‘Alien: Romulus’ movie review: Fede Álvarez delivers a gut-bursting, psychosexual nightmare

The Alien franchise has long thrived on the malleability of its basic premise: place unsuspecting humans in a confined space with a perfect predator, and then watch as dread, despair, and a whole lot of gore ensue. Yet, with each instalment, this simple formula has been filtered through the distinctive lenses of its directors. From Ridley Scott’s claustrophobic original, a haunting meditation on isolation and corporate indifference, to James Cameron’s bombastic, adrenaline-fueled sequel, each film has stamped its own aesthetic and thematic imprint on the franchise. Now, the modern godfather of the grotesque, Fede Álvarez, has sculpted his vision of the franchise into a psychosexual nightmare which embraces its roots with both ooze-soaked hands and yanks us into a relentless, viscerally charged cinematic experience that redefines the potential for nostalgia-fuelled franchise instalments.

Set between the events of Scott’s Alien and Cameron’s Aliens, what Romulus brings to the table is not reinvention, but refinement. The seasoned Uruguayan purveyor of horror behind Evil Dead and Don’t Breathe, embraces the franchise’s legacy with fangirl enthusiasm, and helps Romulus find its footing by sidestepping the pitfalls of reinvention. Instead, Álvarez opts for a return to form, an homage to the franchise’s gritty origins that injects it with a potent dose of contemporary sensibility.

The plot is a straightforward, almost spartan affair — a group of young colonists on a mining planet, desperate to escape their bleak existence, hatch a plan to hijack a seemingly abandoned spaceship. What they discover, of course, is that this twin-ship, dubbed Romulus and Remus, is far from empty. 

The brilliance of Romulus lies in its atmosphere. Álvarez, co-writing with longtime collaborator Rodo Sayagués, understands that beyond the series’ biomechanical monstrosities, is its oppressive ambience of impending doom. The film’s primary setting — a sunless, decaying Weyland-Yutani Corp mining colony — features some breathtaking production design, where rusted metal, toxic fog, and the dim glow of industrial lights create a grunge dystopia. This third-world outpost feels lived-in, worn down by the relentless grind of corporate exploitation, where hope goes to die. It’s a setting that echoes the claustrophobic tension of Scott’s original, yet makes it feel even more suffocating, more inescapable, and grounds the carnage to follow in a grim reality through some fantastic world-building.

The young cast, led by Cailee Spaeny as Rain, is a departure from the world-weary crew of the original films. Spaeny brings a raw, unpolished tenacity to the role, a stark contrast to the steely resilience of Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley or the cool pragmatism of Michael Biehn’s Hicks. Rain’s vulnerability, however, does not diminish her strength. Instead, it transforms her into an intelligent, adaptable survivor grappling with the weight of survival in a universe that has no use for the weak. David Jonsson, as the android Andy, delivers a performance that feels both tender and unsettling, as he oscillates between an innocence that draws you in and a detachment that leaves you wary between tender and unsettling.

For all its blood-drenched spectacle, Romulus also manages to slip a heart beneath its chest plate of terror. The relationship between Rain and her android “brother” Andy, injects a dose of pathos into the otherwise relentless carnage. Their dynamic touches on the perennial Alien theme: the quest for humanity in a world that often feels designed to strip it away.

Yet, of course, the H.R. Giger’s iconic creations are undeniably the true stars of Romulus. As a horror auteur with a tendency of leaving a trail of viscera in his wake, Álvarez does not shy away from capturing them in all their horrifying glory. The film’s set pieces are masterclasses in tension, with Álvarez orchestrating gut-wrenching scenes that will likely leave you squirming uncomfortably. The gore is plentiful, the violence unflinchingly graphic, but it never feels gratuitous. Every spattering of flesh, every torn membrane serves a purpose — to remind us of the fragility of the human body and the unrelenting, unforgiving primal primality of the xenomorphs.

The film’s most unsettling scenes don’t just focus on the creature’s merciless hunt, rather, the perverse intimacy of those encounters. Álvarez lingers on the invasiveness of these moments, with every phallic creature’s lethal embrace birthing even more horrifying entities. As was the case in his Evil Dead, the body, in Álvarez’s vision, isn’t just a vessel to be destroyed in increasingly imaginative ways, but a site of a twisted, bestial violation which culminates in a scandalising final act.

The sound design, led by Lee Gilmore, is some of the most outstanding this year. The theatre-rattling takeoff into space, the hiss of acid cutting through steel and flesh alike, the sickening squelch of bodies being torn apart and chest’s being burst agape — it’s all rendered as a jarring sensory experience that’s disturbingly immersive. Benjamin Wallfisch’s slick synth-laden motifs and cleverly-hidden callbacks to prior films complements the sense of dread that permeates every frame.

With Romulus, the Alien franchise storied lineage has found fresh, fertile ground for its horrors, spinning a tale of isolation, corporate insouciance, and the grotesque beauty of life’s most primal fears. It is a film that revels in its venereal gore and its unrelenting tension and is quite simply, one of the most entertaining genre films this year. Whether you’re a die-hard fan or a newcomer to the franchise, Alien Romulus is a ride worth taking, though you may want to bring along a strong stomach for the journey.

Alien: Romulus is currently running in theatres