star drek: alien:romulus

Cailee Spaeny and David Jonsson fight their way through the mire

​Alien: Romulus

Remember ‘Alien’, and how it masterfully drip-fed suspense to create one of the most chillingly immersive horror films of all time? Remember ‘Aliens’, the contrasting, high-octane sequel which shifted gears into viscerally dynamic combat sequences? Well, preserve those memories in cryostasis, because in comparison, Romulus isn’t worthy enough to pry a crusty facehugger off their freshly-impacted space helmets. 

The ninth film of the Alien franchise (including Predator spin-offs) is an “interquel”, a word I really hope to see spat out of an airlock some day as I look on impassively. It feels like a concept from an IP on life support, klaxons blaring, the letters INTERQUEL illuminated in urgent, flashing red neon. 

Rain Carradine (Civil War’s Cailee Spaeny) and her adoptive android brother, Andy (Industry’s David Jonsson) are stuck on a grimey mining colony. Rain’s work-earned travel visa is denied by The Company, and so they hook up with an anarchic collective, and joyride a shuttle out of the atmosphere to steal a derelict, but still orbiting cargo ship. Seems like incredibly lax security considering all of the corporate authoritarianism on land, but hey, the movie has to happen. 

Rain is the responsible, adaptable, Sigourney Weaver insert. Andy is an easily-reprogrammed automaton with a dad joke subroutine that you wish was mutable. The rest are four or five (I honestly lost track) generic, Young Adult punk/hacker types, with cut and paste personalities and provincial accents. What follows feels like a regional youth theater production of the original film, adapted from memory with a week’s notice until opening night. 

Their mission is to hotwire the cargo ship and use its cryogenic pods so that they can head to Rain’s home planet for picnics and personal fulfillment. The only obstacles are the cargo ship’s residents: a robot science officer and an unknown quantity of, well, aliens, who have apparently been routinely using him as a chew toy. This gristle-legged humanoid is a digitally de-aged, waxwork version of the late Ian Holm (he's from the first movie!), his estate hopefully well compensated for this gruesome curtain call. 

The stakes include Rain and Andy’s familial bond, and a hinted-at-but-largely-undeveloped romantic interest with one of the less mouthy punks. Oh, and one of the hackers is pregnant. Don’t worry, you’ll be reminded of this A LOT. The dialogue consists mainly of sweatily-yelled explainers: “That will damage the baby!”, “The elevator won’t work without gravity!”, “They have acid for blood, remember!”...I’m paraphrasing but it’s exposition all the way down. 

Plot points are rammed down your throat with the subtlety (and spiritual enjoyability) of a facehugger’s facial impregnation probe. Speaking of which, I might be growing prudish in my old age but the visual lingering on the notably phallic/gynecological aesthetics of the aliens’ eggs and writhing tendrils felt creepily uncomfortable, especially given the youthfulness of the cast. 

The rest of the movie devolves into a scrappy, ragtag crew, just haphazardly Scooby Doo-ing it around a gooey industrial warehouse while the sound guy double clicks on a folder of wav files called ‘IRON FOUNDRY’. It’s hard to care about any of them, any character development left languishing in the vacuum of space somewhere. The actors are not the problem (I’ve really enjoyed Spaeny and Jonsson in other things) and do what they can with the script, but they’re all written as indistinguishable, aggressively cocky Zoomers. It’s an alien horror for the IG Reels demographic - a Gen-Zee-nomorph, if you will (though you probably won’t).

What we’re left with is an underwhelming meteor shower of half-hearted fan service. Outside of Holm’s infirm android, we tick off a chest-bursting scene (plus a bonus, gratuitous variation), and TWO alien-human face-to-face shots with the protruding teeth, just in case you didn’t get the first one. The kicker, though, is a dead-eyed re-delivery of an iconic line from Aliens that burns up in the atmosphere under the weight of its own cringe value, well before its landing gear can even be activated.

I know that this sounds like “Old Man Shouts At Gaseous Nebulae”, but as someone who saw the originals, Romulus is a Disneyfied mess that asks: what if a space horror was navigated by TikTok influencers? Rewatch the first two Alien movies and bask in the characterization and the near-unbearable tension, with pay-offs that earned their places in cinematic history. By the time the inevitable Alien: Remus comes around in 2026, this absolute casserole of a movie will surely have been forgotten. Don’t call Romulus, we’ll call Romulu. (PO)