Ask JKM a Question #62: The Xenomorphs in Prometheus?

A reader, Skeptical Gnostic, writes:

“Hi Mr. Muir, I wanted to know your thoughts on a Prometheus theory I have.”

“Now, the evolution of the xenomorph still hasn’t been explicitly explained (yet), but really, to retain a sense of mystery that was robbed in sequels, all we needed to know was that it evolved from simple beginnings at one point in time; the crew in Prometheus merely set off a chain of events that the engineers already experimented with thousands perhaps millions of years prior and the parasite evolved over time to be the perfect weapon. All we saw were some missing links in the early beginnings of the xenomorph so there was more than enough to suggest that this is how they began and obviously they evolved. 

Now, It’s quite clear to me and many others I've spoken to that the xenomorph evolved from worms; worms are hermaphroditic, they shed skin, they lay eggs, they have no eyes, they sense light and will move away from light...Newborn xenos are worm-like in morphology indicating their worm/hammerpede ancestry (ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny), they have no eyes, they shed skin, they appear hermaphroditic and xenos are well known to be afraid of fire. Notice how the hammerpede had acid for blood? Notice how it strengthened its constriction around Milburn’s arms when it was touched? Quite obvious clues there. Over time the hammerpedes mate and lay eggs (remember there were a few swimming around in the ampule chamber) and every generation evolves; growing fingers and more efficient ways of depositing embryos inside hosts.”

“So now we know what came first; The Queen or the Egg? Neither; it was the black-goo, worms and hammerpedes. The worms and the hammerpedes are an example of the Chekhov’s Gun trope and I think the uber-facehugger (Trilobite) and the deacon are red herrings. It’s all implied right there in the film, and we see an indirect route of the process with the black goo used on human intermediaries that resulted in an uber-facehugger and a deacon xenomorph. What we see there is just common descent; in evolution may organisms share common descent if they have a common ancestor, which in the film is revealed to be the black goo. And since there are several temples on LV-223 this implies several versions of the xenomorph bioweapon.”

“Also, notice how the deacon infant wasn’t worm-like? It had no tail...Another clue was a deleted scene showing Milburn finding the shed skin of the hammerpede...Scott and co probably thought it was too obvious a clue! Worms as the ancestors of the xenomorph corresponds directly with H.R. Giger's life-cycle.”

“What do you think?”

Hi, Skeptical Gnostic.  Very intriguing stuff.  I noted the presence of worms in the film with avid interest, and wondered about them, so your theory definitely dovetails nicely with the details of the text.

Truly, you have struck on the thing about Prometheus I love so very much: it is open-ended enough to inspire speculation on the part of the audience.   Where I have read some people complain about the fact that the film doesn’t tie up every loose end, or spoon-feed us ALL the information, I feel that many folks -- yourself included -- are absolutely inspired by the film to think about all it has to say…and all it is trying to tell us.  Who are the Engineers?  Is that Earth in the first scene?  How does the xenomorph develop in terms of a life cycle?  These are questions the film raises, but doesn’t definitively answer.

In my opinion, Prometheus is a great work of art precisely because it doesn’t fill in all the gaps, and thus leaves us the possibility (and glory) for multiple interpretations.  I certainly see no reason, right off, why your theory doesn’t fit with what we see on screen, or learn from the filmmakers. 

I last watched the film about two months ago, for the fifth time.   But rest assured, when I watch it again next (and I will…) I’ll have your thesis close at hand, and be actively considering it!

Thanks for giving me something to think about, and obsess upon, regarding one of my favorite films.

Don’t forget to ask me your questions at Muirbusiness@yahoo.com

Link of the Week: Stealing Fire - In Praise of Prometheus

Other blockbusters films have come and gone this summer -- and many have met with great spikes and dips in popularity. Yet for many film lovers, Prometheus (2012) remains the story of the season.  There is something incredibly intriguing about this Ridley Scott film; some quality that keeps calling viewers back to it.  Ironically, even viewers who have (loudly) stated their dislike for the film have reported, on various sites, how they keep "thinking about" the movie.

I get it. Prometheus beckons me yet. I'd like to see the film again before it leaves theaters, but in all likelihood will wait for Blu Ray at this point.

