ALIEN (1979)

This might be the most predictable entry into this series of exchanges, but sometimes the obvious start is also the most appropriate.  What can be said about this film that hasn't already been said by other viewers better equipped or more educated than myself?  I picked the most watched and honored SF film for this reason; it's obvious perfection presents as formidable a challenge to disseminate as it demands accolades.

I'll stick to personal reasons and observations.  Let's talk about what the film does not do.  It's a science fiction film without specialized artillery or action scenes; a monster film in which - after the creature's birth - gruesome death is implied but never shown;  a submarine movie in which the so-called 'German Spy' character is not vying for the destruction of the ship.  It does not portray space as an intergalactic playground teeming with colorful life and epic scenarios.  To the contrary, the lifelessness of space is credibly established during the film's much-lauded opening credits sequence, followed by the clicks and whirs of interior spaceship technology as we're introduced to the crew: a doomed bunch of corporate truckers who awaken, coughing and grimacing, in what is essentially their tomb.

Yet, when listing the movie's attributes - what it does accomplish- we uncover a cornucopia of adult cinematic delights.  We get a film that mixes both the aspirations of high art with the grimy trappings of modern genre fiction.  This integration is evident in every dramatic and comedic confrontation, as the higher-paid officers deal with the lower-paid maintenance crew, a shabby mix of Shakespearean theater stars and seasoned character actors, British and American; a genre exercise that exorcises typical gender role expectation while drowning in said same (few movies, genre or otherwise, allow us to observe a female junior officer's coming-of-age amidst a total breakdown of traditional male authority); cautionary subtext on the all-consuming nature of corporate culture (only children view the Alien as the actual antagonist of the film); MOTHER, Hollywood's only AI to rival HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey; and Hollywood's best interpretation of Chistie's Ten Little Indians-theme of 'and then there was one.'

For my money, though, all eyes should stay on the Sigourney Weaver/Yaphet Kotto exchanges, as the two actors expertly portray the Herculean task of maintaining an alliance under impossible levels of stress.  Weaver's "God dammit, Parker, shut up!" followed by her plain-spoken plan for survival: "Is that acceptable to you?... Obviously that means killing it!" rates as some of the most honestly funny lines delivered in a dramatic context.  Their readings strike a humorous chord due only to our own familiarity of dealing with impossible personalities in cut-throat situations.  And Kotto's performance throughout is sublime.  A noted figure in dozens of the decade's B-list and exploitation pictures, his inclusion in this perfect cast was no accident.  As he mumbles and insinuates during every scene, reminding the audience of both the insanity of the situation (he suggests freezing the facehugger between smacks of gum) and the latent, but ignored power of black men in society ("I want to talk about the bonus situation.").  His Parker's demise announces not only the end of blaxploitation's influence on mainstream fare, but the pre-Hip-Hop arrival of the strong black genre film character: audiences, white and black, not only identify with Parker's sly humor and cheated position, but support his moral outrage.  For the next ten years, we'll get worthy portrayals in genre flicks from Ernie Hudson, Keith David, Danny Glover and more.  But all of these brothers live in the house that Yaphet built. They swing in his playground.