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Tag: Cailee Spaeny

  • Alien: Romulus: Rain Lacks the Grit of Ripley

    Alien: Romulus: Rain Lacks the Grit of Ripley

    Just when you thought there couldn’t possibly be another installment in the Alien franchise, “20th Century Studios” goes and releases Alien: Romulus. In fact, it was among the only “blockbusters” of Summer 2024 apart from Twisters and Deadpool & Wolverine (and no, Alien: Romulus still couldn’t even manage to topple the latter movie from its number one spot at the box office—such is the power of Marvel). So, in some sense, Earth was “clamoring” for a movie of this nature…being that Hollywood refuses to make anything new when it comes big-budget fare. Though they were at least “adventurous” enough to tap Fede Álvarez (known for another “quiet” movie: Don’t Breathe) as the director and Cailee Spaeny as the lead, Rain Carradine. The “Ellen Ripley replacement,” if you will.

    Unlike Sigourney Weaver stepping right into Ripley’s shoes after a bit part in Annie Hall and the lesser known Madman, Spaeny actually had a few films under her belt before taking on such a weighty role—having already done so with the back-to-back release of Sofia Coppola’s Priscilla and Alex Garland’s Civil War. And yes, she’s been in a blockbuster before, even if it was one that landed with a thud: Pacific Rim Uprising. Later, she took a wrong turn with The Craft: Legacy in 2020 before correcting things with How It Ends the following year. In short, Spaeny has run the gamut of roles before Rain in Alien: Romulus. Which takes place two decades after the destruction the USCSS Nostromo that audiences witnessed in 1979’s Alien. The alpha and the omega of Alien movies. Which is, in part, why Álvarez is so committed to paying homage to it—in addition to remaking Ripley through Rain (another “R” name—and one that Ross Geller famously mocked when Rachel Green suggested it for their baby, replying to her with his imitation of a person with such a name: “Hi my name is Rain. I have my own kiln and my dress is made out of wheat”). Of course, everybody knows that no one can (or will) ever hold a candle to what Weaver did for the part of “leading lady” in Alien, and yet, they can try to present a new-fangled “badass” version of her. Only Rain doesn’t quite come across that way, instead exhibiting the sort of vulnerability and reluctance specific to the current generation. A generation that could never convincingly say, as Ripley does in Aliens, “I can handle myself.”

    Rain’s intrinsic fear of, well, everything is revealed from the outset, when her ex-boyfriend, Tyler (Archie Renaux), has to vehemently convince her to join him and the “crew” he’s assembled to enter an abandoned ship with cryostasis chambers that will allow them to defect from the godforsaken planet they’re stuck working on in favor of Yvaga—a planet where the sun actually shines (side note: the planet they’re on has plenty of dystopian Blade Runner flair). The crew consists of Tyler’s sister, Kay (Isabel Merced), his cousin, Bjorn (Spike Fearn) and Bjorn’s adopted sister, Navarro (Aileen Wu). Of course, it isn’t that they really need Rain to come along, so much as her adopted brother, Andy (David Jonsson)—who just so happens to be an android old enough to know how to interface with an abandoned spacecraft that’s of “Andy’s generation.” Or close enough for him to understand it.

    Still, Tyler does a good job of sweet-talking her into getting some balls by reminding her that Weyland-Yutani is never going to let her leave no matter how much she works, having just fulfilled her contract only to be told that she’s being sent to the mines now (essentially a death warrant), informed she must remain on the planet to work for another “five to six years” before she can again be given the consideration to leave due to a shortage of workers. Thus, as usual, this installment of Alien continues to serve as an undercutting commentary about the callous exploitation of the working class by their oppressive employers. And while Rain might be “Gen Z enough” to lack the same amount of grit as Ripley in the face of adversity, she’s not Gen Z enough to demand a “flexible work schedule” and a “work-life balance” if she’s to be expected to continue working for Weyland-Yutani.

    After all, one of Alien: Romulus’ key goals appears to be to maintain as much of the status quo as it can from the previous films, including pronounced “homages” (even to the less beloved Alien Resurrection, Prometheus and Alien: Covenant). Obviously favoring Ridley Scott’s Alien and James Cameron’s Aliens, what with everyone still thrusting so much undue hate upon David Fincher’s Alien 3—even though it yielded one of the most iconic images from the franchise: a xenomorph up close and personal with Ripley, who turns her face away from its dripping, drooling open maw. In fact, that’s the image Álvarez borrows from for his “nod” to Alien 3—even though, in this case, it doesn’t really work because Rain isn’t pregnant with an alien queen and, thus, there’s no way the alien would take its sweet time about appraising her instead of just snapping her up in its jaws.

    Elsewhere, some of the exact same lines from previous Alien movies are used as “callbacks” designed to provide “fan service,” though it often feels a bit too heavy-handed. Take, for example, Rook: the same (or a similar) model as Ash (Ian Holm, regenerated from beyond the grave) saying, “I can’t lie to you about your chances, but you have my sympathies.” Or Andy echoing Bishop’s (Lance Henriksen) aphorism, “I prefer the term artificial person myself.”

    Indeed, Andy gets far more venomous discrimination for being a “synthetic” than Bishop ever did—mainly from Bjorn, whose prejudice stems from an android not saving his mother from death in the mines, instructed to help twelve other miners instead by its supervisor, sacrificing the lives of two for the greater good of the dozen. It hardly makes Bjorn’s level of contempt justifiable, with the supervisor being the one to place his rage toward, if anyone.

    And, speaking of rage, the perfect opportunity for it to arise (though it never quite does) within Rain comes after another cheesy callback to Aliens, when Tyler teaches her how to use a prototype of the M41A Pulse Rifle the same way Corporal Hicks (Michael Biehn) taught Ripley to use an actual M41A Pulse Rifle. The latter reacts with far more titillation and gusto to learning than Rain, who still comes off as an overly cautious, scared little girl about the whole thing. In part, that “little girl” vibe compared to Ripley is likely because Spaeny is twenty-six to Weaver’s thirty-seven (when filming the indelible gun scenes for 1986’s Aliens). Granted, Weaver wasn’t much older than Spaeny in Alien, filming it when she was twenty-nine. Even so, she looks older in her twenties than Spaeny does in hers—in that way that all people who were in their twenties “back then” look older than people do now (chalk it up to “healthier lifestyles.” Though mental health has ostensibly been sacrificed as a trade for physical health…).

    What’s more, because of the generational divide between the first two Alien movies and the present Alien: Romulus, it’s inherent that Weaver, a product of the time when the films were made (no matter how far into the future it was intended to be), would come across as, let’s say, more tenacious and less fazed by the proverbial horrors—including the ones specific to a human-killing race of aliens. Her coolness under pressure intermingled with unflinching badassery that also exudes an impenetrable “don’t fuck with me” air is something that no Gen Zer (whether on the “geriatric” side of that age group or not) ever stood a chance at emulating, let alone recreating.

    Which is why, ultimately, the hardness of Ripley (even in name alone) can’t be usurped by Rain, a moniker that radiates the kind of hippie-dippy aura the aforementioned Ross Geller was talking about. Some might argue that this is a good thing, that it’s long been time for a heroine with “softness” and delicacy anyway. That women don’t always need to imitate the roughness of men in order for their strength to be taken seriously. Sure, that might be true—but it’s not true for an Alien movie.  

    Genna Rivieccio

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  • ‘Alien: Romulus’ shows there’s still plenty of life left in this franchise

    ‘Alien: Romulus’ shows there’s still plenty of life left in this franchise

    Depending on what you think of the Alien franchise, the following statement will either sound like a huge compliment or damning with faint praise: Alien: Romulus is the third best film of the franchise by a hair.