This weekend at C.H.U.D. author M. Morse penned and posted "Stealing Fire: In Praise of Prometheus," another in-depth analysis and review of Scott's film, and one worthy of your time.  I wholeheartedly recommend the piece, not merely because it makes brief reference to my own review of the film, but because it goes deep into the DNA of the film, and comes up with some great connections to Nietzsche. 

Here's a snippet:

Prometheus mirrors Thus Spoke Zarathustra in a number of fascinating ways, right down to the image of a snake burying himself in the throat of a man.  Nietzsche's book concerns a "prophet" of sorts named Zarathustra (natch) who, during the course of the book, descends from his mountain home to bring new wisdom to mankind.  If that description reminds you of a certain Promethean Titan who descends Olympus to bring fire to humanity I would suggest the similarity may be less than accidental.

In Nietzsche's book, the character of Zarathustra comes to believe that humanity had experienced the death of God.  In fact, with the aid of an increasingly secular society and advances in the sciences, humanity had essentially killed him.  The notion of believing in an anthropomorphic deity came to seem foolish in the face of rationalism.  In Prometheus, science's discovery of the existence of the Engineers signals the death of the traditional Judeo-Christian God as the personal Creator of life on Earth.

There are many more insights and fascinating ideas in Mr. Morse's review, so if you -- like me -- find that Prometheus is something of an obsession, please check it out.  It's my "Link of the Week," and it adds considerably to the scholarship concerning the film.

Hatched from a Mutual Zygote: Prometheus Island Edition

(Suggested, with imagery, from The Sci Fi Fanatic)

They May Be Synthetic, but They're Not Stupid: The Androids of Alien and Prometheus

Now that we have Prometheus as our “small beginning” (!) to a “big thing” (the long-lived Alien franchise), there is an opportunity to gaze at the five films and chart new thematic or character connections.  Considering the critical role that David (Michael Fassbender) plays in Prometheus, Ridley Scott has given audiences and fans a wonderful opportunity to trace, specifically, the development of artificial life forms in the series. 

In fact, with a little imagination and analysis, can we actually track the full evolution of a sentient, android race in the Alien franchise films? And can we do so in the same manner we would trace the growth of an individual human being; from birth to maturity?

Prometheus’s David is the first or earliest android in the chronology, we now understand.  This, in a sense, makes him the first of his kind, or a newborn…a child.  Accordingly, we see in the film how David seeks out guidance -- and like a human son or daughter -- models himself on those around him…whether an adopted parent or a figure he sees in a movie he enjoys (like T.E. Lawrence). 

Also much like a young child, David seems to conform to no accepted rules of morality except those that are explicitly established for him by his Daddy, Weyland (Guy Pearce). 

And when David has the opportunity to test the limits or boundaries of his world – for instance, when he speaks something cryptic to the Engineers – he seems to do so without hesitation. 

So in David we witness a synthetic life form taking his first baby steps; reckoning with the world and attempting to determine his place in terms of a “family” and behavioral limitations.   In fact, David is the first android in any of the five films who is contextualized in terms of a standard, human family of origin, and here we meet not only patriarch Weyland, but David’s resentful “sibling,” Vickers.

In Prometheus, we also see David intentionally misbehave by opening a door in the temple when he shouldn’t, and by de-activating a camera feed to block his sister’s view. There seems to be something of the mischievous, capricious child in his demeanor.

Alien’s (1979) Ash (Ian Holm) is next in the chronology.  I’ve written about the intense sexual underpinnings of this Ridley Scott film before, but seen in the context of all the franchise androids, I now wonder if it’s possible to view Ash as the repressed teenager of the bunch. 

Ash is moody, difficult, sulky, and envious (of the alien and humans), and he’s apparently got an unhealthy obsession with Ripley.  Just watch that scene of enraged sexual aggression late in the film as he tries to jam a rolled up porno magazine into her open mouth.  He’s full of rage and, at the same time, unable to perform in the way he desires.  And then, of course, when Ash can’t succeed with Ripley, he shoots his wad, ejaculating white android fluid everywhere. 

Ash, clearly, is an android uncomfortable with his identity, and the way he fits in with the world around him.  He is frequently bullied by Parker and challenged by Ripley.  Nobody likes him, and indeed…he isn’t likable.  Sound like any thirteen year old kids you know?

