Fede Alvarez is a decent rarity in the modern horror landscape, a throwback to the days when Raimi’s protégés like himself and New French Extremity crossover artist Alexandre Aja captured box office attention by exact opposite of whatever was popular at the time. For example, Aja (who was a Craven-Raimi hybrid, having worked with both) made stylish and brutal updates to The hills have eyes series that found a middle ground between the PG-13 horror that riled up Bush-era audiences and “torture porn” that made horror nerds on message boards hungry for blood and guts rave about it to their guys on the BBS. Alvarez debuted in the early days of the “elevated horror” trend, in which writers were rediscovering the genre and starting to think critically about it in a way they hadn’t since the ’70s, assuming a horror film looked good and didn’t seem made for losers like mainstream audiences or gorehounds. And thanks to that iconoclasm, he had success with evil damn movies like his evil Dead Remake and the Don’t breathe Films that upped the gross-out factor to the point where you were forced to acknowledge two truths. The first is that the disgusting nature of his work is not exclusively sadistic – there is much more to it than your average hostel Rip-off, which is why his evil Dead is so solid. Secondly, his films are artfully constructed, apart from the impressive visual effects. This second aspect is the reason why his latest film, Alien: Romulusis the best film in the franchise since Jim Cameron brought Ripley out of cryogenic sleep.

This is a challenge to a decent part of the main line Foreigner Fans of the franchise who may Alien 3 – The Wonderful World of Aliens Purists who worship at the altar of David Fincher’s artistry, even though there is everything wrong with that film, or fans of the Scott prequel who believe the critics were wrong (more on that in a moment) or, if they are truly depraved, think that Jean-Pierre Jeunet really has something to do with resurrection (and God help you if that’s the case). Yet with the exception of Fincher, whose efforts were hampered by producer interference, each filmmaker has worked his specific style and artistic gifts into the framework of the franchise. The tonal gap between Scott’s and Cameron’s first films in the series is its greatest asset, and makes the whole enterprise unique in our culture of IP protectionism: it allows room for different stylistic and thematic interpretations of its DNA. Scott’s return to the franchise in 2012 with Prometheus proves this, as he felt no obligation to do what he did in 1979 and pursued his modern interests – the bitter ordeal of film culture and the attempts of culture and criticism to define his legacy – to their logical conclusion. One of the reviews I regret the most (believe it or not, it actually happens) is the review I wrote on Federal in 2017. I think it is not a good Foreigner film, but I think it’s a fantastic late-period Scott film, having learned what Sir Ridley began to forge in the 10s, especially after the death of his brother Tony. Him stabbing the canvas he helped create with a knife is a form of artistic expression, and I respect that immensely.

Alvarez is no exception, but he finds a middle ground that suits his and his audience’s interests, much like Cameron did in 1986. It’s not a complete shift in tone in that regard—this is probably the most authentic horror experience the series has produced since the first film—but it’s a great fusion of Scott’s command of tone, Cameron’s dynamism, and Alvarez’s Raimi-influenced camerawork and willingness to have fun. gross. Romulus highlights the main passage line of Don’t breathe for its plot, but Alvarez finds a smart way to incorporate it into the dystopian hellscape of the Weyland-Yutani universe. It’s a movie about a heist gone wrong that follows a group of miners from a planet permanently covered in clouds as they break into one of the company’s space stations that has somehow drifted into orbit of their Saturn-like world. They don’t want to steal real They’re not after valuables – trade secrets, money, experimental formulas – but the cryopods that will allow them to survive the nine-year journey across the galaxy to an idyllic world outside the Company’s sphere of influence. They’ve hijacked a cargo transport, the skills and know-how to extract the pods and fuel they need to make it there, and the desperation to pull it off. The group’s de facto leader, wannabe Space Marine Tyler (Archie Renaux), contacts our protagonist Rain (Cailee Spaney) for two reasons. First, because he loves her, and second, because she has what they’re missing: an android.