    Set between Ridley Scott’s 1979’s seminal sci-fi/horror masterpiece Alien and James Cameron’s 1986 action extravaganza Aliens, director Fede Álvarez has not only made an intensely violent and visually gorgeous Alien sequel, but also something that fits nicely between the two originals. It has some pretty glaring and, frankly, baffling flaws, but it’s pretty damn fun anyway.

    Starring Cailee Spaeny who, after playing Priscilla Presley in Sophia Coppola’s Priscilla, a wide-eyed photojournalist way in over her head in Civil War, a young male quantum scientist in Devs, and now a hard luck space orphan in Alien: Romulus, is doing one hell of a job reinventing herself with every role she chooses.

    Spaeny carries Romulus with effortless charisma as Rain, an orphan who, along with her “brother” Andy (played by the film-stealing David Jonsson), a synthetic human programmed to take care of her, is desperate to escape the indentured servitude the two besties find themselves in on the sunless colony of Jackson’s Star. Along with a handful of poor and desperate young miners like herself, Rain and David head to a massive, derelict Weyland-Yutani space station, the Romulus and Remus, where they hope to find cryo chambers that would allow them to escape their star system and lives of servitude. Things obviously go very poorly because this is an Alien movie.

    That’s pretty much it. You’ve got six good looking young adults on a derelict space station fighting for their lives against some old-fashioned Chestbursters, Facehuggers, and Xenomorphs. The heart of the movie rests with Rain and her robot brother Andy, whose dynamic together is sweet, complicated and human.

    In fact, all of the characters are compelling in different ways, making their impending, horrifically violent deaths more affecting than one really expects. Álvarez and his co-writer Rodo Sayagues do a nice job creating characters we not just root for, but find pieces of ourselves within.

    What’s really counterintuitive, though, is that the aspects of the film that work the best exist right next to the aspects that don’t, but Álvarez still manages to keep everything moving so quickly and anxiously that things never threaten to fall off the rails. From the opening frame of the movie, Alien: Romulus not only feels like an Alien movie from its DNA outward, it also looks and sounds like a direct sequel to Ridley Scott’s 1979 original.

    The tech, the design, H.R. Giger’s iconic creature design, the score, the cinematography, and the character work all feel deeply reverent to the original film and you can tell Álvarez wants his movie to play directly alongside Scott’s masterpiece.

    This also leads to the film’s biggest problem: not all of the callbacks and easter eggs work very well. Nostalgia is just not a good enough reason to make a direct sequel to a beloved movie. I feel like the legacy sequels to Halloween, Exorcist, and Ghostbusters have successfully proved that there needs to be an existential purpose for them to work.

    In fact, there’s a direct plot point involving a character from Alien that looks like it was done with some very subpar deepfake technology that doesn’t even come close to bridging the uncanny valley. It’s befuddling, because it would have been easy to write around this choice and it only exists to remind people of the original — but not in a good way.

    With not just this, but also some directly repeated iconic lines and a third act that repeats Alien’s ending almost beat-by-beat, Álvarez’s reverence for the original weakens Romulus on a story level, while simultaneously strengthening it on a design and aesthetic one. Álvarez is a talented filmmaker and doesn’t need to rely on nostalgia to make a good movie. His Evil Dead reboot was nothing like the other ones and was stronger for it.

    While Alien: Romulus doesn’t really hold a candle to Alien or Aliens, it’s still easily the most intense movie I’ve seen so far this year and held me gripped to my chair for almost the entire running time. It doesn’t exist solely for nostalgia and genuinely wants to scare entire poops from the audience.

    While there are a few terrible choices throughout, the escalation of terror and the anxiety-inducing, visceral horror really keep the movie’s claws pretty deep into your spine throughout. On top of that, the genuinely disturbing practical effects and the star-making performance from Jonsson are so awesome that it’s easy to look past the film’s faults.

    I’m not sure I followed exactly all of the twisty-turny plot machinations that popped up throughout the story, but I still enjoyed trying to understand them. Perhaps there are some deleted scenes that might make the story congeal a little better or if every question I have will be answered in the inevitable sequel. Basically, I think I have the definition of mixed feelings.

    Alien defined a genre and Aliens is one of the most entertaining movies ever made, so holding Romulus to that standard is somewhat unfair, but Álvarez and team do enough right for me to genuinely hope we get another film in the franchise that picks up directly after this one. No matter what happens, Romulus proves there’s still plenty of (alien) life left in the franchise and that the Xenomorph is just as iconic of a slasher as Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees. Except with acid instead of blood.

    Jared Rasic

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  • Alien: Romulus: The Kotaku Review

    Alien: Romulus: The Kotaku Review

    Good or bad taste is difficult to define, but easy to point out, and Alien: Romulus, from Uruguayan director Fede Álvarez (who famously delivered a fantastic Evil Dead flick over a decade ago), offers a bizarre mix of both. It’s clear that Álvarez wants to hearken back to the analog, tactile sci-fi vibes of the original Alien flicks, with plenty of satisfyingly twisty knobs and low-fi computer screens that will delight any old-school fan. And with a great, young cast that includes Civil War’s Cailee Spaeny and The Last of Us’ Isabela Merced, Romulus feels like it’s courting both the original Alien lovers and a younger, fresher group of potential fans. And it’s fast, too—the two-hour run-time flies by without any filler, and a perfectly paced build-up results in a third act that will have your heart pumping almost the entire time.

    But the massive weak point in Romulus’ hull is its reliance on winks, nods, and nostalgia—including one poor-taste cameo that made me cringe every time the character was on-screen. Though I think any casual Alien fan will enjoy the film and miss many of the Easter eggs, there are some egregious references throughout that had my eyes rolling around in my head. Nostalgia is a helluva drug.

    Alien: Romulus looks damn good

    Álvarez reportedly told the 2024 San Diego Comic-Con crowd that seeing Romulus didn’t require prior knowledge of other Alien films, and that “member berries cannot be the full meal” (a reference to a South Park joke about nostalgia), but I’m not so sure that’s true. From the moment Romulus opens, there are references aplenty—the opening shot shows the wreckage of the Nostromo, the ship from the first film, floating in the empty vacuum of space, for Engineer’s sake.

    Though after that, Álvarez swiftly (and smartly) turns the attention to Alien: Romulus’ cast of young adults, who live and work in a dreary, depressing mining colony called Jackson’s Star where it’s always raining and everyone is always sick. Rain Carradine (Spaeny) and her “brother” Andy (David Jonsson), a damaged Weyland-Yutani synthetic reprogrammed by Rain’s late father to protect her at all costs, live a life of indentured servitude—Rain is forced to work in the hopes that she’ll earn enough hours to leave Jackson’s Star and head to Yvaga II, a terraformed planet that’s less miserable.

    After a Weyland-Yutani employee denies Rain’s request to go off-planet, she jumps at the chance to change her fate: A ragtag bunch of teenagers (and her friends) discover a “Weyu” ship drifting in the planet’s atmosphere, and they want to fly up and steal its crypods so they can venture out to Yvaga themselves. The problem? They need Andy, who can access all of the ship’s systems, even though his strange gait and stammer indicate that he isn’t in perfect working condition.

    The alien sneers.

    Image: 20th Century Studios

    Andy and Rain’s relationship is the beating heart of Romulus, played to perfection by Spaeny and Jonsson—from the moment his big, sad eyes appear on screen, I know Andy is going to break my heart. Andy’s affinity for puns, which he struggles to get out due to his stammer, endears you to him within moments, and Rain’s good-natured annoyance at his bad jokes further defines their lovely relationship. Romulus tries to fill out the rest of its character tropes like previous Alien films, with a crass and rude British guy, his grim, no-nonsense partner, a kind-hearted heartthrob, and a sweet (and newly pregnant) best friend, and the young actors all play them well, even if their characters aren’t fully fleshed out. But Rain and Andy? I’d die for them.