No wonder Ash gazes at the alien with such wonder and awe.  The xenomorph is hostility personified, but also simplicity personified. It knows exactly where it fits in -- anywhere it wants to! -- and exactly how to co-opt other life forms to its (nefarious) ends.  Ash -- an adolescent seeking his place -- can’t say the same thing.

Bishop, portrayed by Lance Henriksen, appears in Aliens (1986) and Alien³ (1992).  Unlike his predecessors, this android seems to have accepted his role (and limits) in human society with grace.  This may be because Bishop is governed by new programming (not available for earlier models like David and Ash, ostensibly…) that prohibits him from acting in a way that allows human beings to be harmed.  Bishop is still child-like, much like David, but – importantly – is much more stable in temperament.    Again, part of the process of maturation in humans is observing limits and understanding that one fits in with a group, and can’t act on any and every impulse.

Thus Bishop seems like a young if still naïve man who has accepted the law of society (Asimov’s laws of robotics) and accepts that they protect everyone.  He may admire the alien, like Ash did, but Bishop’s adherence and acceptance of a law outside himself or a parent means that he can’t be swept up in this infatuation. 

Uniquely, Bishop also faces death with grace, realizing that it is better to die on Fury 161 then to linger in a state of half-life.   One of Alien ³’s greatest rhetorical reversals involves the Bishop character, and audience acceptance of him.  After two movies, our image of the kindly, even sweet Bishop android has erased the memory of the duplicitous and mad Ash.  So when the real Bishop – a flesh-and-blood human – appears to tempt Ripley with a life she can’t have, we want more than anything to trust him.  The android in the Alien series has thus gone from being a dangerous child and mad teen to a productive, trusted and beloved person…even in the eyes of humanity.

The last android we meet in the Alien series is Alien Resurrection’s Call (1997), played by Winona Ryder.  In a very significant way, she represents the final evolution of the android journey.  Not only is she stable like Bishop was, but she is able to look outward – beyond concern for herself or her immediate companions -- to the well-being of the universe at large.  Perhaps not coincidentally, Call is also the first female android we meet in the series, though the jury is still out on Vickers...  

For the first time in the series, an artificial person, Call, independently reaches the same eminently reasonable reckoning about the aliens that the human Ripley did immediately before her apotheosis on Fury 161: that they must be destroyed at any cost to assure the safety of all life forms. What we have here, then, is a synthetic being who sees life as worthwhile, and attempts to nurture and protect it. Is that one way to define maturity? Being able to see outside yourself, your desires, and even the law, and acknowledging some brand of connection among life forms?  Prioritizing life over selfish, financial, or military gain?

If we do get the much-anticipated sequel to Prometheus, it will be intriguing to see how David’s continuing journey fills in the rest of the gap, leading up to the fussy, fastidious, pent-up Ash.   Cannon, a reader here on the blog commented (with insight) yesterday that David is actually symbolic of the Prometheus myth himself.  Like Prometheus, he is neither man nor God (Engineer), but a Titan, and thus apart. 

The journey of the androids in the Alien series reflects that separation.  These synthetic beings start out (historically) as separate, disdained (David) and hostile (Ash), but become integrated into the human community and even trusted (Bishop), to the point that they finally -- at last (in Call) -- echo our finest values as a species.

Death by a Thousand Nitpicks? Prometheus (2012) and the critical reception

Yesterday, I wrote about some of the ideas underlying Ridley Scott's Prometheus (2012).  Today, I want to survey briefly some of the arguments I've seen leveled against the film. Now, mind you, there are criticisms, obviously, to be made of the film.  This post is not designed to suggest that all criticism of the film is invalid or wrong, only that some of the intense, oft-repeated criticisms seem...overwrought, and suggest a refusal to meet the film half-way.

1. Scientific Inaccuracy.  I've read several complaints about the opening card (over a view of Prometheus in space) that establishes precisely the vessel's distance from Earth (and also the time it took to travel to this point in space).  In short, apparently Prometheus traveled really, really fast.  So is this an error in science?  Perhaps so.  But does it disqualify the movie from a position of quality, overall?  Well, let me just say this: "You've never heard of the Millennium Falcon? It's the ship that made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs."  Does that (cringe-worthy) and unscientific line make Star Wars (1977) a bad movie overall?  And let's not forget Star Trek: First Contact (1996) either, wherein the Enterprise travels from the Romulan neutral zone to Earth in time to join a battle with the Borg already in progress.  So this point about Prometheus actually reveals how critical standards aren't exactly being applied evenly in discussions of the film.

