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Something Wicked Their Way Comes, via the Galactic Void
By A. O. SCOTT
If you grew up in the 1970s, you may have a dim memory of “Chariots of the Gods,” an international best seller by Erich von Däniken full of dubious speculation about extraterrestrial influences on ancient earthling civilizations. The book, a kind of space age “Da Vinci Code,” inspired a goofy German documentary and, if memory serves, some earnest, anxious debates among sixth-grade protogeeks who shall remain nameless.
Ridley Scott’s “Alien,” which arrived at the decade’s end, had a far more durable impact. If you saw it in a theater at an impressionable age you may still be seized by irrational, mortal fear every time you experience a touch of indigestion. A powerful, perfect blend of the space-travel and horror genres, “Alien” tapped into a deep, claustrophobic anxiety and an equally primal sense of adventure, the simultaneous thrill and terror of the unknown. The sinewy resilience of Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley and the designs of the Swiss graphic artist H. R. Giger — including various horrible manifestations of the alien itself — have been etched into the pop-cultural DNA ever since.
In his new film, “Prometheus,” Mr. Scott, returning to science fiction after a 30-year post-“Blade Runner” absence, entwines the visceral, creatural dread of “Alien” with some of the quasi-mythic grandiosity of “Chariots.” Once again a vessel lumbers through the galactic void, and a diverse crew must contend with menacing weirdness outside the ship and growing paranoia within it. The Giger alien may still be out there. Something wicked lurks in subterranean tunnels, their walls etched in freaky runes. And hovering over all the scary stuff are some big, metaphysical questions about the origin and ultimate fate of humanity.
A lot of the pleasure of “Prometheus” is in that hovering. Once the themes touch down and the arc of the story becomes clear, some disappointment sets in. But Mr. Scott’s sense of visual scale, which has often produced hectic, hectoring grandiosity (are you not entertained?), achieves, especially in the first hour, something like genuine grandeur. Twinned opening scenes — the first involving a giant, alabaster-skinned biped sacrificing himself to propagate life on Earth, and the second, thousands of years later, devoted to scientists’ finding traces of his presences — impart a palpable sense of awe. The music, by Marc Streitenfeld, soars and rumbles toward cosmic significance. And the shudders of sublimity only grow more intense as Mr. Scott elegantly lays out a series of overlapping conceits.
You might also call them science-fiction clichés, but the amazing thing is that, at least for a while, they don’t feel that way. The visual scheme is sufficiently captivating, and most of the performances are subtle enough that whatever skepticism you may arrive with quickly turns into happy disorientation. The 3-D is unusually graceful — your gaze is absorbed rather than assaulted — and you are pulled into a world of lovely and disconcerting strangeness with plenty of time to puzzle over the behavior of its inhabitants.
These include David, an android played with silken wit by Michael Fassbender. The sentient, sensitive, possibly treacherous robot is hardly a novelty in this kind of movie, and David is partly a collage of cinematic allusions. His name and his air of innocence recall the mechanical boy hero of Steven Spielberg’s “A. I.,” but David also has a clear kinship with HAL 9000 from “2001: A Space Odyssey” and the existentially wounded replicants in “Blade Runner.” His chosen role model, however, is Peter O’Toole in “Lawrence of Arabia,” whose mannerisms and worldview inform David’s idea of what it is to be human.
The actual humans in his company are the usual motley bunch. The captain of the Prometheus is Idris Elba, who smokes cigarillos and owns an ancient squeezebox and a bewildering accent. His boss, representing obscure but undoubtedly sinister corporate interests, is Charlize Theron, who is doing everything she can (in this movie and in “Snow White & the Huntsman”) to make this an icy June at the movies.
Like John Ford and Shakespeare, Mr. Scott likes to throw a few clownish, expendable rustics into his ensembles, though in this case the designated buffoons are bickering scientists played by Rafe Spall and Sean Harris. Tradition dictates that there also be, among all this compromised, agenda-driven humanity, a paragon of decency and idealism under duress. This would be Elizabeth Shaw — Dr. Who fans take note: Your bases have been covered too — a researcher played by Noomi Rapace. Along with her husband, Charlie Holloway (Logan Marshall-Green), Shaw regards the voyage of the Prometheus as a spiritual quest. The child of missionaries (glimpsed in flashback), she wears a cross and speaks sincerely and literally about going to meet her maker.
Ms. Rapace, the girl with the dragon tattoo in the Swedish film adaptations of the Stieg Larsson trilogy, is a fine heroine, vulnerable and determined. Her physique and features suggest a Hello Kitty version of Ms. Weaver’s Ripley, though, as in the “Dragon Tattoo” movies, her pixieishness is accompanied by superhuman endurance. This is evident, above all, in a scene of self-inflicted surgery capable of reducing a packed, rowdy theater to stunned, appalled, almost reverent silence.
“Prometheus” is rated R (Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian). Some gory sights and salty talk.
Prometheus
Opens on Friday nationwide.
Produced and directed by Ridley Scott; written by Jon Spaihts and Damon Lindelof; director of photography, Dariusz Wolski; edited by Pietro Scalia; music by Marc Streitenfeld; production design by Arthur Max; costumes by Janty Yates; released by 20th Century Fox. Running time: 2 hours 3 minutes.
WITH: Noomi Rapace (Elizabeth Shaw), Michael Fassbender (David), Guy Pearce (Weyland), Idris Elba (Janek), Logan Marshall-Green (Holloway), Charlize Theron (Vickers), Rafe Spall (Millburn) and Sean Harris (Fifield).
http://movies.nytimes.com/2012/06/08...apace.html?hpw
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