    Visually, Romulus is as close to perfect as a sci-fi horror flick can get. When the shuttle carrying the teens up to the derelict Weyu ship (which is actually a decommissioned outpost, and, as you might suspect, full of facehuggers) soars upward into the planet’s upper atmosphere, the visual effects dazzle: rain pelts the hull, lightning flashes all around it, and strange, red-orange veins of light run through the clouds. When it bursts through the cloud cover, Rain sees the planet’s sun for the first time ever, and I feel a similar stirring of awe in my gut.

    Romulus truly is beautiful, from the cinematography to the set design to the way the iconic xenomorphs look. Álvarez impressively and effectively plays with color, light, and texture (wispy gray smoke, white-hot steam, tar-black blood), and the pitch-perfect mix of practical and digital effects blends iconic Alien iconography with impressive, modern tech. And then there’s the digitally recreated elephant in the room.

    Romulus and references

    As I mentioned, there are a lot of Easter eggs in Alien: Romulus. The decommissioned outpost (split into two massive sections called Remus and Romulus) is powered by a computer called MU/TH/UR 9000, a newer version of the one running the Nostromo in 1979’s Alien. When one of the motley crew members bullies and denigrates Andy, he stammers back a quote from Aliens, saying he prefers the term “artificial human” just like Bishop told Ripley back then. The outpost’s door mechanisms are the same ones from 2014 survival horror game Alien: Isolation. Hell, even the original xenomorph, the one Ripley blows out of the Nostromo airlock, haunts Romulus—its corpse is suspended from the ceiling in the derelict ship, its acid blood having burnt through several floors and destroyed the place.

    But the most egregious Easter egg is a rotten one: a digitally recreated Ian Holm, who played a secret synthetic in the original film that was placed on the Nostromo by Weyland-Yutani to help further the company’s attempts to secure humanity’s fate in the stars by any means necessary. The digital avatar of Holm, who passed away in 2020, looks bad and uncanny almost every time it’s on screen, and the fact that the damaged robot (who goes by Rook in Romulus) is just a torso perpetually leaking the synthetic’s iconic white diagnostic fluid makes it even worse. His appearance is so bizarre and unnecessary (and so prevalent, as Rook has a ton of screen time), that it sours so much of what makes Romulus enjoyable.

    Rain wields a proto pulse rifle.

    Image: 20th Century Studios

    From the moment Rook is introduced, I watch the rest of Romulus with my eyes narrowed suspiciously, waiting for another Easter egg to (perhaps unintentionally, perhaps not) puncture the fourth wall and boop me on the nose with a “see what I did there?” Thankfully, the cast’s incredible acting and the film’s perfectly paced action effectively distract me from my fear of another reference lurking down a dark corridor. There are several truly gruesome scenes—acid burning off fingers, a facehugger artificially pumping someone’s lungs while attached to them, the gnarly cracking of ribs and spines, and a few brand-new takes on the iconic chest bursting scene—that will delight body horror fans. And all of this action is propelled forward by Spaeny and Jonsson, the latter of whom does such an impressive 180 with his character that it leaves me speechless. Romulus also adds a bit more lore to the franchise, specifically around a certain stage in the xenomorph’s evolution, that gives Álvarez an excuse to put a giant, wet, undulating vagina in the film, just as H.R. Giger intended.

    But just when I’ve forgotten about the torso of Holm lurking in a dimly lit corner, when I’ve just been delighted by a zero-G action sequence that involves floating, spiraling acid blood Rain and Andy must avoid while suspended in mid-air, when I realize that Álvarez almost perfectly times the outpost’s countdown timer until it will collide with the planet’s icy ring to the runtime of the film, Romulus comes back around to the references. The proto pulse rifles from Aliens, Rook spouting an exact quote Holm uttered in Alien, Spaeny in her cryo-undies wielding a gun just like Ripley, Andy stammering “get away from her you bitch,” a human/xeno hybrid that makes your skin crawl, a face-to-face moment just like the meme.

    Thankfully, Romulus ends strong, with an emotionally powerful, deliciously disgusting final scene with a jump-scare that almost made me pee myself. I just wish that it had the confidence to stand on its own a bit more, rather than deliver nods and recycled lines on a silver platter with a wry smile. Though, whether you’re a fan of the franchise or not, I believe Alien: Romulus is worth a watch—maybe some fans will adore the references, and those who know nothing about Ridley Scott’s legendary sci-fi universe can remain blissfully unaware and just enjoy a well-paced, well-shot, well-acted romp. It’s a win-win in that regard.

    .

    Alyssa Mercante

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  • ‘Alien: Romulus’ Review: A Damn Good Monster Movie

    ‘Alien: Romulus’ Review: A Damn Good Monster Movie

    The Xenomorph in Alien: Romulus. Courtesy of 20th Century Studios

    Like the Terminator, Alien is a franchise in which no new installment stands a chance of being the best. The fight here is for third place, behind Ridley Scott’s chilling original and James Cameron’s action-packed sequel. Most of the subsequent efforts have catered to different tastes, leaning more towards cerebral science fiction (Prometheus), bleak character drama (Alien3), or goofy action schlock (Alien vs. Predator). With his first swing at the franchise, Alien: Romulus, director Fede Álvarez makes the daring choice to aim at the dead tonal center between Scott and Cameron’s twin masterpieces. The result is an adrenaline-fueled slasher movie in space that sacrifices the subtlety and creeping dread of the original for more shock, gore and thrilling, fist-pumping violence. It’s a shallower product than either of its inspirations, but it also has its own, distinct energy. It doesn’t totally jettison the franchise’s 45 years of baggage, but when it does, what’s left is a damn good monster movie.


    ALIEN: ROMULUS ★★★ (3/4 stars)
    Directed by: Fede Álvarez
    Written by: Fede Álvarez, Rodo Sayagues
    Starring: Cailee Spaeny, David Jonsson, Archie Renaux, Isabela Merced, Spike Fearn, Aileen Wu
    Running time: 119 mins.


    The setup for Romulus is reminiscent of Álvarez’s own calling card film, 2016’s Don’t Breathe. A group of twentysomethings born into poverty on a corporate-owned mining planet seize on an opportunity to escape their miserable lot. It should be a simple heist—slip aboard a derelict spacecraft, steal the equipment they need to journey to a nicer planet, get out before it crashes. But the vessel isn’t as empty as they’d presumed. There are terrifying monsters onboard intent on either gutting or impregnating them. Will any of these young hard cases live to see their better tomorrow?

    Leading this ensemble is Cailee Spaeny as Rain Carradine, the heist’s most reluctant participant and our obvious Final Girl. Spaeny gives a reliably solid performance, but the real star of the show is David Jonsson as Andy, a glitchy android who she sees as a brother. Andy was programmed to protect her when she was growing up, but now she’s become his caretaker. Their relationship is both charming and discomfiting. Andy adores Rain, but he’s programmed to. He’ll do what’s best for her at every turn, with a smile on his face, but is he also being exploited? It’s an interesting new wrinkle to the Alien franchise’s meditation on artificial intelligence, which has been depicted as either sinister or benign. As Andy, David Jonsson gets to play a little bit of both. The emotional core of Romulus is the way Rain and Andy are each transformed by their nightmare in space, and how it forces them to reevaluate each other.

    Cailee Spaeny and David Jonsson in Alien: Romulus. Murray Close/Courtesy of 20th Century Studios

    This isn’t to say that Alien: Romulus is a predominantly cerebral or even emotional experience. Far from it. After roughly 40 minutes of establishing the characters and setting up potential future calamities, Romulus becomes an unrelenting thrill ride that fulfills every last one of its wicked promises.

