As a kid, I was utterly petrified by the mere idea of watching a horror film. My friends would try to get me to watch them during sleepovers or on those rare occasions where parents were going to be out for the evening and we had a lenient teenage guardian, but I would shut my eyes, attempt to go to sleep or just leave the room.
As such, my first exposure to Alien (1979) was in a movie that was anything but scary. You see, the first time I witnessed a small creature burst out of John Hurt was during Spaceballs (1987). Of course, it was one of many references I neither understood nor resonated with given my age and the more adult proclivities of Mr. Brooks’ work. And, yet, even then, something about it stayed with me. Irked me.
I guess there’s just something about a incubating parasitic monster that eats its way out from inside of you that freaks me out.
I think I turned away from horror in my youth because, deep down, it reminded me of the potential of fear. The best films in any genre make you feel something, anything, but they do so with strength and purpose. Horror is no different, and the potential such cinema had to reveal and acknowledge the sort of terror that had always lurked in the shadows, in my peripheral vision- Hell, sneaking up behind me- was not something I wanted any part of.
Years later when I sat down and watched Alien, I recalled my experience with Spaceballs and did have a good laugh about it. Not because the hilarity of the situation finally struck me but because even in that ridiculous context, the concept still had very real, frightening merit.
In its simplest form, Alien concerns a group of people who were hired and dispatched to do a job. These workers, once faced with the implicit danger which resides within the unknown, are then forced to push themselves through incalculable fear and hopelessness in an effort to survive. Of course, part of the process of eliciting this brand of tangible terror, requires an immersive experience that defies expectation. Indeed, nothing represents the cavalier nature of the horror in Alien more than the infamous “Chest Burster” sequence.
On my first viewing, this was the scene that sickened me. The scene that haunted me. It felt so raw, so real… so impossibly terrifying.
The bluntness of it, the speed to which things went from peace to pandemonium, all of these elements combined together to create something that spurred the sort of unnerving discomfort that leaves a scar. More than the performances, more than the direction, more than the effects: it was the idea of the scene itself, the conceptual footprint that guided the sequence into the realm of unforgettable classic to which it now belongs.
The screenplay for Alien went through multiple phases and was later reworked by Walter Hill and David Giler. It was during those revisions that the character’s names were changed to what they became in the film, where Ash was added to the narrative and where the dialogue was refined. Still, it was Dan O’Bannon’s original draft (with the help of his writing partner Ron Shusett) that served as a catalyst for the scene that was to come. These words did more than just tell the story, they drew the simple, evocative and altogether horrifying scene which would go on to influence and impact the genre for decades to come.
THE SCENE
The crew of the Nostromo sit down together to share a final meal before returning to their slumber for the reminder of their transport home. The conversation is light and playful until Kane begins to choke. He sputters and convulses, causing the others to stand at his aid. They hold him down as he falls against the table. Blood saturates his shirt and a creature bursts through his chest. The crew watches in stunned silence as the creature surveys them and scurries off into the ship.
THE SCRIPT
THE SCREEN
Fittingly, the scene begins with a medium wide shot of the table, displaying the crew as they eat their meal. The tone is pleasant, inviting: this might as well be a group of friends enjoying one another’s company in contrast to co-workers taking a lunch break on the job.
Much of the dialogue has been condensed. In O’Bannon’s original text, several pages of banter preceded the incident, however in the final film, much of the conversation has been relegated to incomprehensible chatter. By making it less about what is being said and more about how the characters are saying it, Ridley Scott is better able to convey the shared friendliness and general camaraderie of the crew.
The theme of the original dialogue remains with Kane saying “First thing I’m going to do when we get back is eat some decent food.” Of course, this line is significant for a number of reasons, the least of which being Kane’s most recent ingestion and what the oncoming implications of that will shortly be. The crew goes back and forth about the food for a moment or two more with almost no Action Description. Again, the scene is written to play as a showcase for the character’s relationships with one another.
