Almost 50 years removed from Ridley Scott’s Alien, H.R. Giger and Dan O’Bannon’s multimouthed space monster remains timeless. That’s not to say almost every sequel, prequel and whatever Alien vs. Predator is didn’t at least slightly chip away at the Xenomorph’s mystique. But those films didn’t completely diffuse what makes them iconic and terrifying, either. With Fede Alvarez (Don’t Breathe) in the pilot’s seat of Alien: Romulus, however, it’s not a stretch to think this entry marks a true return to form for the “perfect organism.” So, is it?

Absolutely not. Not for a lack of trying, but more so for a lack of identity. Of course, it’s unfair to expect any Alien entry to ignite the same feelings of curiosity and terror as the first. The moment we saw, we were desensitized. That’s the tragic downside of iconic franchises: If your take is too similar, it’s derivative. And if it’s too different, it’ll be tonally alienating. Romulus, surprisingly, manages to do both.

Set some 20 years after the original, Alien: Romulus follows Rain (Cailee Spaeny, Civil War) and Andy (David Jonsson, HBO’s Industry), a miner and her adoptive robo-brother. Desperate to escape their colony’s harsh way of life, Rain humors her ex’s pleas to join him on a short flight to a nearby planet, where the titular space station promises a heaping helping of long-lasting cryo-sleep chambers. (It’s a little muddy in the first act, but these pods will ensure Rain and company can survive a multiyear flight to a more ideal colony.)

Still, they also need Andy, whose similarities to Weyland-Yutani droids should let him interface with the Romulus’ tech. Spoiler: It works a little too well, as Andy doesn’t just open doors, but accidentally awakens a hoard of everyone’s favorite parasitic horseshoe crabs, too.

Romulus’ first act oozes with potential. We get a real glimpse of life on the colonies, something absent from — though alluded to in — Alien and Aliens. This harsh reality makes it easy to attach to Rain and Andy’s plight, and even breathes life into the auxiliary alien fodder, though not to the same effect as the Nostromo’s crew.

As soon as they board the Romulus craft, it gets even better. Alvarez, a master in close-quarter horror settings, takes us into the bowels of a bleak and apathetic vessel lit by flickering consoles and weak fluorescent lights. To top it off, he relies primarily on animatronics, which gives his creatures significantly more weight than what we got in 2017’s Alien: Covenant.

Craftsmanship really is this movie’s saving grace. Because as soon as the plot starts to take off, it’s quickly suffocated by a mouse-shaped facehugger. Ian Holm’s likeness is reused in the form of Rook, an effective carbon copy of the late actor’s character, Ash, from the first film. Ethical questions aside, Rook sabotages and assimilates what could be a compelling character arc for Andy for the sake of hollow nostalgia.

The film then starts to recreate portions of other Alien flicks at such a rapid pace that it could’ve been alternatively titled Now That’s What I Call Xenomorphs Vol. 7. A pack of Xenos get mowed down à la Aliens. Another tries to lick Rain’s face like in Alien 3. We even get a callback (albeit way creepier and effective) to Alien Resurrection in the final sequence. Not everyone will digest this approach as soulless, but it feels like it almost aggressively strips away Romulus’ originality for cheap pandering. It also wouldn’t be so egregious if Alvarez hadn’t proved over a decade ago (in 2013’s Evil Dead) that he can operate in an established universe without needless allusions.

Alien: Romulus is unique — at least for this franchise — in how unoriginal it is. It’s fun and thrilling, sure, and those who aren’t immediately familiar with the rest of the Alien canon may hardly notice this sequel’s many seams. We who expected something with staying power, on the other hand, may wish to steer clear of this specimen’s acid blood. —Daniel Bokemper

With a revisit of Godzilla 1985, the biggest question isn’t why it took Toho more than a decade to bring the king of the monsters back from retirement. The biggest question also isn’t why it ignores the 14 sequels following the 1954 original Godzilla. Rather, the biggest question is why the opening introduces some kind of flying tick the size of an Igloo ice chest, only for it to never reappear.

At least that’s my biggest question. More serious G-fans may wonder otherwise, like, “This was the first Godzilla movie you saw in full?” It sure was! Before I could drive, it took some convincing for my mom to rent it for me. New World Pictures’ VHS release had Marv Newland’s immortal Bambi Meets Godzilla cartoon playing upfront, too.

But to answer the inquiries posed in paragraph one: Who cares when Raymond Burr is back! Returning for the first and last time since the Americanized franchise-starter, Burr (Gorilla at Large) is the barrel-chested newspaperman Steven (née Steve) Martin. Also returning: Godzilla, re-emerging in Japan after all these years, taking out a Russian sub in the process. The Russkies blame the U.S., not the big lizard, thereby stoking nuclear fears.

As the lone Western Hemisphere-based survivor of Godzilla’s initial stampede three decades prior — you know, before the world discovered color — Martin is summoned to the Pentagon as an adviser. The Pentagon is played by a darkened room, plus one hallway to allow for product placement for Dr Pepper, so misunderstood.

That’s about all the “story” Godzilla 1985 requires. The Japanese authorities employ bird chirps to lure our favorite kaiju into a volcano; luckily, Godzilla takes a detour to stomp the shit out of downtown Tokyo first — the film’s raison d’être. Having previously performed assistant duties on King Kong vs. Godzilla and others, director Koji Hashimoto understands his simple mission and rises to the occasion: Showcase the nice model work and get out of the way.

