M’s enduring legacy and influence on films as contemporary as David Fincher’s Se7en and Zodiac shows that these anxieties were not specific to a singular time and place, but to the modern world as a whole.

Moonlight Review: The Profound Passage of Time

The search for self-fulfillment and identity can last a lifetime. The traumas and unrealized desires that punctuate our adolescence continue to influence our lives as adults. Though the passage of time gives us further perspective, these underlying feelings remain, and we yearn for a moment of catharsis. In film, the passage of time is one of the most powerful tools in storytelling. Film editing can condense years of a character’s life into mere moments, with the parts of the story that are not shown implying just as much about the character’s development as what we see. Barry Jenkins’ Oscar winning drama Moonlight is a brilliant example of how a director uses the passage of time to highlight a character’s struggle with the same fundamental issues at different stages of their life. While it has a conventional three act structure, Moonlight’s unconventional time skips draw effective parallels between moments scattered over nearly two decades of a character’s development.

Moonlight’s story centers on the life of a young, gay African American named Chiron. The film is divided into three parts ‘Little’, ‘Chiron’ and ‘Black’, referring to Chiron’s monikers throughout the film. The film deals with a variety of bleak themes which inform his character; Chiron is a closeted homosexual with an absentee father and a mother who has fallen to drug addiction. He is bullied constantly, and finds little support at home. For the first two acts of the film, Chiron’s struggle with his burgeoning sexuality and broken family are depicted with incredible sensitivity and honesty. The film never shies away from the ugliness and traumatizing experiences of Chiron’s life, but never verges into crass exploitation either. Moonlight is a film that comes from a place of tremendous empathy, and its moments of release (such as the climactic second act scene where Chiron breaks a chair over a bully’s head) play into the character’s arc in profound ways.

The film’s third act encompasses the most jarring time skip, but the change of tone and style is reflective of the character’s growth (and in certain senses, regression). The seed for Chiron’s transformation into a drug dealer is planted in the film’s first act, when a drug dealer named Juan takes him under his wing, becoming a surrogate father figure of sorts. When Juan dies in the interim between acts 1 and 2, we see Chiron’s gradual gravitation towards violence. By the time he is fully grown, we understand Chiron’s tough new personality as a response to the bullying and humiliation he endured as a child, especially over his sexuality. Violence has become a defense mechanism. The third act then proceeds to peel away the layers of that defense, with Chiron first confronting his mother and then reuniting with his high school crush, Kevin. Kevin was the first to accept Chiron’s homosexuality, but the collapse of their friendship paralleled Chiron’s descent into drug dealing. The film ends with Chiron, thanks to Kevin’s emotional intimacy, finally accepting his identity and sexuality.

While the film’s story is emotionally weighty and thematically extremely relevant, the filmmaking also shines. Moonlight’s images are as beautiful as its story, with the Miami atmosphere straying away from vice city cliches for a more ethereal, wistful aesthetic. The film’s use of bi-lighting (contrasting blue and red colors) is relevant to the narrative as well, visually depicting Chiron’s struggle between his internal desires and the external pressures of his environment. The camerawork is excellent, too: the film’s opening sequence in particular is a seamless one take that introduces the setting, themes and tone of the film with grace. Moonlight is a film that radiates beauty, even in the ugliest aspects of the American experience. That alone makes it worthy of its vaunted reputation amongst film critics and audiences.