Scene Analysis for Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979)
"Here, Jonesy" @ 01:05:00
Is it possible for a lumbering, futuristic space-cruiser to be transformed into a Victorian-era haunted estate? Acclaimed director, Ridley Scott successfully answers the call of this challenge in chapter twenty-three (“Here, Jonesy”) of his 1979 horror-genre classic, Alien. The chapter features the first appearance of the maturated xenomorph and its director pulls no punches in heightening the suspense of the insidious creature’s reveal. Throughout the scene Scott expertly weaves the proven filmic techniques of continuity editing, psychologically-geared audio tracks, mis-en-scene, and multiple focalizations into a great, fibrous tapestry of sheer terror. It is a tapestry spattered in blood and held aloft by a network of clanking chains inside one of the many groaning hallways of the commercial space-vessel Nostromo.
The particular portion of the film under examination begins at exactly 01:05:00 of the film’s TRT and is largely told from the focal point of the yes-man crewmember, Brett (Harry Dean Stanton). Brett has been dispatched by senior officers Parker (Yaphet Kotto) and Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) to recover the lost feline Jonesy amidst the deadly backdrop of a xenomorph-larva hunt. Alone, he has reached a corner of the ship that he’s determined holds Jonesy, but Brett is both visibly and audibly hesitant to pursue the cat any further. The camera is thrust into Brett’s perspective after a shocking uncovering of the panic-stricken Jonesy. Through the simple man’s eyes and ears we watch and listen dumbfounded as the cat noisily scampers between two open doors into the next foreboding room. The perspective departs from Brett’s interior to show him rounding a corner and stooping to pick up an unidentified object from the grated metal floor. The camera quickly cuts to a close-up of the floor just as Brett lifts a moist xenomorph carapace. Brett’s removal of the shed skin from the floor warrants a sickening sound akin to that of peeling a particularly bilious scab from one’s body. The peeling sound not only provides a disgusting audio accompaniment, but also serves as an enormous clue: xenomorphs grow rapidly through metamorphosis. Besides the first-person POV that precedes the shot, this moment clearly cements focalization for the moment in Brett’s interiority. Here, the character and the audience share in mutual discovery, and one agent carries no advantage over the other.
Again we enter Brett’s mobile first-person POV as he slowly glides across floor toward the exit used by Jonesy. The emerging, ghostly sounds of rustling chains and dripping liquid blend with the ever-loudening percussion of Brett’s own accelerated heartbeat. In his article “Projections of Sound on Image” author Michael Chion explains film sound’s potential to usher in “added value”, “Sound enriches a given image so as to create [a] definite impression…” (Chion, pg. 5) Film sound’s “added value” often resonates on a deeply subconscious level with moviegoers and here it churns up mental images of Charles Dickens’ shackled ghost, Jacob Marley.
Once inside the room, the camera tilts up to both reveal the diagetic nature of the environmental sounds and to behold the room’s industrial and mechanical qualities. The Nostromo is a cold, shadowy dwelling place and this room carries no exception; the cavernous storage facility has all the airs of the ballroom the butler was murdered in. The camera then cuts to a high-angle wide-shot of Brett which conveys the feeling that gaping room could swallow up the tiny man at any moment! And indeed Brett appears helplessly lodged in the jaws of terror: a match-action cut brings us closer to him as he takes one final look at the relative familiarity of the previous room before treading into the unknown.
The falling liquid’s tone changes to a flatter, slapping noise as the camera approaches its source through Brett’s point of view. The alteration in sound can be attributed to the bill of Brett’s hat, and again the audio track carries dual purposes. The adjusted effect of the water on Brett’s hat assists in transporting the audience into the moment, but also serves a cue for the character to remove his cap and crane his neck upward. The camera then tilts similarly to replicate Brett’s gaze and the drops that falls on the camera lens almost seems to fall on our own faces. Brett closes his eyes to don his headwear once again and the act allows the scene’s focalization to separate from Brett’s interiority and in turn adopt an external focus.
“The variations in ‘point of view’ that occur in the course of a narrative can be analyzed as changes in focalization…” (Genette, pg. 194) Inside this new external focalization, the audience is free to make discoveries apart from the on-screen character. There is a fully-grown xenomorph suspended by chains above Brett’s head, and he is entirely unaware! The camera quickly cuts back to Brett’s face to convincingly remind the audience of his ignorance and then jumps to a high-angle wide-shot that flirts with the concept that its origin is the monster’s own eyes. No longer is the threat obscure, Brett is not the hunter; he is being hunted by a murderer engineered from the flesh and blood of his former crewmate Kane. But just because Brett’s fears are no longer unfounded doesn’t mean he knows it yet.