As a viewer, there are certain expectations that accompany a scene such as this. It exists to build calm, belief and awareness of personality. A certain guard goes down when allowing characters to breathe on screen, both in the context of the narrative as well as in that of those who are observing it play out. In this way, the horror that is only seconds away is all the more unexpected and terrifying.
“Suddenly, unexpectedly, BROUSSARD GRIMACES AND GROANS.”
The script, referring to Broussard who became Kane in the finished film, inserts the action in the midst of the conversation with no warning whatsoever. The film follows suit, holding on Kane and Parker as Kane begins to choke and lose composure. Parker’s wide grin slowly falls as he realizes something is wrong with his friend. As Kane chokes and convulses on screen, the others begin to question what’s happening and then quickly react, throwing what was a calm and relaxing moment into complete chaos.
Onscreen Ash is depicted as the only cold and unfeeling participant in the situation. He is cut to frequently and very clearly drawn as a nemesis to human life. Of course, his character was an addendum that wasn’t present in the original script, but the manner in which he is used to visually heighten the tension and callousness of the moment adds a layer of uneasiness that makes the events on screen far more unsettling.
The script calls for yet more dialogue, something Ridley Scott wisely opted to dispense of. Certainly there are words and commands being thrown around by the crew on screen, but much of it is overshadowed by the enormity of the inexplicable pain Kane is suddenly overcome by. In the script Broussard/Kane is supposed to scream:
“OH GOD IT HURTS SO BAD!”
In the film, Kane can’t scream. He can’t talk. He can barely make the sorts of grunts and squeamish, guttural groans that he does manage in his sick, tormented state. The text describes it as, “Broussard’s face is screwed up in a mask of agony, and he is trembling violently from head to foot.” The film brings this idea to life with acute accuracy, John Hurt playing Kane in these moments as a man who is lost to the fit that he’s in. Despite the constant calls and queries from his terrified peers, he never provides a response, verbal or otherwise. From the moment he begins to sputter and cough, he is overtaken by the agonizing transformation that is happening inside of him.
The screenplay calls for an incoherent shriek, written as “ohmygoooaaaAAAHHHHH!!!” Just that word, if you want to call it that, the bleeding together of “oh my god” and how it evolves into a shout, how that portion is underlined, ignites the imagination. The word forces the reader to imagine the horror. To feel the pain. To hear the harrowing voice of the poor soul afflicted.
The film brings that cry to life with unnerving realism, holding on a medium close of Kane’s chest, only a portion of his face visible as he is arched back in excruciating torment. The camera holds and then:
A RED SMEAR OF BLOOD BLOSSOMS ON THE CHEST OF BROSSARD’S TUNIC.
The text in the script is emboldened and impressively heightens an already intense situation. On screen, the blood spurts from Kane’s chest, projecting upward sharply. The camera cuts to several reactions from the crew and provides a moment of pause. A second or two of all-consuming, poignant registration. This is a slight deviation from the original script, as the text essentially called for no time to pass before the emergence of the creature. Still, a beat as genuine and careful as what appears in the film is how the scene is able to so deeply disturb as opposed to momentarily frighten.
THEIR EYES ARE ALL RIVETED TO BROSSARD’S CHEST AS THE FABRIC OF HIS TUNIC IS RIPPED OPEN, AND A HORRIBLE NASTY LITTLE HEAD THE SIZE OF A MAN’S FIST PUSHES OUT.
In the film, Kane twitches and spits, convulsing uncontrollably, all of which is accompanied by sounds of bursting flesh and breaking bone. The camera holds on his chest and the creature emerges. The infant alien subsequently emits a newborn’s coo which rings eerily over the gruesome, bloody scene, Ash’s decimated body still twitching in the background.
