Aliens (1986): a Review

The moment we the audience meet the rescue team it becomes clear that this is going to be a very different film from Scott’s effort. Where the crew of the Nostromo had been a group of unassuming civilians, the crew of the sequel are a bunch of gung-ho marines armed to the teeth and ready to kick some alien ass. Or so they think.

When the team arrives on LV-426, we’re treated to several establishing shots that illustrate how much of the set has been redesigned. The environment we remember from the first film is still there: dull, cold light; jagged crags jutting out at awkward angles; wind-driven fog and rain. But in this film, set 57 years later amidst nascent human colonisation, the planet is now home to huge “atmospheric converters” and futuristic infrastructure. The design of the crashed alien ship, too, has had a makeover: Its walls now have a more detailed surface texture which, when combined with the gloomy light, is perfect for camouflaging the similarly textured aliens when they ambush the hapless marines in a truly unsettling scene.

And an ambush feels like something that can happen at any time in this film. The pervasive use of fog and muted, artificial light not only creates a sombre tone, but also means that both we and the characters only get to see the aliens once they’re too close to run away from. This creates a feeling of peril that never abates, and which allows a few nasty surprises to come our way.

The grim set design and lighting is complemented perfectly by the camerawork: Occasional establishing shots are used to reinforce the idea that we are far away from Earth, but for the most part the cameras keep close to the characters, evoking both uncomfortable empathy and nauseating claustrophobia. Long single takes during the more subdued scenes switch to frantic cross-cutting during the action scenes. And tracking shots are also used deftly, particularly at the end, when Ripley finds out what’s been laying the alien eggs.

Cameron knows that the most frightening monsters are those we don’t really understand, and so he never reveals much of the aliens, tending to obscure them in silhouette or allow only fleeting glimpses with wildly veering cameras.

Sound too is used masterfully in this film: the howling wind masks alien footsteps and chills in its own right; the motion trackers throb like heartbeats, rising in pitch and speed as the aliens near; and non-diegetic sound is subtly used to exacerbate the dread, especially when Ripley and Newt are trapped in a lab room with a pair of face-huggers.

James Horner’s score supplements the sound-work throughout the film excellently, ranging from discordant, minimalistic string-plucks during the more creepy scenes; through bittersweet violins for the emotional exchanges between Ripley and Newt; to full-blown militaristic drum-marches as the marines prepare to attack.

Sci-fi horrors are not usually noted for their acting, but Aliens, like its predecessor, is an exception. Every cast member delivers: Carrie Henn makes chary, naive Newt completely believable; Lance Henriksen convinces us he is an android without being wooden (or plastic); Paul Reiser deftly earns our hatred as the slimy Burke; and the marines, with their superb delivery of flashy one-liners and beefed-up attitude, provide a nice foil to the general pessimism that pervades the film. But it is Weaver who steals the show, playing a Ripley hardened by the events of the first film, expertly treading the line between martial and maternal. And, believe it or not, maternity is what this film’s about. Ripley, having awoken from cryogenic sleep to be told that her daughter has died of old age, finds in Newt a satiation of her motherly instincts, and the relationship between mournful mother and surrogate child forms the emotional core at the heart of the story.

The aliens have a mummy too, which, though hardly the most touching relationship in the film, spectacularly shows us exactly how much fury hath a mother scorned, and which provides the film with its heart-pounding climax.

Motherhood isn’t the only theme here: planet LV-426 itself is a labyrinth, filled with twists and turns and dark recesses, murky and frightening like the subconscious. And the aliens themselves can be seen as Freudian symbols: face-huggers that inseminate people and xenomorphs with phallic heads that penetrate their victims with their secondary jaws.

But in the end, Aliens is about emotion and not allegory, and if it leaves us with any thoughts, then they’re not about the power of motherhood, or the prurience of the unconscious, but simply about how deliciously devastating sci-fi cinema can be.