By contrast, the Burr/Pentagon/American footage handled by R.J. Kizer (Hell Comes to Frogtown) is all passive spectatorship. However, it does allow for the introduction of, despite his red hair, a U.S. military major (Travis Swords, Pink Cadillac) who milks his second-banana status for all it’s worth. For example, while monitoring the sitch in Japan, he notes, “That’s quite an urban renewal program they’ve got going over there.” He’s not wrong. —Rod Lott

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A disgraced journalist (Lily Sullivan, Evil Dead Rise) attempts to rebuild her career — if not her credibility — by starting Beyond Believable, an investigative podcast on unexplained events. One night, the subject for a potential first episode falls in her lap via an anonymous email. Bearing the subject line “The Truth Will Out,” it contains only a name, a phone number and a cryptic reference to a brick.

As the saying goes, curiosity killed the podcaster, so she takes the bait. A couple of calls later, she’s nose-deep in the mystery — or conspiracy? —regarding these black bricks of unknown origin and composition, and containing odd symbols inside.

One unsolicited tip is all it takes to lead her down a rabbit hole. For a good while, the same holds true for Monolith viewers as well, thanks to Sullivan’s engaging performance — all but required when you’re the lone actor onscreen. Unlike the recent, similarly themed First Time Caller, the Australian Monolith benefits from its always-on lead character not being abhorrent.

As first-time filmmakers, directory Matt Vesely and Lucy Campbell take a lot of correct steps upfront. Ultimately, their conclusion’s dogged ambiguity could work against the film’s potential life span. Sci-fi viewers don’t demand complete, lock-and-key explanations — witness The X-Files — but for Monolith to pivot so hard to the abstract after an hour of Sullivan’s methodical info-gathering feels indolent. Nevertheless, I look forward to whatever they direct their energy toward next. After all, the truth will out. —Rod Lott

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Cobbled from episodes of the children’s TV series Masked Ninja Red Shadow, this Japanese feature has popped up under numerous titles in its lifetime. Thanks to importing, white people like me are apt to encounter it as Ninja Scope. Whichever name it bears, the flick packs a lot of action in a mere 52 minutes.

It pits the red-masked, swoopy-haired superhero Akakage (Yuzaburo Sakaguchi, Lone Wolf and Cub: Baby Cart at the River Styx) and kid-ninja sidekick Akokage (Kaneko Yoshinobu, Watari) against a cult. Do you think the cult leader is cool with this? No, he is not, so he sends in his clowns to battle. By “clowns,” I mean creatures of all shapes and sizes and sativa-inspired designs, including a:
• rock monster
• giant, flame-breathing toad
• rectangle-faced goon with sawblade sandals

For these and other colorful storybook shenanigans in which our heroes find themselves, the matinee movie occasional pauses to allow Akakage to bust that fourth wall and inform audience members to don their 3-D viewers. With each fight sequence, Ninja Scope diverts to black and white to allow for anaglyph antics; while it’s kind of a bummer to lose color, when it comes to pushing objects toward the lens, the filmmakers didn’t dick around. 

With a pantyhose-headed puppeteer, exploding plums and a dude on a kite, Ninja Scope never rests to allow itself to get dull.  It’s as if your eyes ate 12 bowls of cereal in a sitting. —Rod Lott

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Although The Animal Kingdom won five of its 12 nominations for the Césars, France’s equivalent to the Oscars, don’t mistake it for homework. It’s a superb work of fantasy. With feet planted on terra firma as its head takes a flight of fancy, the picture draws influence from David Cronenberg’s The Fly to the X-Men franchise, while somehow pulling off the appearance of originality.

Director and writer Thomas Cailley (Love at First Fight) presents a world challenged by a new pandemic, in which people undergo zoological mutations that may as well be named for Dr. Moreau. “Critter” is considered a slur; they’re “creatures,” TYVM, and they grapple with adjusting to feathers, tentacles, scales and prehensile tails.

One of the infected is the wife and mother to, respectively, François (an excellent Romain Duris, 2022’s Final Cut) and teenaged Émile (How to Make Out’s Paul Kircher, quite the young find). She’s also vanished. François can’t face the prospect of losing her, although most would agree that, in a way, he already has.

Meanwhile, while searching high and low, Émile comes face to face with startling examples of evolution’s next step. Whether said step leaps forward or diverges off to the side, the path he’s shown goes further than he’s willing to follow. He may not have a choice.

The Animal Kingdom operates on multiple levels of allegory: mortality, minority, puberty — take your pick! Cailley holds such tight control over his material, he’s able to steer deftly from moments of compassion to comedy (a visual gag involving kayaks slays) with no swerve feeling false. One memorable scene nails the tricky balance of conveying both heartbreak and joy as François and Émile drive through the forest at night while blasting their missing matriarch’s favorite song in hopes of triggering recognition.

Irony exists in The Animal Kingdom having the most humanistic viewpoint among movies in recent memory. Technically impeccable with seamless effects, it makes the case for Cailley being his country’s Steven Spielberg. A feel-good film about a bad hand dealt to all involved, it ends not in a cop-out, but a triumph. —Rod Lott

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