    Romulus leans harder into being a monster movie than any of its predecessors, and Álvarez and co-writer Rodo Sayagues seem committed to using the entire monster. Too many Alien sequels speed through the most viscerally terrifying part of the xenomorph’s bizarre life cycle, the “facehugger” stage represented by a skittering arachnid that latches to a victim’s head, forces its ovipositor down their throats, and implants them with their ultra-violent offspring. Romulus, by contrast, gives these little bastards nearly half the movie, allowing them their own chase and stalking scenes. As in Don’t Breathe, Romulus doesn’t move on to its next threat or premise until the last one is completely exhausted.

    Cailee Spaeny in Alien: Romulus. Courtesy of 20th Century Studios

    Álvarez shows admirable restraint in the introduction of the more famous eight-foot-tall adult xenomorph, treating it as an obscure new threat rather than an iconic character whose action figure stood on your cousin’s windowsill. There is a (hopefully, justified) assumption that this will be many viewers’ first Alien movie, and the effort to wring maximum suspense from the premise is valuable even to a longtime fan. The film does eventually make the typical third-act shift from horror to action, but until then, “scary” is prioritized over “cool.”

    Nevertheless. Romulus still indulges in some of the worst impulses of the “requel” or “legacy sequel.” An original Alien cast member is digitally resurrected for a small role, and they look absolutely awful. This is the first new Alien film under Disney’s ownership of the franchise, and it seems as if they simply cannot resist employing this technology at every opportunity, regardless of whether or not it adds any value to the story. There are a few other cringy, incongruous nods to the franchise’s legacy that distract from what is otherwise a fully satisfying and self-contained space slasher.

    The past decade has convinced audiences to expect less from Hollywood blockbusters, not just in terms of quality, but from how much of a story is told in each movie. At multiple junctures, Alien: Romulus teases a development that seems like a hook for a sequel or spin-off, but Álvarez doesn’t wait until the inevitable next Alien to play all of his cards. Romulus leaves nothing on the table. It is, for a change, an entire damn movie.

    Could this be a portent of the franchise’s future? Might the xenomorph—the perfect movie monster—become less like Michael Myers and more like a zombie or vampire, a terror that can be used to tell a variety of horror stories rather than as a foil to a handful of protagonists or as installments in a dense mythology? This possibility is as exciting as the film itself.

    ‘Alien: Romulus’ Review: A Damn Good Monster Movie

    Dylan Roth

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  • Comic-Con: ‘Alien: Romulus’ Face-Hugs Hall H With Chest-Bursting Footage, Giveaways

    Comic-Con: ‘Alien: Romulus’ Face-Hugs Hall H With Chest-Bursting Footage, Giveaways

    When you don’t have star power or a massive superhero movie to show off in San Diego Comic-Con’s highly-visible Hall H, you have to get creative.

    And Disney and its 20th Century Studios division did just that for its Alien: Romulus panel. A little theatrics — red strobe lights followed by a gurgling man stumbling on stage, then dying from a “chest burster” — and video questions from surprise filmmaker guests such as original Alien director Ridley Scott or filmmaker Guillermo del Toro, among others can go a long way to bolster the already strong clips that were shown.

    And if that fails, then you leave them with parting gifts, in this case, rubber alien “face huggers” that were distributed to all 6,500 or so people who packed the cavernous hall of the San Diego Convention Center Friday, many of whom immediately proceeded to take selfies and post the photos to all their friends. Promotional messaging succeeded.

    Romulus is the first movie to hit since 2017’s Alien: Covenant and is the first movie to be made since Disney’s acquisition of Fox in 2019. And while two were made in the 2010s with mixed success, those were also big-budget productions, befitting to the manner which filmmaker Ridley Scott is accustomed.

    This new one was directed by Fede Álvarez, the filmmaker behind more modestly-budgeted horror movies, including his hit, Don’t Breath, and stars fresh faces and rising actors such as Cailee Spaeny, Isabela Merced, David Jonsson, Archie Renaux, Spike Fern and Aileen Wu, all of whom were in attendance Friday, minus the latter.

    Alien, of course, is not some new commodity. It’s a revered movie franchise that has had some of the best filmmakers in the director’s chairs, including Scott, James Cameron, David Fincher and Jean-Pierre Jeunet.  

    Álvarez said he felt immense pressure in taking on the movie and was standing on the shoulders of giants. But he also said the pressure went away when he was on set, which was very practical and to him, a very real environment.

    “The pressure goes away, for me, when you suddenly realize you’re on tiny Weyland (a corporation in the Alien universe) shake and bake colony and every vehicle that goes around is real and the neon sign is from Aliens,” he said. “To be on this real space…”

    The cast bonded strongly during the making of the movie, which was shot chronologically. But it also meant a loss when one of them shot a death scene and left the production. And as any Alien fan knows, there is a lot of death.

    “It was emotional,” Álvarez noted, “because that person now has to leave and you continued with the rest of the cast. And (the deaths) kept on happening.”

    The filmmaker and cast tried to honor those who came before them and for the production, that meant going back to the original designs and even hiring crewmembers such as Shane Mahan, who worked on the alien queen in Cameron’s 1986 entry, Aliens.

    Álvarez described his creative process as being tortuous, with him thinking his work stinks much of the time. He believes it pushes him to strive for better results. And that honesty won over his cast.

    “We could really trust him,” said Spaeny, who starred in Priscilla and Civil War. “He wanted to do something for the fans as a fan. He was very vocal.”

    The filmmaker is chasing a high from film that is elusive, even as he wants to deliver that drug to the audience.  

    “For me, when you sit down in the theater, the logo shows up, the lights go down, I feel that this is it. This is the one that is going to change my life,” he said. “And it’s kinda crazy because most movies are shit. Five minutes in, you go, ‘This is not going to change my life.’ But for the first five seconds, you do feel that way because it did happen to you. And we all keep looking for that moment.”

    And it was the ethos he brought to his set.  

    “It was important that we all knew that and that we honor that,” he continued. “To give 200 percent. And these kids did that to give you the movie you deserve.”

    Borys Kit

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  • Civil War’s Overarching Message Isn’t Political, Or: One Must Do What They Can to “Pass the Baton,” Even in Apocalyptic Times

    Civil War’s Overarching Message Isn’t Political, Or: One Must Do What They Can to “Pass the Baton,” Even in Apocalyptic Times

    Sadly, it’s not really a stretch to imagine the United States finding itself in a second Civil War. Perhaps this is why writer-director Alex Garland doesn’t get too specific on the details of “why” (racial tensions, political divisions, an unhinged president—take your pick from a gamut of ever-brewing causes). In fact, Garland in general is not a “details guy,” preferring instead to focus on the “big ideas” of what he’s saying. And what he’s saying here isn’t necessarily related to being a “cautionary tale” (in truth, he appears to view another civil war in the U.S. as a mere inevitability), so much as the need for “elder generations” to do whatever they can to ensure the success of the younger ones, no matter how fucked and ostensibly beyond repair the world might be. 

    Garland’s (or A24’s) decision to release the film months before what is likely to be an extremely fraught and polarizing election is surely not a coincidence. The Trumpian president (played by Nick Offerman, always happy to seem Republican), after all, ends up invoking this Civil War after, from the errant bits of dialogue that allude to it, taking an illegal third term, dissolving the FBI and banning the press from Washington, D.C. It is through the lens (no camera pun intended) of the press, as a matter of fact, that viewers are made to see this war unfold and reach its denouement.

