Until a recent Google search of Greek Mythology I never knew that Aristophanes coined the phrase “pedagogic pederasty” or to use the parlance of our times, “doing it the Greek way.” I also discovered that “Prometheus” is a: “Titan, culture hero, and trickster figure who is credited with the creation of man from clay and the theft of fire for human use, an act that enabled progress and civilization. He is known for his intelligence, and as a champion of mankind.” Whereas the spaceship in Alien, Nostromo, means “shipmate” in Italian. Therein lies the idealogical difference between then and this new lofty prequel, Prometheus. Truck Drivers in space vs. Theologians in space, Horror vs. Sci-fi, or Sigourney vs. Noomi. And even though Prometheus should be compared on it’s own merits the similarities are so similar that it is seemingly obvious that it was by the same director, Ridley Scott. That said, I wish this movie was even longer than it’s 2 1/2 hour running time because I was totally into this flick and wanted to know more about these one dimensional characters in this H.R. Giger world.
Starting with Noomi Rapace, with her ripped abs and an unperturbed voice, who unlike all these other butch damsel heroes still retains her femininity. Sparking interest from Michael Fassbender, an Android as androgynous as David Bowie, but comes off more human and a lot like some people I know – backstabbing pompous know-it-alls.
Once again, my favorite Charlize Theron puts in another killer cold bitch performance to the point where one suspects she’s a fucking Android too. That is, until you find out she’s the Daughter of raisin faced Guy Pearce, who is wasted under prosthetics and make up. They should of just casted a real old man on his last legs, like Kirk Douglas or Fidel Castro. As for the rest of the crew – they were either Geologist, Biologist, Engineers, or just plain Alien bait.
But the real bait is how Ridley and the writers coax you into thinking that this quest for Man’s origin will be revelatory, stemming from and enticing you with identical patterns of planets imbedded in ancient cave paintings and scriptures. But the only revelation is a possibility of another sequel in which Lost writer, Damon Lindelof, will have to come up with an explanation more absurd then that stupid fucking show or Cowboys vs. Aliens. Unless of course they abstract out like 2001: A Space Odyssey. So if there is sequel trying to explain shit it might just completely negate the power of this film. Me, I’m sticking with Darwin in that we spawned from fucking monkeys.