2.  The characters behave stupidly!  This is actually a multi-part complaint, and one I'm sensitive to on some fronts. But what I've read most frequently online is a variation of "what kind of dumb scientist is Holloway that he would remove his helmet in an alien temple?!"  Well, he's the kind of scientist who already confirmed that there is a breathable atmosphere inside the temple, and then explicitly re-confirmed it with the expedition's brilliant android, David.  It's not like he just gets to the surface of LV-223 and tears off his helmet during a silica storm.  Yes, Holloway's behavior is undeniably rash, and Shaw isn't exactly happy about it, either.  So, 1.) Holloway does make at least a cursory safety check before the rash move, and 2.) his rash move is duly noted by the other, irritated characters in the drama.  So what's the problem?  I'm old enough to remember the response to Space: 1999 (1975 - 1977) when some folks complained that the Alphans acted too much like scientists; too reserved, too careful, too deliberate.  Where was their sense of risk?  Their sense of humanity?  Where was the drama?!  Prometheus takes the opposite tact, perhaps, but that choice doesn't invalidate the film.  Scientists are human beings -- replete with foibles -- too.

A.) The two scientists who encounter the snake alien don't show enough fear while facing it.  Well, they look pretty terrified to me.  One way to interpret their panicky behavior is that they are attempting to quiet the beast -- in case it is afraid of them.  It's like being faced with a wild tiger in the jungle.  Do you scream at the top of your lungs and scare it?  Run away suddenly, basically daring it to strike?  Or do you address the threat...soothingly?  "It's okay, it's okay...shhhh, it's okay...relax...we're not going to hurt you."  No, not a perfect response by any means, but an understandable and absolutely human one.  And one that ends badly, of course.  Is it so hard to believe?

B.) Holloway doesn't tell anyone he's sick.  Again, this complaint is absolutely true.  But in terms of movie conventions, how many zombie or outbreak-style movies have we seen in which a character fails to reveal to others in a timely fashion that he or she has been bitten or contaminated?  There are a lot of movies that we now must rule out as "good" if this element is going to be a disqualifying factor for Prometheus.  The truth is -- again -- that Holloway acts like a flawed, imperfect human being; a scared human being.  He makes a very bad judgment call.  When he has time to reconsider that call, he sacrifices his life rather than hurt Shaw and the others.  No, he's not perfect up front, instantly, upon recognizing his plight.  How many of us would be perfect in identical circumstances?  


C.) Captain Janek (Idris Elba) must not care about his stranded crew because he goes off to have sex with Vickers (Charlize Theron) while the marooned men are in danger.  If we gaze at Janek, his character arc is essentially one in which he goes from being "just the captain" (and indeed, not caring), to laying down his life to save the entire human race.  He comes to understand, because of the events on LV-223 that he can no longer remain uninvolved, or on the side-lines.  All that century-old music he appreciates from Earth's past (his parental figure or most important influence, it seems...) will be lost to the ages if the Engineers have their way.  If Janek had remained at his post all through the night, this character arc would be sacrificed. And thus his final act would be less meaningful, and less surprising.  And besides, Janek doesn't see the team, necessarily as "his" crew.  He's just along for the ride...until something he cares about is threatened.  Again, this isn't Captain Kirk-styled heroics; this is a very real, unromantic human portrayal.  