    At the center of the “war photojournalism plot” is Lee Smith (Kirsten Dunst), a wizened, ultra-jaded war photographer that’s been traveling the country with her colleague, Joel (Wagner Moura), to cover the calamity. At the outset of the film, the two are in New York City, where Lee initially encounters the twenty-something woman she’ll end up grudgingly (at first) mentoring. Jessie Cullen (Cailee Spaeny, continuing to come up in the world since starring in Priscilla) approaches Lee in Brooklyn (a milieu that’s no stranger to the carnage of Civil War fighting) to gush about being a fan of her work.

    In this moment, one gets an All About Eve vibe from the narrative (especially when Jessie takes a picture of Lee taking a picture), and it could have gone in that direction many times were it not for Lee’s open embracement of Jessie’s aspiration to become the next great war photographer (just like another Lee with the last name of Miller, who, yes, also comes up in conversation). Rather than resenting or feeling competitive with this young talent, Lee does what she can to “subtly” direct and advise Jessie—not just on her style, but the unique and often soul-crushing demands of this job. 

    Before this dynamic forms, however, Lee does her best to avoid Jessie’s hopeful gaze and eagerness to learn. Alas, that plan goes to shit when her protective instincts kick into high gear upon seeing Jessie get caught in the melée just before a suicide bomber detonates himself in the crowd, sending bodies flying everywhere. Ducking down with Jessie behind a police car, Lee has it effectively confirmed for her that this girl is way too naive for the war photography game, therefore way too much of a liability (and not just an emotional one). And yet, as Joel and Lee’s mentor, Sammy (Stephen McKinley Henderson), point out, the only way to become a war photographer is to just get out there and do it—glean the brutal, sobering experience that will help shape you into one of “the greats.” Besides, Sammy adds, Lee was about the same age when she started out, too. 

    So it is that Jessie maneuvers and, let’s face it, manipulates her way into their dangerous expedition once Lee is “out of frame,” appealing to a drunk Joel in the hotel that she tracks them to (stalker much?). Sammy also wormed his way into the journey, but he has the pedigree and seniority to make such a request. Even though he knows that, at his age and level of decrepitude, he could be just as much of a liability as the novice. As for Lee and Joel’s “mission” with regard to venturing into the highly dangerous D.C., their dogged purpose is to snap the last photo of the president before Western Forces overtake the White House and invariably pop the “commander-in-chief” off. 

    That the Western Forces are comprised of California and Texas seems a bit odd, as does the fact that the “Florida Alliance” is on California’s side. Mainly because, in a scenario where a Trumpian president takes dictatorial control, it would be unlikely—fascist president or not—that the ultimate red states of Texas and Florida might 1) want to secede from the Union and 2) join forces with a “pinko” state like California. Even so, American viewers can overlook such a discrepancy (as is usually the case when British writer-directors give their perspective on the U.S. [see: Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri]) if forgiving enough.

    However, Garland insisted the choice was “intentional” and done ​​“partly to get around a kind of reflexive, polarizing position that people might fall into, that’s one thing, but actually that’s not the main thing. The main thing is to do with how the president is presented and what can be inferred from that. Then it’s saying that two states that have a different political position have said, ‘Our political difference is less important than this.’” Garland added, “And then the counter to that is if you cannot conceive of that, what you’re saying is that your polarized political position would be more important than a fascist president. Which, when you put it like that, I would suggest, is insane. That’s an insane position to hold.” Clearly, then, Garland is vastly underestimating the insanity of Americans. 

    In any case, just as American viewers can get over this hard-to-fathom alliance, Lee can forgive Jessie her shortcomings in favor of seeing her potential as they spend more time together. Even though she mocks the “demographic” of the backseat of their Press SUV for being on the polar opposite spectrums of “retirement home” and “kindergarten,” Lee slowly loosens up just enough to allow something to happen that she never does: becoming emotionally involved (in truth, the secret to her success is avoiding that at all costs).

    This “cardinal rule” of being a war photojournalist is, to be sure, what Jessie learns better than anyone by the end of the film. An ending that is foreshadowed by Jessie asking Lee if she would simply take her picture if she saw her being killed. Lee responds, “What do you think?” This exchange occurs in front of a crashed helicopter decaying in the parking lot of a post-apocalyptic J. C. Penney. In point of fact, one of the most horrifying things about Civil War is seeing that the “ruins” of America amount to nothing more than depressing malls, office space and gas stations (in other words: what the hell are these people actually fighting for?). That’s the so-called American legacy. Granted, the U.S. has produced some worthwhile entities. Like the American institution that is Madonna. Who once said of her 2003 MTV VMAs performance with Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera that she was effectively “passing the baton” to the next generation of pop princesses with those “controversial” kisses (even though few people remember the one she shared with Xtina). 

    What one can’t help but take issue with when it comes to how that metaphorical phrase is thematically wielded in Civil War (namely, with its conclusion) is that it presumes “old” people have to step out of the way after the baton is passed because they’ve now done all they can. It’s someone else’s turn to try. However, if Madonna has shown us anything after 2003, it’s that the “aged” still often dance circles around the fearful and complacent young (who occasionally stumble into “right place, right time” circumstances like Jessie). And that a “mentor type” can coexist peacefully enough with the subsequent wave of youth (just look at Lana Del Rey and Billie Eilish) without needing to “stand back” or dim their own light.

    In this regard, Civil War averts the All About Eve relationship between mentor and mentee in that the Margo (Bette Davis) of the equation—Lee—isn’t painted as being “averse” to supporting new talent by continuing to try to “eclipse” them. Then again, some “old” talent can’t avoid being naturally eclipsing, can they (e.g., Dunst’s performance being far more praised than Spaeny’s)? Even after making a big production about “passing the baton.”

    Genna Rivieccio

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  • See How Alex Garland’s Civil War Divides the United States

    See How Alex Garland’s Civil War Divides the United States

    Alex Garland’s Civil War isn’t shy about its premise. It’s right there in the title. It’s about a United States of America that’s no longer united, with various sections engaged in a civil war. But while many would assume it’s some kind of easy-to-understand red state, blue state thing, A24 has released an image that shows it’s anything but.

    Civil War is scheduled for release April 12. In it, Kirsten Dunst and Wagner Moura play journalists attempting to travel from New York to Washington, D.C. Along the way, they pick up a young, aspiring photo journalist played by Cailee Spaeny who is about to get a baptism of fire traveling through the country.

    But what does the country these characters exist in look like? Over on social media, A24 released the below image to show exactly where the divisions are in the nation and, as you’ll see, there’s a lot to discuss.

    The (not so) United States of Civil War.
    Image: A24

    A few things jump out here. The first, of course, are the “Western Forces,” which include exactly one Western state—California—along with Texas. In reality, few states are as fundamentally different as California and Texas, but therein lies Garland’s point: Civil War isn’t about our 2024 reality. It’s an alternate version inspired by ours that comments on the potential consequences of our actions. And, it doesn’t really take a side or explain anything. Are the Western Forces more politically aligned with California or Texas? We never find out, and that’s the point.

    This map also doesn’t make it clear who are the good guys and bad guys in the movie. Which, again, is the point. Who are the Loyalist States loyal to? Why is the Northwest a “New People?” And the Florida Alliance… well, that one actually kind of makes sense.

    Having seen Civil War I can reveal that not all of these questions are answered, but seeing this map and thinking about it will begin to prepare you for the unexpected nature of the film. Tickets are on sale now.


    Want more io9 news? Check out when to expect the latest Marvel, Star Wars, and Star Trek releases, what’s next for the DC Universe on film and TV, and everything you need to know about the future of Doctor Who.

