I've put off writing about "Prometheus" for a while, because I wanted to be absolutely certain on where I stood in regard to the much-deliberated question of whether or not it works. And, if it does work, on what level? And in what way? This Ridley Scott production, a prequel to his 1979 horror masterpiece "Alien," has caused a bigger intellectual, fan-based firestorm of opinion than any other movie released in 2012. So I decided to first let the flames, if you will, simmer down and approach the movie, having heard both sides of the argument, with an open mind. Ironically enough, and perhaps to nobody's surprise, I wound up smack-dab in the middle in terms of my reaction.
The best way to approach "Prometheus" is as its own stand-alone premise. I have the feeling that's what Ridley Scott wanted to do: he probably only tied it to the "Alien" franchise for better box office assurance; hey, the guy's got to make money to make more movies, after all. He might have also felt the way I did when I first heard about this project: was a prequel even needed? Did we really care who dispatched that signal that drew the inter-stellar space crew of the first "Alien" movie to that dark, wind-lashed planet? Did we care what the fossilized extra-terrestrial seated behind the chair in that big spaceship look like before his insides exploded? And first and foremost, did we really care just where those slimy, bug-like monsters that terrorized Sigourney Weaver in four different movies originate? Me personally, not at all. I was much happier letting my imagination fill the blanks.
But that's okay, as far as "Prometheus" is concerned, for it only provides a handful of those answers. In fact, in regards to that fossilized alien's origins, it only teases us with an answer; it never actually provides one. Just when we think we've figured it out, we realize we've got wait for "Prometheus Part II." What this film would really like to do is be a sort of modern-day "2001: A Space Odyssey." It's more concerned about philosophy, about religion and anti-religion, and the never-ending debate on man and his relationship to the universe. And on that level—the raising of philosophical questions—"Prometheus" is a success. It also has a very strong sense of majesty and wonder about what lies beyond the atmosphere of planet earth. Whereas the only mindset of Alien was downbeat terror and discomfort, "Prometheus" persists in throwing big streams of splendor and astonishment. When the characters of the movie, a team of scientists and military protectors along with an android, start venturing into that big cavern on some remote, uninhabited planet and start awing at the cave drawings, the skeletons, and the architecture, I was hanging my jaw along with them.
In fact, I enjoyed the sense of science-fiction wonder—the scientists believe they are visiting the homes of an alien race that genetically manufactured mankind—that I wish the movie had not gone the way it did in the second half. I did not want violence, I did not want encounters with alien life forms. It was all fine—and one sequence involving a self-ordered dissection to remove an alien parasite was genuinely scary—but I was happier when Mr. Scott was simply probing questions. Again, it really does feel he wanted to make this picture with no franchise-strings attached.
Maybe that is also the reason why the characters of "Prometheus" do not stand out as individuals, as people I could get involved with. They were merely stick-figures: the scientist who places knowledge before safety, the stern military professionals, the foul-mouthed mechanics, the emotionless robot devoted only to his programmed mission, the cocky pilot and his crew. They also seem to come from all corners of the earth; every other crew member is a minority. To make one more seemingly irrelevant comparison to "Alien," the cast of that movie were also, fundamentally, stick figures. But they were stick figures breathed full of life by sharp writing and strong performances. Each person had a personality that was distinctly their own. But there are no fleshed-out people in "Prometheus." Late in the third act, the ship's captain is told by his Asian helmsman not to take the controls, and they laugh over the remark that he cannot fly to save his life. Just a hint for a dynamic that is never explored or dealt with on any level before. There is also a third-act twist regarding another endless question (what if a man could live forever) that pushes itself into the movie too quickly and ends itself much too soon to leave any sense of resolution or, in this case, futility.
But this is the ultimate strength of "Prometheus": as long as you don't demand answer-after-answer, it is a movie you will want to see again. This review, after just one viewing, might be too little and too soon. I do have a desire to see the film again and to pay more attention to the little details, the small jabs of dialogue that probably contain more potency and irony than I gave credit for at first, and how moments connect to one another. And it is also worth admiring for Ridley Scott's flair: his ability to convey a sense of scale and epic proportion so sadly rare in movies today.
The best way to approach "Prometheus" is as its own stand-alone premise. I have the feeling that's what Ridley Scott wanted to do: he probably only tied it to the "Alien" franchise for better box office assurance; hey, the guy's got to make money to make more movies, after all. He might have also felt the way I did when I first heard about this project: was a prequel even needed? Did we really care who dispatched that signal that drew the inter-stellar space crew of the first "Alien" movie to that dark, wind-lashed planet? Did we care what the fossilized extra-terrestrial seated behind the chair in that big spaceship look like before his insides exploded? And first and foremost, did we really care just where those slimy, bug-like monsters that terrorized Sigourney Weaver in four different movies originate? Me personally, not at all. I was much happier letting my imagination fill the blanks.
But that's okay, as far as "Prometheus" is concerned, for it only provides a handful of those answers. In fact, in regards to that fossilized alien's origins, it only teases us with an answer; it never actually provides one. Just when we think we've figured it out, we realize we've got wait for "Prometheus Part II." What this film would really like to do is be a sort of modern-day "2001: A Space Odyssey." It's more concerned about philosophy, about religion and anti-religion, and the never-ending debate on man and his relationship to the universe. And on that level—the raising of philosophical questions—"Prometheus" is a success. It also has a very strong sense of majesty and wonder about what lies beyond the atmosphere of planet earth. Whereas the only mindset of Alien was downbeat terror and discomfort, "Prometheus" persists in throwing big streams of splendor and astonishment. When the characters of the movie, a team of scientists and military protectors along with an android, start venturing into that big cavern on some remote, uninhabited planet and start awing at the cave drawings, the skeletons, and the architecture, I was hanging my jaw along with them.
In fact, I enjoyed the sense of science-fiction wonder—the scientists believe they are visiting the homes of an alien race that genetically manufactured mankind—that I wish the movie had not gone the way it did in the second half. I did not want violence, I did not want encounters with alien life forms. It was all fine—and one sequence involving a self-ordered dissection to remove an alien parasite was genuinely scary—but I was happier when Mr. Scott was simply probing questions. Again, it really does feel he wanted to make this picture with no franchise-strings attached.
Maybe that is also the reason why the characters of "Prometheus" do not stand out as individuals, as people I could get involved with. They were merely stick-figures: the scientist who places knowledge before safety, the stern military professionals, the foul-mouthed mechanics, the emotionless robot devoted only to his programmed mission, the cocky pilot and his crew. They also seem to come from all corners of the earth; every other crew member is a minority. To make one more seemingly irrelevant comparison to "Alien," the cast of that movie were also, fundamentally, stick figures. But they were stick figures breathed full of life by sharp writing and strong performances. Each person had a personality that was distinctly their own. But there are no fleshed-out people in "Prometheus." Late in the third act, the ship's captain is told by his Asian helmsman not to take the controls, and they laugh over the remark that he cannot fly to save his life. Just a hint for a dynamic that is never explored or dealt with on any level before. There is also a third-act twist regarding another endless question (what if a man could live forever) that pushes itself into the movie too quickly and ends itself much too soon to leave any sense of resolution or, in this case, futility.
But this is the ultimate strength of "Prometheus": as long as you don't demand answer-after-answer, it is a movie you will want to see again. This review, after just one viewing, might be too little and too soon. I do have a desire to see the film again and to pay more attention to the little details, the small jabs of dialogue that probably contain more potency and irony than I gave credit for at first, and how moments connect to one another. And it is also worth admiring for Ridley Scott's flair: his ability to convey a sense of scale and epic proportion so sadly rare in movies today.