D.) Shaw blows up an Engineer head, willy-nilly!  Early in the film, Shaw recovers an engineer head, sticks some electricity in the thing, and blows it up.  I've seen a lot of folks complain about her behavior in this scene.  But if you look more deeply at the symbolism of this sequence, it doesn't seem so baffling.  The Engineers are clearly afraid of their creation, the humans, and exhibit A might be this very moment.  A human shows up and in a fever to gain "the ultimate knowledge"  she destroys that which she seeks to understand.  Could be a metaphor for the whole movie, no?  In trying to comprehend God, do we destroy God?  In finding God, do we destroy faith?  Similarly, look at the decapitation symbolism, specifically.  A decapitation can mean a number of things, like for instance that your head and heart are not connected.  Some scholars also interpret decapitation imagery in dreams to mean that the dreamer's beliefs are under attack.  In a very real way, this reflects Shaw's situation (and her character is already connected explicitly to dream imagery in the text of the film...)  Her chosen belief is that the Engineers are God.  She finds out that they are not.  The severed head is both a literal and metaphorical reminder that her beliefs are wrong. The Engineers are clearly as mortal and vulnerable as humans.  Finally, this scene functions as an eerie mirror of a similar scene in Alien involving a decapitated Ash, and attempts to communicate with the damaged android.   In any case, engaging with the film's mode of communication makes this scene less irritating, and more provocative.

3.) Implausibility.  One of the complaints I have read frequently vis-a-vis Prometheus is that Shaw gets surgery and then "runs around" for the rest of the movie like nothing ever happened to her.  Well, not exactly.  She does fall unconscious for an interval, after all.  And it's not as though she isn't feeling intense pain, either.  A moment that I found even more effective than the brilliant surgery scene in generating a sense of unease involved Shaw sucking in her gut to zip up her tight space suit.  It's pretty clear from her expression that she's in agony.  And again, let's return to movie history and movie convention for a moment.  In Die Hard (1987), Bruce Willis walked barefoot across broken glass but was then strong enough to go mano-e-mano with Alexander Gudonov.  So again, if this is a disqualifying factor for Prometheus overall, let's disqualify Die Hard from greatness while we're at it, too.

4.) Sloppy writing.  I read a complaint online yesterday that the alien Engineers just "left" their bio weapons out in the middle of an open room, for any unlucky soul to find.  But didn't we explicitly see a hologram sequence in which the door to the weapon room was sealed tightly shut?  And it was such a heavy door, in fact, that it actually decapitated one of the Engineers when it closed.  David must unlock the door to gain access to that room.  It's not just wide open, as some critics have insisted.   

Secondly, what kind of scientists are these guys to go in and start touching stuff in the temple? Well, if memory serves, David is the one who first touches the black goop, on the premise that, as Weyland explicitly states, he's immortal.  It's true that the presence of a breathable atmosphere impacts the vases and causes the leakage there.  But could the astronauts have known this leakage would occur ahead of time?  Don't they evacuate as soon as they do recognize what has occurred?  And besides, what fun would the movie have been if the scientists went all the way to LV-223 and decided not to go inside the temple because they might interfere with something?    Let's not forget that no movie is perfect in constructing its narrative.  To create tension in the final act of Alien, remember, Ripley returned to the bridge of the Nostromo to rescue a cat.   That's as questionable an act as any of the aforementioned nitpicks in Prometheus.  But of course, going back for the cat doesn't disqualify Alien as a quality genre film, either.

Other questions also boast relatively straight-forward answers if you engage with Prometheus and meet it half-way.  Why doesn't the Engineer ship in the prologue look exactly like the one in the finale?  Well, why doesn't the Enterprise look like the Reliant?  Same makers, different design.  Why doesn't Vickers roll to the side instead of being crushed by the falling derelict?  She stumbles and falls at the last second, but when she turns back over, it's too late.  At least she didn't outrun a fire-ball, a common convention in such films. 

Again and again, many of the complaints lodged against Prometheus are of the nature I describe here: easily explainable if you are willing to engage even a little.  These nitpicks are ones that -- if equally applied to other films -- would absolutely preclude enjoyment and appreciation of Star Wars, Die Hard, and other classics.  In short, there are ample reasons to find fault with Prometheus.  But these reasons? 

So, we must ask ourselves, why is Prometheus the target of such egregious and easily answered nitpicking?   My suspicion is that many folks are discomforted by what the film implies about family, mortality, and religion, and thus latch onto nitpick quibbles to build a case that the Scott film is poorly presented.  Rather than dealing with what Prometheus is actually about, they nibble around the edges. Again, I'm not declaring that Prometheus is above serious criticism.  But does this level of nitpicking qualify as serious criticism?   In the history of cinema, this isn't the first time such a thing has happened, either.  On original release, Psycho, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and even Scott's own Blade Runner met with fiercely negative reviews too.  Time has revealed the error in those cases.  Will it do the same for Prometheus?