    Germain Lussier

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  • ‘Civil War’ Review: Alex Garland’s Dystopian Thriller Starring Kirsten Dunst Stimulates the Intellect, if Not the Emotions

    ‘Civil War’ Review: Alex Garland’s Dystopian Thriller Starring Kirsten Dunst Stimulates the Intellect, if Not the Emotions

    The details of American politics do not concern Alex Garland in Civil War.

    Despite the controversy it’s already courted about its supposed prescience, the unsettling feature from the British filmmaker doesn’t predict a future based on the country’s current two-party system. Garland is far more interested in the United States’ self-regarding exceptionalism, its belief in its own safety from executive instability. He is fascinated by how factionalism instigates conflict and how no nation is immune to the results of its violence. 

    Civil War

    The Bottom Line

    A subversive and unsettling exercise.

    Venue: SXSW Film Festival (Headliner)
    Release date: Friday, April 12
    Cast: Kirsten Dunst, Wagner Moura, Cailee Spaeny, Stephen McKinley Henderson, Sonoya Mizuno, Nick Offerman
    Director-screenwriter: Alex Garland

    1 hour 49 minutes

    Premiering at SXSW, Civil War explores these preoccupations from the perspective of a group of journalists as they chronicle life in their war-torn country while traveling to Washington, D.C. We meet the crew in New York, where they are covering a tense confrontation between civilians and police. Lee Smith (Kirsten Dunst) —  a conflict photographer whose success and abrasiveness are modeled on that of celebrated World War II correspondent Lee Miller — works quickly with her Reuters colleague Joel (Wagner Moura) to capture the scene before the percolating violence bubbles over. 

    When it eventually does, the pair crosses paths with Jessie (Priscilla‘s Cailee Spaeny), a freelance photographer who gets hurt in the police-instigated melee. The young documentarian is eager to express admiration for Lee after the veteran correspondent saves her life and gifts her a neon press vest. Later that evening, Jessie, through a winning combination of will and charm, convinces Joel to let her tag along on the road trip to D.C. This is already after they agreed to let Sammy (Stephen McKinley Henderson), a New York Times journalist, join them despite the risks. 

    The group hits the road the next morning despite Lee’s protestations over Jessie’s inclusion. (She, fairly, doesn’t want to be responsible for a stranger and an amateur.) Their roughly 800-mile journey to D.C., where Joel and Lee have been promised an interview with the president (Nick Offerman), takes the journalists through hostile tracts, military checkpoints and makeshift refugee camps.

    These scenes of America as an active war zone are some of Civil War’s most potent images. In a subversive move, Garland, partnering again with DP Rob Hardy, documents these conditions with the distant vérité style found in American films about international regional conflicts. The Ex Machina and Annihilation filmmaker juxtaposes images of displaced Americans, armed resistance fighters and other evidence of war with familiar shots of the nation’s pastoral landscape to create a sense of destabilization.

    As the crew drives south of New York, they come across abandoned and blown-up cars on interstates lined with vibrant, verdant trees. A football stadium is now an aid camp, which adds a melancholic layer to the graffitied messages (“Go Steelers,” one  says) that remind of life before. A winter wonderland dotted with statues of Santa Claus, for example, becomes an active conflict zone, and a small town that feels eerily distant from the destruction happening everywhere else turns out to be manned by an armed militia. 

    These sequences coupled with other nostalgia-loaded gestures — the use of country music needle drops, for example — effectively recast American iconography, implicitly questioning a nation’s tendency toward self-mythologizing. Garland also weaves in the snapshots captured by Lee and Jessie along the road, a technique that not only examines the ethics of war photography but also American expectations of what these images must be. As for the subject of race — the organizing principle of the nation — Civil War gestures but does not explicitly confront.  

    All of these thoughts, considerations and questions — what does it mean to be American is one the film repeatedly asks — are experienced by the viewer on a largely intellectual level. Garland has always been a director of big ideas, and Civil War is no exception when it comes to that ambitiousness. But he’s also reaching for an intimacy here that his screenplay doesn’t quite deliver on. Despite strong turns from the cast, the American journalists at the center of the story feel emotionally sterile vis a vis the dissolution of their country, and their motivations for doing the work register as similarly remote. Of course war hardens, contorts and traumatizes, but Civil War presupposes that the press, in this distant future, can always see the forest for the trees. The film is wise to avoid big, melodramatic gestures, but characters sharing stories might have conjured a better sense of their depth. 

    Dunst makes Lee an incredibly compelling figure whose faith and ability to stomach the demands of the job unravel slowly over the course of the film. But a lack of detail keeps her character in the shadows. The same goes for Jessie, whose youth offers insights into her risky behavior, and Joel, who is Latino and from Florida (a state that here has its own faction separate from the alliance between Texas and California). 

    With the precision and length of its violent battle sequences, it’s clear Civil War operates as a clarion call. Garland wrote the film in 2020 as he watched cogs on America’s self-mythologizing exceptionalist machine turn, propelling the nation into a nightmare. With this latest film, he sounds the alarm, wondering less about how a country walks blindly into its own destruction and more about what happens when it does.

    Lovia Gyarkye

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  • Priscilla: The Marie Antoinette of the 1960s

    Priscilla: The Marie Antoinette of the 1960s

    It’s a story that becomes harder and harder to tell in the present epoch. That of Priscilla’s overt grooming by Elvis in order to eventually make her his virgin bride. Of course, that’s not really the story Sofia Coppola wants to focus on with her eighth film, Priscilla. Just as the 1988 TV movie (or “miniseries,” to make it sound more elegant) called Elvis and Me, so, too is Priscilla based on that autobiography of the same name. And yes, the title of it should be telling of the fact that Priscilla continued to view herself as being forever stuck inside the towering shadow of Elvis. Why not Me and Elvis, after all? That her autobiography should have to include Elvis’ name in it was also indicative of the already publicly-held belief that she really was “no one” without him. Had no identity of her own. And a large part of that, as we see in Priscilla (which remains largely faithful to Presley’s book), stemmed from Elvis “getting her” while she was young. Worming his way into her mindspace and heart before she ever had a chance to fully form. 

    This reality is one that many still don’t want to acknowledge or look at too closely. Including none other than Elvis’ only daughter, Lisa Marie. Indeed, a leaked email that Lisa Marie wrote to Coppola shortly before her death stated, “My father only comes across as a predator and manipulative [in your movie]. As his daughter, I don’t read this and see any of my father in this character. I don’t read this and see my mother’s perspective of my father. I read this and see your shockingly vengeful and contemptuous perspective and I don’t understand why?” This form of denial about the type of man her father was is perhaps to be expected. Even questioning her mother’s “awareness” of what she hath wrought in letting Coppola go through with filming this script. So it was that she added, “I am worried that my mother isn’t seeing the nuance here or realizing the way in which Elvis will be perceived when this movie comes out. I feel protective over my mother who has spent her whole life elevating my father’s legacy. I am worried she doesn’t understand the intentions behind this film or the outcome it will have.”

    But isn’t it long overdue to look at Elvis’ “dark side” (read: creep factor) with a less flattering microscope than has been done in the past? Hell, even the celebrated Baz Luhrmann biopic, Elvis, chooses to sidestep detailing much of his domestic life with Priscilla, instead focusing on his artistry and the exploitation he suffered at the hands of the Colonel. Some might even say that being exploited so blatantly was what made Elvis want to do it to someone else. That someone else being, most of the time, Priscilla. Subject to his whims and mood swings, Coppola’s adaptation of Elvis and Me shows “Satnin” slowly adjusting to the life she thought she wanted, because that’s what it would take to be with Elvis. The man she pined for from the moment they separated in March of 1960, after Elvis completed his tour of duty in the Army and went back to the U.S.

