Review
Aliens
Culture
Film & TV
Monsters
5 min read

Alien, Nietzsche and the death of dread: why the franchise lost its fear

Alien: Earth forgets what made the original so terrifyingly profound
A young woman pets the head of an alien
Don't pet the alien.
26 Key Productions.

The credits are rolling on Alien: Earth and all I can think about is Friedrich Nietzsche. Nietzsche is one of history’s most enigmatic and misunderstood philosophers, one of Christianity’s greatest foils and explains exactly why the TV series, to my mind, fell flat. 

Oh, how excited I was for Alien: Earth! It looked like someone had finally nailed the look and feel of Ridley Scott’s original Alien and paired it with a script by Noah Hawley (who wrote, among other things, the first series of Fargo, which I still think is one of the best series of TV ever made). I couldn’t wait.  

But far from understanding what made the original Alien so terrifying, Alien: Earth manages to undermine the franchise’s key premise at almost every turn, resulting in something truly baffling. While Alien is a deeply nihilistic piece of art that draws on its nihilism for its thoroughgoing sense of dread and unease, Alien: Earth is too cute, too pleased with itself to be truly nihilistic. And therein it loses the power to shock that Alien wielded so effectively.  

Let me explain what I mean. (Spoilers ahead for both Alien: Earth and Alien – although Alien came out in 1979 so if you haven’t seen it at this point, where have you been?) 

“God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers?” 

So declares ‘the mad man’ in Nietzsche’s The Gay Science, giving rise to one of philosophy’s most quotable moments. Nietzsche isn’t talking about a literal ‘death of God’ (he didn’t think there even was a God to kill!). Instead, he’s talking about the death of belief in God.  

But, for Nietzsche, society’s collective loss of belief in God is not a trivial thing. It’s not like realising Santa Claus isn’t real (sorry if anyone was still clinging to that!). No, belief in God gave society structure, purpose, and meaning. Without belief in God, society needs to start from the very beginning and give itself these things all over again. We cannot stop believing in God and imagine that the rest of our lives are untouched.  

For all Nietzsche’s faults – which are numerous – he is clear about the implications of what we might now call ‘secularisation’, in a way that is seldom recognised. In this respect, I often wonder if Nietzsche is the only real atheist who ever lived.   

There is no grand ‘why’ behind the world. No objective meaning or structure to it: we must instead impose our own, individual meaning onto our lives. 

Alien is a deeply Nietzschean film. The xenomorph (that is, the eponymous alien) does not come with a ‘why’. It has no motives other than to kill; no grand plan. It’s not really a villain, in this sense: it just … is. It is the chaotic unstructured whirlwind of a universe without God distilled into a creature. 

It is pure, nihilistic, Nietzschean nightmare fuel.  

At the end of the film, Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) doesn’t ‘defeat’ the xenomorph; she just sends it into space and escapes. She doesn’t ‘overcome’ this nihilistic creature, she just about manages to escape with her life. She does what Nietzsche encourages us all to do and lives despite meaningless chaos of the godless world around us.  

This is not what happens in Alien: Earth, however. The most telling parallel between Alien and Alien: Earth is the role science and technology plays in both. In Alien, the mysterious Weyland-Yutani company wants to capture the xenomorph to use it as a bio-weapon. But the xenomorph resists such human categories and just does what it does: kill, indiscriminately.  

In Alien: Earth, again the xenomorph is seen as a potential weapon, as a potential piece of technology. And … that’s exactly what it becomes. The main character in the show – Sydney Chandler’s Wendy – a little girl whose consciousness is put into the body of a robot (to cut a long, tedious story short), eventually learns the xenomorph’s language and even befriends the creature. By the end of the series, the two have effectively teamed up, with Wendy siccing (setting) the alien on her enemies. 

Excuse me? 

She … ‘sics’ the xenomorph on people? Becomes its friend? Right … 

The first time this happened I full-on laughed at the screen. This is so far removed from the utter nihilism of Alien. Here the xenomorph has agency, motivations, preferences, and even flipping friends! It is so deeply … unscary.  

And that shouldn’t be a surprise. In Alien, Nietzsche’s godless anarchy is distilled into a creature of pure terror. In Alien: Earth, that creature is literally made someone’s pet. Alien continues to terrify because it shows us something of the full implications of what it is to be without God: a world of disorder, anarchy, and chaos. Alien: Earth domesticates that entirely and puts it on a leash. In so doing, lacks all of the potency of its muse.  

In his recent book Dominion, Tom Holland (no, not that Tom Holland) reminds us of what Nietzsche said long ago: our values, ethics, and even our society structures, come from a shared and historic belief in God. Too often we want to have those values, ethics, and structures without the theologies that underwrite them.  

Alien: Earth wants to have its cake and eat it in precisely this same way. It wants to tell a story about a marauding, indiscriminate predator … that can be tamed by a little girl. It fails to scare because it undermines the deeper, even more terrifying story underneath Alien: that without the structure afforded us by belief in a creator, there’s no God out there to hear us scream.