The script is direct in its depiction of this moment, the creature is an abomination and the crew merely gapes, barely able to comprehend the horror that is staring back at them. The film plays out much in the same way, allowing the small creature to slowly peer around the room, surveying the crew. In the script, the crew is said to scream and leap back from the table. The film deviates, depicting Parker with a knife, moving to attack while Ash interjects, foreshadowing a plot line that was not present in this draft.
Still, the pained reaction of the crew, emerged in shock and dismay is in stark contrast to a uniform scream and a jump. The more human, grounded approach to such a fantastical event again serves to create something far more haunting than what the sequence might have been.
The script calls for the creature to “lunge” and splatter “fluids and blood”. The film follows that idea, holding on the alien as it indeed lunges across the table, knocking over plates and escaping into the ship. The script again includes additional dialogue and a debriefing of sorts, even restating the message of the scene verbatim: “That thing used him for an incubator!”
Instead, Ridley Scott opted to hold on the crew as they watched the creature scurry away. The silence is deafening, agonizing; the quiet reflects the raw, burning dread that is now incubating inside of the people on the ship. Ensuring that, tonally, the film has altered its course and, like the characters, would never again be the same.
THE BLOODY CONCLUSION
In an interview conducted by David Konow titled “Dan O’Bannon and the origins of Alien” (Found here), Dan O’Bannon mused in regards to the infamous chest-burster scene:
“I thought, Well we outta do something in here, something fairly early that is excessive. Something over the line. Something so awful that you just shouldn’t do it. I’ll just do it once, and I’ll do it early enough that most of the picture still has yet to play. Then after that all you have to do is make sure there’s a lot of dark shadows in the corridors as you’re walking around so you can’t see anything. You can stretch those scenes out until the audience’s teeth will shatter into nothing waiting for the unpredictable moment where the next dreadful, unacceptable thing is hurled at you.”
The very best films incite feeling. Some of this occurs because of what you see, what you hear and some because of what you believe the film is capable of accomplishing. In many cases, its a combination of all of those things and more that makes a picture a success.
Dan O’Bannon clearly understood this when he set out to write Alien.
I always avoided watching horror films as a kid. I was terrified of the sorts of scars that seeing something I shouldn’t see might leave. However, it was in that avoidance that I discovered a passion to understand that very fear which kept me so cautious of what I might discover, the desire to distill and control it, share it with others and dissect its staying power.
Alien is a powerful masterwork, a film which represents the very best that horror and science fiction has to offer. The picture is driven by dread and that dread, in large part, owes much of its resonance to what results from Kane’s incubation. The screenplay may employ different names, more dialogue and a far simpler description of the event in question, but its bluntness and placement within the story is undeniably powerful.
In a special feature located on the 20th Century Fox Alien Anthology blu-ray release titled “Star Beast: Developing the Story”, Dan O’Bannon’s writing partner Ron Shusett recalls, “I woke up in the middle of the night, and I said, “Dan I have an idea” and he said “What?” And I said “the monster screws one of the people […] he jumps on his face, plants a tube down him, inserts his seed in him and later he comes bursting out of his stomach!” And Dan goes, oh my god, that’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard.” Within two weeks of having the idea, he continues, the bulk of the movie was written. Sometimes the potential of even a single idea, can evolve into something larger than the imagination could have ever conceived without it.
The potential for fear always pushed me away from horror as a kid, its true, but its that very potential that drew me in so deeply as I matured. And while I will always appreciate Mel Brooks’ take on the iconic scene, I am grateful that when I finally did sit down and watch John Hurt’s demise, it was not immediately followed by an impassioned alien performance of “Hello! Ma Baby”.
The language of cinema is an emotional one and every decision, every frame, every word is in service of that which the picture wishes to communicate. I think its safe to say, Alien makes its aim clear the moment Kane starts to sputter, showcasing the language of fear and how it can guide us, drive us and, above all, if we make it through, leave us with a rather nasty scar.
Even if its one we can only feel.
Alien (1979) Written by Dan O’Bannon and Directed by Ridley Scott.