    Being an impressionable young teenager prone to easy attachment and tending to amplify everything more than it actually should be, Priscilla continued to yearn for Elvis as almost two years went by. Years during which she was tortured by published accounts of Elvis’ sexual exploits with his costars. In 1960, that co-star was Julie Prowse, the fiancée of Frank Sinatra (ergo, Elvis “stuck it” to a fellow musical titan while “sticking it in” Prowse). Forced to watch Elvis’ career and personal life unfold from the sidelines, Priscilla almost gives up hope entirely that their year spent getting to know one another on the Army base meant anything at all. And then, out of the blue, just like that, Elvis calls her and invites her to Graceland. This after Coppola shows us the bittersweet passage of time through the girlhood ephemera of Priscilla’s room. For example, a string of pearls hung over a birthday card that reads, “To My Granddaughter Happy Sweet 16”—the words positioned around a blooming rose with two hummingbirds hovering over it. Symbolism indeed. But men don’t tend to have much interest in girls once they “bloom past a certain age.” Maybe, in that sense, it was best for Priscilla to leave Elvis before she turned thirty. 

    Priscilla’s “Sofian” foil, Marie Antoinette, on the other hand, never had such a choice. Even though she, too, was leading a life largely separate from Louis XVI. A life she made the most of by “being frivolous.” Decorating the palace, overseeing the construction of the Hamlet at Trianon and, needless to say, buying plenty of clothes and shoes. That latter “hobby” being something Priscilla was well-trained in by Elvis himself as he remade her in his image. Not like a god (though Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus” is based on Priscilla’s worshipful dynamic with Elvis), but more like a man playing with a Barbie doll. One he could dress up and style however he wanted. And he did, telling her what and what not to wear (patterns were an absolute no-no). Despite having gotten what she wanted when her parents concede to letting her live with Elvis full-time while she finishes high school (a Catholic one chosen by Elvis), Priscilla finds that the “real relationship” she was hoping to achieve by moving in is largely impossible to get in that Elvis is perennially absent (often mentally, as well as physically), blowing in whenever he wants with the same whimsy as a breeze. Worse still, he continues to avert any sexual consummation with her (one supposes at least he had some limits, but that was more about his own fucked-up psychology than anything resembling a moral code). 

    Priscilla’s privileged girlhood connection to Marie is a motif Coppola established from the outset of her career, with The Virgin Suicides. Its star, Kirsten Dunst, would go from Lux Lisbon to Marie Antoinette in a pinch. And, although mostly panned at the time, 2006’s Marie Antoinette has evolved into being something of a Coppola favorite—one of the most shining gems in her still scant canon. And, of course, it speaks to all the themes Coppola is so fond of: a teen girl’s loneliness and isolation despite living in a gilded world of privilege. One that’s ultimately a prison where she can be abused under the guise of being “taken care of.” Both Marie and Priscilla experienced this in different centuries and places, but the feeling Coppola evokes about what each woman goes through remains entirely similar. In point of fact, Coppola herself remarked of her attraction to the project, “I was just so interested in Priscilla’s story and her perspective on what it all felt like to grow up as a teenager in Graceland. She was going through all the stages of young womanhood in such an amplified world—kinda similar to Marie Antoinette.”

    What’s also “similar” is the idea that both women were basically sold off to a suitor. With Antoinette, that reality was obviously more glaring and straightforward. With Priscilla, it was done with more “subtlety.” In this regard, Coppola is certain to include Priscilla’s (whose last name was then Beaulieu) parents’ initial hesitancy about succumbing to Elvis’ overtures. But, in the end, of course, no one ever says no to power. They didn’t call Elvis “The King” for nothing (a modern-day Louis XVI to Priscilla’s Marie). Which is why he had “little minions” to do his bidding for him…like, say, scouting young “talent” for his bedroom. That’s essentially what Elvis’ “Army buddy,” Currie Grant (not to be confused with Cary), did when he spotted Priscilla at the Wiesbaden, Germany “malt shop,” if you will. Seeing something that he knew Elvis would like, he invited her to a party at the house Elvis was renting. Over the course of that year, things remained decidedly Rated G (though Coppola does leave out a scene from Elvis and Me where Elvis comes up to his room to join Priscilla by lying in bed with her). As they did for Marie’s own sex life with Louis, who has the very French male problem of impotency during the beginning of their marriage. 

    A girl living in a beautiful location with a beautiful man who 1) does not give her any attention and 2) cannot sexually satisfy her seems to be the name of Coppola’s thematic game. To boot, Coppola “was initially drawn towards the character of Marie Antoinette as an innocent and caring character who found herself in a situation outside of her control, and that rather than creating a historical representation, she wanted to create a more intimate look into the world of the heroine.” The same goes for Priscilla Beaulieu. Who never went back to that surname after taking Elvis’—almost like she couldn’t admit that she wasn’t ever a “whole person” without him. In this sense, Priscilla focuses very little on the “transformational” period of “Cilla’s” life (packed in for a few minutes at the end of the movie), which began in the early 70s when she started taking martial arts lessons with Mike Stone. The instructor she would have an affair with (vaguely alluded to by Coppola) and who Elvis would want to have murdered upon finding out. Because, duh, only a husband can have his affairs, not a wife. One who is mostly responding to the lack of emotional and physical attention from her husband. But even when Priscilla started to talk about the sense of independence karate was giving her, she couldn’t help but relate it back to Elvis by saying, “I think he was really proud of me; very few women were doing karate at that time.” 

    That wouldn’t exactly track, though, considering Elvis didn’t like “his” woman to display any signs of masculine energy. So it is that Priscilla falls into her role as “trophy wife,” though often with no one to “display herself” to. To convey this type of rudderlessness—this emotional vacancy—Coppola provides so many scenes that echo the decadence-drenched loneliness of Marie Antoinette, like Priscilla sitting in isolation on a massive couch at Graceland holding her only companion, Honey. The dog Elvis gave her right when she moved in (likely in anticipation that it would be the only being in her life she could call loyal and constant). Or sitting alone (and pregnant) in the morning at the kitchen table, furnished with lavish fruits and fresh orange juice, in addition to her breakfast, only to further sink into despair upon encountering yet another gossipy headline about Elvis and Nancy Sinatra “canoodling” on the set of Speedway

    Already well-acquainted with Elvis’ affairs after the highly publicized one involving Ann-Margaret during the production of Viva Las Vegas!, Priscilla “learns her lesson” about bothering to confront him. “I need a woman who understands things like this might happen,” Elvis has the gall to scold her after she brings up his affair with Ann-Margaret. But eventually, she knows that nothing will change. Elvis “is who he is.” And “boys will be boys.” 

    So it is that Priscilla keeps wandering Graceland like the empty palace that it is, her bereftness enveloping the viewer. As does the emptiness of her life in contrast to the abode she haunts, so chock full of opulent furniture and decor. Seeing her life unfold under Elvis’ specter, most audience members of today would ask why and how she could stay with him for so long before realizing how toxic the relationship was. Granted, the TV movie version of Elvis and Me is way more on blast than Priscilla about that toxicity (side note: Priscilla served as an executive producer on both films). Which makes one wonder why Lisa Marie was so scandalized by Coppola’s rendering. It’s far more generous than past presentations have been, doing its best to uphold the myth that this is a love story and not a story of perverse grooming followed by a master-slave dynamic. Even the rape scene in Elvis and Me is much more direct than the one merely inferred in Priscilla. It happens at the very end, with Coppola making it the catalyst for Priscilla’s final decision to leave him the next morning. 