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Article
Attention
Culture
Fashion
5 min read

Here’s to the Met Gala, and to those who weren’t there

We’re teaching ourselves that if we’re void of attention, we’re void of significance.

Belle is the staff writer at Seen & Unseen and co-host of its Re-enchanting podcast.

A celebrity wears a highly stylised cuboid suit to the Met Gala.
Janelle Monáe directs her attention.
Instagram.com/janellemonae/

The Met Gala happened on Monday; a menu of celebrities was offered up to us, each one posing on the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the heart of New York City, decorated from head-to-toe, like an army of art exhibitions that had come to life. 

What happens as soon as these finely clad celebrities make their way into the museum? Nobody outside of the room knows. And, Anna Wintour, the brains behind the entire operation, goes to infamous lengths to keep it that way. But everything that happens in the moments before they walk through those iconic doors is a carefully curated display, designed for our eyes to feast on. They’re counting on us to look their way, to stare, to soak it all in.  

It poses the question: if a Met Gala happens and nobody is around to see it, does it really take place? I think I can hazard a guess at what Anna Wintour’s answer would be.  

Our attention is the currency of the entire event; every celebrity is vying for it. And it’s not enough to have a little share of it, the prize is to have the most. At the very least, you need to earn enough attention to ensure that your presence at the event is memorialised. It’s interesting, it’s like an incredibly opulent version of teenagers writing that ‘so and so was here’ on all their school desks. The craving seems to be the same, we want our presence in a specific time and place to be noted and remembered. The school pupil’s tool of choice is a marker pen; the celebrities deploy their outfits.  

Can’t walk in the outfit? Doesn’t matter.  

Can’t sit? Doesn’t matter.  

Can’t breathe? Doesn’t matter.  

The clothes aren’t made to be in, they’re made to be seen in - there’s a difference. 

I sort of like the Met Gala, you know. I’m drawn in by how otherworldly it feels, how its opulence is not quite off-putting enough for us to ignore it. Publicly, we’ll roll our eyes. Privately, though, we’ll flick through who Vogue thinks looked the best (and – more importantly - the worst). The whole event knows it’s ridiculous and, in return, we seem to be pretty forgiving of it. It’s silly – they know it, we know it. The dynamic works. 

Success is being seen. It’s being documented, being observed, being celebrated. 

This year, I noticed a slight slant to the reporting of the event. My social media feeds seemed to be brimming with two lists they wanted me to pour over: those who were there and, more notably, those who were not there.  

I’ve been so struck with how odd this is. Again and again, I was being offered names of celebrities who were not in attendance. Publications and influencers were lamenting the absence of Emma Stone, sneering at the Blake Lively shaped gap in the attendee-list, and insisting that poor old Meghan Markle must have been barred from the proceedings.  

In truth, we have no idea why any given person was or was not at this year’s Gala. The speculation is a waste of time – but it does act as a doorway into understanding our perception of success. 

I think it can be boiled down to this: success is being seen. 

It’s being documented, being observed, being celebrated. 

Success is being there. And so, it’s unfathomable to us that anyone would want to be anywhere other than where the eyes of the world are directed. Our value diminishes the longer we dwell in obscurity, anonymity is nothing short of self-sabotage. That’s what we’re subliminally telling each other.  

I know that this is what we think because it’s what I think. I find the evidence of my hypothesis within myself.  

A need to be seen is written into the rock of my being. In 2021, I felt as though I had been snapped in half – my fear of obscurity exposed - by Michaela Coel’s Emmys acceptance speech. She had just won a prize for I May Destroy You, a limited series that she both wrote and starred in. Clinging shakily to her piece of paper, Michaela implores anyone listening to ‘disappear’.  

She says,  

‘In a world that entices us to browse through the lives of others to help us better determine how we feel about ourselves, and to in turn feel the need to be constantly visible, for visibility these days seems to somehow equate to success—do not be afraid to disappear. From it. From us. For a while. And see what comes to you in the silence.’ 

This droplet of wisdom stopped me in my tracks. 

Maybe our metrics of success are a little wonky, our understanding of significance is malfunctioning. I think Michaela’s right, we know too much and see too much. Furthermore, we’re much too known and much too seen. We’re on display. Endlessly. And it’s not good for our souls. We’re teaching ourselves that if we’re void of attention, we’re void of significance.  

And that’s a problem. 

I’ve actually taken Michaela’s advice. I’ve taken to disappearing every now and again – I hate it, I fear it, I fight it with all my might - but I know that it’s a medicine I need to take. It reminds my soul that if I fell in the woods and nobody was around to hear it, I would still have made a sound.  

An unperceived existence still counts. We need to remind ourselves of that, and sharp-ish. Only then will we stop deifying attention and vilifying anonymity.  

And so, with all of that in mind, here’s to the Met Gala – the most prestigious event in fashion. And here’s to the people who weren’t at it. Wherever the appreciative eyes of the world are, may we all find the courage to be elsewhere.   

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This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?

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