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’ve been told Tony Scott, the shameless
pimp responsible for such box-offi ce
bait jobs as Top Gun and Beverly Hills
Cop 2, is the younger brother of Oscar-
nominated director Ridley Scott, but I’m
not so sure. Where’s the proof? I want to
see a birth certifi cate. Because, just having
sat through Prometheus, I’ve come to the
conclusion that Hollywood has hatched the
boldest conspiracy since they sealed Uncle
Walt’s nuts in a Mason jar of formaldehyde.
There’s simply too much circumstantial
evidence to ignore the truth another minute:
Tony Scott and Ridley Scott are the same
exact person.
Actually, what I think really happened
is that there actually did used to be a
person named Ridley Scott. He was a
sharp, technically gifted but not overly
thoughtful English fi lmmaker who offered
his considerable skills to Tinseltown and,
right out of the gate, directed three very
fi ne fi lms — one of them a masterpiece of
its genre. That would be Alien. This 1979
release was the sleeper surprise of the year:
A sci-fi stunner with a fi lm-noir heart,
Alien veritably pounced on unsuspecting
audiences.
With deft, subtle touches that ingeniously
evoke an aura of everyday reality — the
chipped, worn look of the spaceship
Nostromo, the lumpen dialogue of the blue-
collar crew, the fl eeting glimpses of the
horrifi c monster, the excruciating crescendo
into epic nightmare — Ridley Scott’s Alien
might be the fi nest sci-fi movie ever made.
It made Sigourney Weaver a star. In 33
years, it hasn’t aged a day. Watch it again.
It’s a scream.
I’m pretty sure it was right after Ridley’s
next fi lm, the 1982 cult-iconic Blade
Runner, that Tony Scott made his fateful
move. Compelled by greed, lusting after
fame and driven insane by his brother’s
critical and popular success, Tony, in
all regards the lesser Scott, somehow
assumed his sibling’s identity — I dare not
posit how, though I have my suspicions.
What’s important is that Ridley, along with
whatever dim fl ame of talent and integrity
he possessed, had been spiritually snuffed,
and in his place now stood, and still stands,
Tony Scott, a Ridley in name alone.
This Ridley/Tony Scott, totally scot-
free of talent, has cobbled together fi lm
after fi lm, to the bankable appreciation of
the masses and the professional acclaim of
the movie business, which doesn’t know its
ass from a hole in the ground. How else to
explain feminist-for-dummies opportunism
of Thelma & Louise? Or the tinhorn travesty
of Gladiator? It’s simply inconceivable
— impossible — that the same director
that made Alien also made G.I. Jane and
Someone to Watch Over Me.
Which brings us to Prometheus. It had
so much promise.
Alas — as it was with Jekyll & Hyde, so
it is here, as Tony again trumps the Ridley in
Scott. Divorced of any context whatsoever,
I suppose Prometheus is a decent enough
Hollywood blockbuster, full of whiz-bang
special effects and lots of snappy action.
If, however, you care the slightest bit
about things like intelligence (both yours
and the fi lm’s), integrity (the fi lm’s and
the fi lmmaker’s) or artistry (sic), this fi fth
installment in the Alien saga proves an
almost unmitigated failure.
Charlize Theron is good. So is Idris
Elba. But they’re always good.
But what’s up with turning Guy Pearce
into a wrinkly old dude? Why not just cast
a wrinkly old dude? It worked fi ne for Peter
Jackson. Explain how Michael Fassbender
can watch the sleeping Noomi Rapace’s
dreams on a staticky video screen. Alien
never stooped to such futuristic B-grade
schlock. And how is it that Rapace, wide
awake, performs gastrointestinal surgery on
herself, lazering through her abdominal wall
to remove an alien spawn, and afterwards
is capable of running away, much less
standing?
But forget the details: The whole thing
is ludicrous and sad. Prometheus is more
than content to go where every man has
gone before — it even ransacks Alien for its
plot — and, in the process, craps all over
its own cinematic legacy. Where Alien was
deep and subtle and brooding, Prometheus
is fl at and obvious and one-dimensional,
and completely forgettable; once I’d left
the screening, the only thing I could recall
about the movie was the price of the ticket.
Cynicism is knowing better and
doing it anyway, just because it suits you.
Hollywood is cynical.
R.I.P. Ridley Scott. All hail Tony, and
send in the clowns.
ew
Maggie Gyllenhaal
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492 East 13 th
PROMETHEUS: Directed by Ridley Scott.
Written by Jon Spaihts and Damon Lindelof.
Editing, Pietro Scalia. Cinematography,
Dariusz Wolski. Music, Marc Streitenfeld.
Starring Michael Fassbender, Charlize
Theron, Noomi Rapace, Idris Elba, Guy
Pearce. 20th Century Fox, 2012. R. 124
minutes44111
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