Before her parents died of silicosis, her father programmed an elderly synth to watch over her, and so she was stuck with Andy (David Jonnson, who gets away with the film), a pseudo-older brother who spouts dad jokes and who, as she grew up, resembles a much younger sibling. Imagine Bishop, with Lance Hendrikson’s calculating intelligence replaced by a kind and genuine love. They’d have Andy on point. Her contract—more debt bondage than anything else—with Weyland-Yutani has been extended for another decade, and she’s being transferred from her job on the surface to the mines, meaning they’ve signed her death warrant. It should seem like everything should be great: Her one-twoo-lub is, after all, here to take her to the place she’s literally dreamed of. But she cares so much about Andy that she’s almost willing to work another ten years so he won’t have to be deactivated when they reach the Free Worlds at the end of their journey. Andy tells her to do it—he’s there to “do what’s best for her,” after all—so they head for the station and drift slowly toward the planet’s rings. They have about 30 hours to discharge the cargo before it collides with the rock and ice and is reduced to metal shavings. But of course that’s not star Warsand it’s not going to end well for anyone without a lot of terrible suffering along the way. They know nothing about the station – a two-bay research platform called Romulus and Remus – or what it was used for, why it drifted into its planet’s orbit, or what cargo from a space shuttle it picked up before things went wrong. They think it’s abandoned, when in reality it’s a mass grave.

What follows sets in motion a Rube Goldberg machine made of human error when confronted by two opposing inhuman forces: the Xenomorphs, shown here in all stages of development, and the Weyland-Yutani Corporation, represented by the station’s sole synthetic survivor (it’s a real misstep that Alvarez bowed to the whims of the Disney suit telling him to use the same technology that brought Peter Cushing back from the dead, because it’s both ethically disadvantageous And the effects have not improved in the nine years since then Villain One Hit). A module from his neck allows Andy to perform a BIOS update that saves the crew from some real problems, but equips him with the prime directives that caused Ash to sacrifice the Nostromo for the good of the company’s profits. This Flowers for Algernon storyline is the film’s secondary conflict beyond the general need for these characters to survive. It’s an effective one: Jonnson is extremely effective as both a benign force (previously seen in Rye Trailin which he was also outstanding) and a soft-spoken corporate sociopath, Spaney is at her best as a performer when she has to deal with real emotional and moral conflicts. While her friends go through devastating physical changes and sustain bloody wounds, she watches her pseudo-brother undergo mental changes that make him unrecognizable to her and accumulate trauma that will likely haunt her for the rest of her life, regardless of whether she makes it to her dream world. It’s incredibly compelling, and Alveraz uses it as a clever intellectual counterbalance to the primal fear he stokes in the audience every time a character makes a seemingly insignificant decision or notices something odd in their environment.

This causality makes Romulus the successful rollercoaster ride that it is – every single bad thing that happens to our characters is directly related to one of their actions, like a D&D session where every character rolls an absurdly high number of ones, except for the one person who randomly rolls tens every now and then and could to the end of the playthrough. This is usually nothing special – it’s just the hallmark of a well-conceived film, after all. Romulus is exceptionally good at drawing your attention to the least important things – but in the era of mood-based horror, it feels like Alvarez is walking down Mount Sinai with stone tablets containing screenwriting tips straight from George A. Romero himself and telling people to melt down their golden statues of Ari Aster. This is perhaps Alverez’s real success, aside from proving that you can Foreigner film without following the dynasties of Ripley or Weyland and satisfying the audience’s curiosity about what the lives of others in this universe might be like. He could have made this film Only just as scary and well constructed without an ounce of gross-out or blood to be found, and it would still be the third best film in the series simply because an ounce of care was put into its development. This would not even have to be a Foreigner The film is a damn good one, but the production design is treated with equal care and attention, with a nearly seamless fusion of practical and digital effects. Alvarez enjoys exploring this universe and reveling in its retro-futuristic aesthetic.

But the great thing is, compared to what one might consider a Fede Alvarez, Foreigner Film could look like Alien: Romulus feels pretty low key. After 100 minutes you might be pretty disappointed considering what his name promises on the poster. Then the last 20 minutes come and Alvarez unleashes brand new fears for you, full of images that will haunt your damn dreams for the next few months. It rock.