Alien vs. Predator

Monsters stink: Alien vs. Predator will kill brain cells faster than its titular beasts

By Robert Chancey

"Oh my God! Space aliens! Don't eat me. I have a wife and kids. Eat them."--Homer Simpson

Homer, you fool, let them consume you. Better that fate than joining an enslaved race of lobotomized humans forced to suffer through the cheesy exploits of lethal space invaders in Alien vs. Predator. A dismally obvious blend of tinny dialogue, fabulously gaudy set design, illogical storytelling, unimpeachable special effects and mindless mayhem, this trashy sci-fi extravaganza salutes globetrotting greed, romanticizes the warrior ethic and regards humans as expendable, bloody props.

Sired by one cerebral and terrifying parent (the Alien series) and one intellectually and morally bankrupt parent (the Predator flicks), the resulting movie is exactly what one might expect from such a misbegotten marriage: a loud, clumsy mutant that glorifies explosions and eviscerations. (Had the Lyle Lovett/Julia Robert marriage lasted, it might have spawned such an ungainly beast.)

Liberally adopting ideas from both sets of movies--and the video game--writer-director Paul W.S. Anderson (does a hack need that many initials?) envisions Predators as noble hunters, Aliens as savage prey and piddling humans as surrogate mothers enabling an unholy war between ferocious extraterrestrials.

In a nod to multiculturalism, Anderson has cast as his leads two perfectly sculpted, olive-skinned hunks (gun-toting Colin Salmon, archaeologist Raoul Bova), one ravishing beauty (expedition leader Sanaa Lathan) and two feeble, sallow-skinned white guys (Ewen Bremner, Lance Henriksen). But he fills their mouths with insipid words, and eliminates them (save one) to focus on the fiendishly fun battles between the unearthly monsters.

No criticism will deflect the film's true purpose: to sell the special edition DVDs of the four Alien films and the first Predator. This loud, tepid commercial is so enamored with profit that it regards its one odious trinket of product placement--a Pepsi bottle cap--as a religious relic.