I recall visiting an art gallery years ago where I saw a piece I thought was basic and unremarkable. Clearly, the artist had some prior training and their technical competency was indisputable, but I was left untouched in any way by their feeling/message/passion.
Moments later, a friend pointed out a small plaque beside the painting, which described the artist’s background. Soon, I discovered that they had been abused as a child, suffered a debilitating neurological condition as an adolescent, and endured countless further dramatic obstacles and assaults as an adult. I revisited the painting and found a good deal more within the frame, which failed to stir anything in me moments earlier. But should art need a primer to be appreciated, I asked myself? Having not found an answer back then, the universe is clearly still angling for an answer…
Google ‘Prometheus review’ and you will no doubt find thousands of entries. Hundreds of thousands of posts in countless threads. All discussing what the hell the film was about. On one side, there are fans baying for blood for wasting their time, and on the other, fans praising Ridley Scott for such incredible art. Personally, I left the cinema feeling nothing at all. Not angry, not bored, not excited, not bemused. Nothing. At. All. I cannot recall a time, if ever, I felt this way about a film. Does this indicate poor story-telling, lack of sleep the night before, or simply “I’m Just Not That Into It’?
The few Prometheus reviews I have read begin with the words: “I wouldn’t exactly call myself a hardcore Alien/s fan…” or the exact opposite: “As a hardcore Alien/s fan from way back…”. But what of those like me who just want to see a good movie? There is no doubt the artists (creative team) who made Prometheus know what they are doing. Cinematography, lighting, musical composition, set design & construction, costume design, visual effects, costume design, camera department, sound department and so on, beautiful work, indeed. This much I DO walk away with as the credits roll. In fact, I sat there reading the names longer than I normally do in films. But what of the writing? What of the direction? I find it very difficult to say.
Michael Fassbender, one of the most intriguing actors of our generation steals the entire film with his portrayal of David, an android servant to his billionaire ‘father figure’, Peter Weyland, curiously played by Guy Pearce. Other talented cast members either fail to dazzle, or else merely fulfil their roles as an ‘ensemble cast’, whichever way you choose to see it. Charlize Theron, the most conspicuously unremarkable performer of the movie, might be brilliant or might be beige. it all depends on whether or not a sequel reveals she’a actually an android. (And that’s me only half joking)
I could write about scientific head-scratcher moments, such as why they couldn’t wait until the morning to venture out, especially since they’d traveled two years to be there. Or why they all took their helmets off within minutes of landing on the alien planet, or how does an alien grow in a sterile environment with no food source, but they’ve all been covered elsewhere. (And some are even justified in other blogs/articles) But as my sister said to me years years ago (after pointing out annoying inconsistencies in a James Bond film) “Oh, for God’s sake, it’s just a fantasy!”
Over the years I have become much more content to suspend my disbelief during “fantasy movies”, going so far as to ignore glaring inconsistencies in favor of enjoying a movie. However, I still don’t give them a totally free ride. A fantasy is something I expect to raise emotions in me. Fear, anger, expectation, disbelief, remorse, I don’t care. Prometheus left me feeling nothing.
