Hypothetical question: It’s the year 1996, and alien beings, cleverly disguised as humans, are destroying the earth for their own selfish needs. Who you gonna call? No, not Rowdy Roddy Piper; he sacrificed himself a few years back (that’s a They Live reference, BTW). Also, 1996 Will Smith is busy saving the world from other alien overlords (Independence Day), and 1996 Jack Nicholson has his hands full with yet another xenomorphic conflict (Mars Attacks!).

Who else you got? If you’ve guessed “Pudgy Charlie Sheen” … congratulations?

The Arrival, the third alien invasion movie of 1996, made little impact upon its release. It wielded neither the star wattage nor big budget of its higher-profile kin, and its special effects are best described as “eh, pretty good, all things considered.” But, much like spiritual soulmate They Live, its subtext makes it increasingly relevant, even if it’s too long and has all the visual élan of an episode of T.J. Hooker.

David Twohy (the Riddick trilogy) was a neophyte director here, and it shows; his lackluster pacing drags The Arrival out way longer than it needs to be. His writing is stronger, full of smart people sounding smart while doing smart things (and a few dumb things, because tension), and by layering in themes of climate change and environmental devastation, he (like John Carpenter with — again — They Live) transforms a slight B movie into something more topical and thought-provoking.

Sadly, most of the actors can barely muster interest, with only the passionate climatologist played by Lindsay Crouse (House of Games) making a true impression (so, obviously, she dies). Ron Silver (Timecop) is comatose as the baddie, Teri Polo (the Meet the Parents trilogy) is blandness personified as Girlfriend Character, and Sheen only rouses at the finale as his put-upon astronomer becomes more and more unhinged.

Sheen is also leagues away from the ripped and shredded physique he showed off in Hot Shots! Part Deux, which actually works in the movie’s favor. Be honest: Aren’t we all tired of movie scientists who also resemble GQ catalog models? Sheen’s corporeal puffiness adds a level of verisimilitude to The Arrival that his sleepy performance sadly cannot match. —Corey Redekop

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Aliens vs. Predator: Requiem begins where 2004’s Alien vs. Predator left off: with the miracle of birth! To be precise, an Alien-style chestburster rises from the womb-like corpse of a Predator — behold, the PredAlien! (Seriously, that’s what 20th Century Fox calls it.) This milestone occurs in space, aboard a Predator ship (PredShip?), which the newborn causes to crash-land on Earth, thereby loosing the Predators’ jarred collection of live Alien facehuggers on the quaint, quiet town of Gunnison, Colo.

Following the spacecraft’s distress signal to our planet is a clean-up Predator (Ian Whyte, The Scorpion King 4: Quest for Power) whose figurative job is to mop up the mess left behind using explosives and a beaker of blue acid. He makes that damned clicking sound while going about his business. Skirmishes occur amid the great outdoors, but also in the town’s sewer system, nuclear power plant, high school pool and hospital — woe be to the visibly already-pregnant woman who gets mouth-raped by the PredAlien.

VFX wunderkinds Colin and Greg Strause (Skyline) spend the first act of their feature-directing debut setting up members of their expendable human cast — an ex-con, a pizza delivery boy, an Iraq War vet, the customary cop and so on — and the next two acts knockin’ ’em down. To my surprise, they do a much better job establishing those earlier stages than in dishing out Requiem’s supposed meat. That the characters are introduced with so little personality should tell all about the degree to which the brothers’ film disappoints, especially in the only area in which their target audience gives a damn. They’re no Paul W.S. Anderson.

Requiem might be a fanboy’s dream if we could see the sequences that justify the “vs.” portion of the title. For whatever reason — perhaps to mask some digital seams? — these scenes appear unforgivably dark on disc just as they did in theaters; they’re even trickier for the eye to decipher than the movie’s “what is that?” one-sheet. The Strauses work from a through-the-motions script by Shane Salerno (2000’s Shaft remake), whose coda sets up a never-made third film. Neither Anderson’s original nor the Strauses’ sequel were able to meet the inherent potential of this spin-off franchise, but the Strause boys really squandered it. —Rod Lott

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