- Angela Bennetts
- Friday, 8 June 2012
In Greek legends, Prometheus was the titan who stole fire from the gods, gifted it to humans, and was punished by having his liver picked out day after day by a ginormous eagle. In cinematic history, Prometheus will go down as the curious lead balloon even a decade-plus of director Ridley Scott’s research, passion and dedication could not float.
It’s a great concept: in the late 21st century, definitive evidence of humankind’s origins is unearthed by some sexy archaeo-scientists (Noomi Rapace and Logan Marshall-Green). Prune-faced money magnate Weyland (Guy Pearce) funds a reccy mission to the ‘home planet’ along with his android son David (Michael Fassbender), maybe-android maybe-daughter Vickers (Charlize Theron) and a gang of scrappy, multi-ethnic crew members about whom you appropriately care very little.
A few electrical storms, penis snakes, scenes of flute-playing and weapons of mass destruction later, and it becomes brain-bashingly obvious: Mama and Papa Alien (who, for some reason, look like cranky albino gym junkies – maybe that explains their mood?) really hate us, and are not afraid of a little infanticide.
The Promethean spark is certainly there – we especially glimpse it in Fassbender’s intriguing, amoral android – but unfortunately it fails to ignite into anything more than the runty addition to the Aliens franchise it started life as. (AB) **
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