Brett’s facial expression and demeanor alter entirely after he rounds a corner and with considerable relief spies Jonesy. The cat cowers behind a clunky piece of machinery and requires coaxing to abandon its safety: an exceptional example of character blocking. A shot-reverse shot series from Jonesy’s perspective reveals we are at last within animalistic interiority; the cat looks at the man and the man looks back at the cat. This focalization is also confirmed by the next moment in which Brett bends down to retrieve Jonesy and a repugnant, onyx-colored tail descends behind the unknowing man. The realization of the threat held by the approaching xenomorph rests only with the audience and Jonesy as the cat retracts behind his barrier.
Brett shirks with unbridled commotion away from Jonesy as the bewildered domestic pet hisses and arches its back. The subtle camera movement that follows Brett as he retreats from Jonesy is one of few to not be tethered to a first-person POV. Chapter twenty-three of Alien is largely depicted through static shots that ultimately call great attention to the few instances of camera movement depicted. With this particular movement it reminds the audience that Brett is not only moving away from Jonesy, but he is also unwittingly positioning himself closer to danger of the xenomorph. If further reminder is needed, the camera then cuts to a moving close-up of the beast’s dripping profile, fangs upon fangs and all.
The xenomorph’s menacing growl prompts Brett to abandon his gaze on Jonesy and turn to face his own mortality. The act wrenches the focalization away from the cat’s interiority and thrusts it back into Brett’s eyes. He and the audience stare with indescribable dread into the primal face of a killer who lacks any notion of humility. The sound of clanking chains and dripping water vanishes only to be replaced by a mounting orchestral accompaniment and a high-pitched whine that sounds like a dentist’s drill. The score is quite like Hitchcock’s in Psycho, a constant and driving thrum of lower-toned instruments punctuated by short trills from the soprano-voiced strings section. The drill-like sound channels painful memories of root canals gone wrong. The addition of sound mounts the tension to an all-time high for the film, and fully achieves Sergei Eisenstein’s proposed goal of “[providing] new and enormously powerful means of expressing and resolving [the visual image’s] most complex problems.” (Eisenstein, pg. 371)
A shot-reverse shot exchange between Brett and the xenomorph reveals both the sweaty distress on the man’s face and the carnivorous second row of teeth that protrude from the alien’s mandibles. Doom is certain. In a flash the second-mouth springs forward and viciously mauls Brett’s face in a cascade of blood. More rapid image flashes reveal the dutiful speed with which the xenomorph is able to subdue its prey. One camera movement follows Brett’s lifeless corpse as the alien brings it to the floor, and after a brief cutaway to Jonesy’s voyeuristic glare, another camera movement travels upward as Brett’s body is pulled into the air ducts on the ceiling. The intention is clear: humans cannot hope to triumph in one-on-one encounters with this species; to them we are merely cattle.
Enter at last Parker and Ripley. They wear their panic as masks on their faces as they charge onto Brett’s killing floor. Their voices bleed concern and worriment as they desperately call out their crewmate’s name to no avail. In a moment of utter desperation, Parker strains his neck skyward toward the hanging chains, blinding light, and dripping liquid. In a repeated motif, the camera and thus the focalization enter Parker’s view as he fruitlessly scans the area above him. Crimson drops of the liquid descend all around Parker’s gaze and some even fall on the camera lens. Parker’s view becomes queerly obscured in manner unlike when Brett looked up in the same physical location. The camera cuts to a shot of Parker checking his hand and his discovery that the liquid is indeed Brett’s blood occurs simultaneously alongside the audience’s. Parker’s cattle-prod clatters to the floor as he wails out “BRETT!” in a blood-curdling cry. The scene’s final depicted image comes to rest on the face of Jonesy, the homicide’s silent witness.
What is a ghost, but a physical manifestation of a dead person’s spirit? But what if instead only their vital fluids were reanimated into some perverse walking-abomination? What if man’s obsession with scientific discovery (or in this case an android acting on behalf of a corporation) backfires into creating a space-age “flying dutchman”? Alien is a film that recognizes and toys with our most elementary fears: a bump in the night, the threat in the unknown, and a monster under our bed. But unlike its true star the xenomorph, it is able to evolve in its purpose without ever requiring a layer of its own skin to be shed!
