Big things have small beginnings. - David
Except it doesn't even come close to those
ambitions.
At the risk of hyperbolizing, I will first admit that this
was one of my most anticipated films of the year. And as the story first
unfolded, I was not disappointed. An eerie prologue featuring a
distant-past Earth gave way to our first introduction of the deep-space exploration
vessel, Prometheus. Armed with the juicy notion of religious faith vs.
scientific fact, the belief that we are not alone in the universe, and an eager
crew of diverse characters, the Prometheus journeys through space with a ferocity
that just drips with cinematic potential. Its entry into the mysterious planet's
atmosphere - how shockingly small and insignificant Prometheus seems compared
to the enormity of the planet and by extension, our universe! - is the stuff of
great science fiction, of big, ballsy, brawny, brainy stuff. It's the kind
of storytelling that should go down in history as a genre-changing entry in the
pantheon of great science fiction stories. But sadly, Prometheus lost its footing after this and never recovered.
The characters onboard the Prometheus are little more than cardboard
cutouts of expected archetypes you've seen a million times before. Need a cocky
guy with an overdeveloped trigger finger? He's there. A clumsy nerd with thick-rimmed
glasses? He's also there. How about a greedy representative of the organization
funding the exploration? Check. The comic relief guy? Check. The brave
boyfriend searching for truth? Check. And the die-hard woman with the iron will
to survive at any cost? Yes, she's onboard too.
Indeed, this female protagonist, Elizabeth Shaw, doesn't
easily suffer fools. She's tough, smart, and logical. And it's around Shaw that
the bulk of the story's emotions revolve - why would God create us only to
abandon us? Does he even exist in light of such scientific exploration? Can
faith directly contradict logic? And if so, how does one choose what to
believe? But as Shaw's faith is coarsely alluded to earlier in the film, it's
just as quickly forgotten as the action ramps up. Just when her faith in God is
slammed up against scientific doubt or even possibly scientific confirmation, her entire
character's essence is air-locked, quarantined, and ejected out the door faster
than a rogue alien baby.
But what's even more infuriating than the wooden
characterization is the logic - or lack thereof - that attempts to hold this
measly story together. This isn't just a case of an ambiguous narrative - this is a complete failure of logic and collapse
of coherent storytelling on the grandest scale. Shaw discovers astrological signs
in ancient caves; so she automatically assumes it's an invitation for humankind
to visit their creators. The crew discovers strange capsules oozing black ink;
so they naturally stick their faces closer and closer in spite of seemingly
carrying every gadget imaginable. The crew attempts to confront the creators to
answer their most burning questions about their origins; so they casually
stroll into a mysterious lair unarmed? The threat is unleashed upon the crew in
the final act; and from the millions of planets, stars, and galaxies, Earth is
inevitably its prime target? Why?
Indeed, it seems that the biggest failure in Prometheus lies in its intentions - not the
intentions of its characters, but the true intention behind this film. Prometheus isn't exactly what's wrong with the film industry today. But it comes
very, very close. It's not necessarily the lack of originality behind this
story or even the true purpose of revisiting this universe decades after the
original - although everything that makes money these days seems to be a direct
reboot, sequel, or prequel of an existing franchise. It's really about the lack
of audacity, the caging of ambition, and the neutering of provocative and dare
I say it, human, stories in our current times.
Even if Prometheus had
no connection to Alien, it still
strangely feels like a cheap Alien knock-off,
like a story we've already seen and a journey to which we already know the
ending. There's the mysterious alien craft! There's the team of explorers sent to
investigate! There's the infected one! And there's the infected one who gets
aboard the ship! And of course, there's the obligatory coda at the end to set
up the inevitable sequel...
This film is as much an exercise in redundancy as it is a display of futility. Director Ridley Scott, who helmed the
original Alien in 1979, recently
talked about why he wanted to revisit this universe, stating,
Who was the big guy in the chair, who was fondly after Alien called 'The Space Jockey.' I don’t know how the hell he got that name; there was this big boned creature who seemed to be nine feet tall sitting in this chair and I went in to Fox with four questions. Who are they? Why are they there? Why that cargo and where were they going or had they in fact had a forced landing?
Surely, this sounds intriguing enough. And I'm still waiting on the answers to those questions because they surely were not addressed in this film. But if you take a second's
pause, you'll find the real purpose behind this film: It's deceivingly simple,
safe, and worst of all, unimaginative. But it capitalizes on the brand
recognition of a loved franchise, riding the coattails of its predecessor's
success. Think about it: there's a whole new generation of fans who will fall
in love with this universe just as the audience 33 years ago fell in love with Alien. Making this film is the logical
business choice, not the adventurous creative choice. And business choices make
money.
This is a hollow film, devoid of any real drama or
inspiration and lacking all imagination and wit. It stirs but never excites; it
teases but never terrifies; and it emotes but never touches. If you are to
spend money on this film, I can only guarantee that when the lights come up, your
wallet will be the only thing emptier than what you just experienced in the past two
hours.