    And yet, despite all the abusiveness, all the cruelty, Coppola has the “reverence” to conclude the film with Priscilla driving away from Graceland to the tune of Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You,” which comes across as altogether sick after witnessing what we just did. Nonetheless, it’s another classic case in point of Coppola’s acumen with musical selections, especially as she was forced to get creative after being denied use of Elvis’ music by his Estate. Though it was technically allowed to be used in Elvis and Me (even if “rendered” by another singer named Ronnie McDowell), an equally unflattering portrayal. But maybe that just goes to show how much public tastes have changed to reflect that the Estate wouldn’t want to be part of any project that makes Elvis look like the abusive predator he was (what’s more, even Lana “Daddy Lover” Del Rey didn’t make the time to contribute a song to a biopic about a woman she’s often been aesthetically compared to). 

    As for Coppola’s casting choices, Cailee Spaeny looks like a mashup of Carey Mulligan in An Education (a film that also deals with a teen girl-older man romance) and Natalie Portman circa Closer (with her vocal inflection also mirroring Portman’s), while Jacob Elordi sounds more like Elvis than he looks like him. But Coppola assessed, “I thought nobody was gonna look quite like Elvis, but Jacob has that same type of magnetism. He’s so charismatic, and girls go crazy around him, so I knew he could pull off playing this type of romantic icon.” Though “romantic” doesn’t feel like quite the right word for Elvis anymore. 

    To that end, while the story it tells is increasingly difficult to stomach in the modern era (Lisa Marie was right about that), Priscilla is a return to form for Coppola after she veered horrendously off course with 2020’s On the Rocks. Perhaps an indication that she’s better at telling stories about daughters and “Daddies” rather than daughters and daddies.

    Genna Rivieccio

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  • The Meaning of Lana Del Rey Snubbing the Priscilla Soundtrack

    The Meaning of Lana Del Rey Snubbing the Priscilla Soundtrack

    Practically since the “dawn of Lana Del Rey,” a.k.a. the Tumblr era, there’s been that image circulating around that features her head Photoshopped (this was before AI manipulation as we currently know it, after all) over Priscilla Preseley’s. Specifically, the image of her wedding photo with Elvis. Where they’re sitting down and he’s holding her hand. The aesthetic connection between Del Rey and Beaulieu (lest anyone forget that was her maiden name) is not a coincidence. Like most of the iconography Del Rey has pulled from, it’s very calculated. Plus, it’s no secret that Del Rey is an Elvis stan, even writing a song called “Elvis” at one point that eventually served as part of the soundtrack for 2017’s The King. Then, of course, there was her 2012 declaration on “Body Electric” announcing, “Elvis is my daddy.” Lisa Marie would beg to differ. 

    In fact, Lisa Marie would beg to differ with a lot of things about the “Priscilla project” in general. Maybe not least of which is a soundtrack that doesn’t offer a contribution from Del Rey (or even her father, for that matter, as Sofia Coppola wasn’t able to buy the rights). But, more than that, she was vexed with Coppola (per some recently released emails) for “making” her father “seem” like a predator when it came to his pursuit of an extremely underaged Priscilla. Except, obviously, it goes without saying that Elvis was a predator; Coppola doesn’t need to do much work to make that translate on screen. Especially since she’s using Priscilla’s own 1985 biography, Elvis and Me, as the source material. Material that covers everything from being raped by Elvis (a scene that also shows up in the 1988 TV movie adaptation) while they were married to his rampant affairs, most famously with Ann-Margaret. The book conveyed such a toxic master-slave “bond” that it inspired Depeche Mode to write the beloved single, “Personal Jesus,” a song about “how Elvis was [Priscila’s] man and her mentor and how often that happens in love relationships. How everybody’s heart is like a god in some way.”

    If there’s one chanteuse who’s an expert in creating that effect (apart from Taylor Swift), it’s Lana Del Rey. Or at least it was…when we were in the era of Ultraviolence Lana Del Rey. This being the album wherein she freely filched the controversial Crystals’ line by annoucning, “He hit me and it felt like a kiss.” Priscilla knew that feeling too. But perhaps not as well as Elvis’ final “lady friend,” Ginger Alden, who wrote her own memoir detailing the propensity Elvis had for casual gunplay as a psychological mindfuck. Indeed, everything about Elvis screams “cult leader,” of the sort Del Rey was talking about on “Ultraviolence” when she sings, “‘Cause I’m your jazz singer and you’re my cult leader/I love you forever, I love you forever.” These lyrics are just as easily envisioned coming out of the mouth of Priscilla as she roams the empty halls of Graceland in the midst of yet another one of Elvis’ extended absences. In fact, it would be completely on-brand for Sofia Coppola to feature a scene just like this using that song (see also: her implementation of The Strokes’ “What Ever Happened?” in Marie Antoinette). But, for “whatever reason,” Del Rey’s inclusion on the Priscilla Soundtrack is nonexistent. Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying on the director’s part, who reached out at least twice to try to make something happen. 

    As Coppola told E! News, “We were hoping she could do a song for it, but it didn’t work out with the timing.” This, to be sure, is always a bullshit excuse for being able to get out of something you’re not all that passionate about. Nor was Del Rey all that passionate about attending the premiere of the film, which Coppola also invited her to. Even if she was rather late to the party on apprehending the internet’s long-standing connection between Lana and Priscilla. For, as Coppola admitted, “I’m learning that people really connect Lana Del Rey and Priscilla and I didn’t realize that, but I got a lot of requests with, ‘How is she gonna be a part of the movie?’” The answer, clearly, is that she’s not. And maybe part of her overt snubbing under the guise of “schedule conflicts” has something to do with her own vague awareness of the ick factor that comes with being associated with a narrative like this in 2023. Even if Del Rey isn’t exactly known for being anything other than tone deaf about what she calls “the culture.” 

    Nonetheless, something about her willfully missing the opportunity to be part of a pop culture moment so tailor-made for her “brand” appears to indicate that maybe she’s attempting, in her own small way, to move on from the “toxic romance” label that has followed her from the outset of her career. Just as it did Amy Winehouse. The singer who more truly embodies the “Priscilla spirit” not just in her beehive coif and constant application of heavy, garish eyeliner, but in her assessments of love. One such example being, when she said of The Crystals’ “He Hit Me (And It Felt Like A Kiss),” “There’s only a certain percentage of people that would understand what that’s about. Most people would be like, ‘How dare you promote domestic violence?’ But to me, I’m like, ‘I know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean.’” So did Priscilla, and so, as she herself claims, does Lana. Yet copping to that understanding has become increasingly problematic (especially in the years that have gone by since Winehouse ruled the charts, and could more effortlessly bill this rhetoric as something like “beautiful and tragic”). Even for somebody who has typically been rather blasé about her largely anti-feminist body of work. Try as many might to position her “world-building” as an “authentic” exploration of what it is to be simply: a woman in a relationship. And a “fragile” one, at that.

    But fragility has never stopped a man from roughing a “dame” up, as Priscilla found out. Incidentally, “Ultraviolence,” the song from Del Rey’s canon that most reminds one of the Priscilla and Elvis dynamic (particularly as LDR dons a wedding dress in the accompanying video), is something she’s become more averse to in recent years, telling Pitchfork in 2017, “I don’t like it. I don’t. I don’t sing it. I sing ‘Ultraviolence,’ but I don’t sing that line anymore. Having someone be aggressive in a relationship was the only relationship I knew. I’m not going to say that that [lyric] was one hundred percent true, but I do feel comfortable saying what I was used to was a difficult, tumultuous relationship, and it wasn’t because of me. It didn’t come from my end.” Though a lot of internalized misogyny still does seem to come from (and out of) Del Rey’s end. However, this “schedule conflict” of hers with regard to participating in Priscilla might mean there’s hope for her “re-pivoting” away from such “predilections” in the future. Even if Did You Know That There’s A Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd isn’t necessarily a harbinger of that.

    Genna Rivieccio

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