Director Ridley Scott was quoted as saying that Prometheus
was a film that would ‘stand on its own’, apart from the Alien series. It’s
fair to say that the sweeping, opening 3D vistas and alien mutation on the IMAX
screen are truly spectacular to watch, so there is a lot of genuine expectation
from the start – and for the newcomer, it’s quite a show of effects prowess to
be initially engulfed by.
But as the film goes on, the grand, industrial production
design is almost like a sci-fi distraction to the riddles the narrative throws
up. It’s comparable to an annoying rhetorical inner self, constantly
questioning and re-questioning Man’s origins, with no feasible conclusions, and
instead favouring falling back on the same, lame biblical and mind-bending one
of the ultimate creator being a deity. Perhaps a second viewing is necessary to
grasp all the ideas that fall under the ‘science verses religion’ label,
complete with obvious Darwin and Christianity connotations.
It’s 2093, and the crew of the Prometheus are woken from
cyrogentic sleep to begin their mission to find mankind’s creator on a rocky
planet, headed by archaeologists Shaw (Noomi Rapace) and Holloway (Logan
Marshall-Green). Behind the scientific purpose is a darker ulterior motive yet
to be revealed that only the ship’s super efficient humanoid, David (Michael
Fassbender), seems to hold the clues to. However, while exploring the site, the
crew that also includes company spokeswoman Meredith Vickers (Charlize Theron)
and loyal, renegade captain Janek (Idris Elba) encounter a terrifying alien
secret. They must battle to save the future of the human race back on Earth.
Even keeping reveals to a fair way into the story, in all
honesty, this was always going to be an Alien prequel spotting exercise, as we
expect to be shocked and appalled by the first appearance of the notorious
goo-dripping, acid-stripping life form. However, the scares are not so much in
the traditional, surprise-tactic horror sense, rather more about ‘realistic’
visual horrors of gut-wrenching proportions – cue a nod to Alien, as well
as for those with an Ophidiophobia complex that is equally terrifying and
disturbingly phallic and erotic.
Ridley is more about exploring the Darwinist theories here,
rather than staging epic, squelch-fest battles of latter Alien films. Fire is
the biggest threat to all – much like for primitive man, and the analogy is not
lost. That said there is still enough wonderment at the genetic composition of
the alien species that takes on a different form in this to thrill fans – the
problems lie in the lack of a decent explanation as to the true effects of the
tar-like DNA matter and its engineer.
Ridley needed a contemporary Sigourney Weaver, someone who
combines courage with empathy. Athletic Rapace delivers anxiety, vulnerability
and grit determination simultaneously – also present in her Girl With a
Dragon Tattoo portrayals. Her strong performance as Shaw in this helps keep the
status quo on some meaningful track when all else gets blown into the metallic
ether, or fails to amount to much else than visual awe: Included in the latter
statement is Theron who knows how to play the stunning ice maiden but is
allowed little else to really sink her teeth into in this, apart from one reveal
that leads nowhere for her character.
Nevertheless, it’s Fassbender who ultimately steals the show
as David, a Peter O’Toole lookalike in a space jumpsuit with an eerie
sociopathic tendency, unconditionally serving a ‘higher being’ but keeping us
guessing as to possessing any real feelings as such. This both works in the
character’s favour and against, which is where lies another of the film’s
flaws; could such a manmade creation indeed be capable of developing free will,
aside from following his programme. Still, this is another Bishop origin
pointer for Aliens fans, as well as neatly emphasising man’s ironic reliance on
technology for survival.
The biggest frustration in what is a stunning, visual sci-fi
feast – a must-see at the IMAX – is the plethora of possible ideas that detract
from making Prometheus a tighter-scripted, latter-day blockbuster worthy of
challenging the 1979 film. Its commercial slant that the earlier film
sardonically defied is made more apparent by the odd quips to lighten the mood,
hence defusing any whiff of mounting tension. Without the claustrophobic space
of the other films, the pressure cooker effect is sorely absent in this, with
the only feeling of entrapment being the lack of oxygen on the planetary
surface. Still, Ridley coaxes out some memorable performances from Rapace and
Fassbender, and keeps a consistent sense of man’s curiosity at the bigger
evolution picture, which fuels the film’s own fire. The rest is open to
interpretation.
Lisa Giles-Keddie
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