Trigger Warning: Alien, S/A Horror. Spoilers Ahead!
Horror is not just in the grotesque creatures that lurk in the dark; it exists in systems, in the mundane structures we take for granted, and in the way power is wielded. The world operates in a rhythm that often feels inescapable, like a horror film where survival is uncertain. Alien (1979) is a prime example of this existential dread, blending multiple layers of terror, cosmic horror, body horror, and the oppressive forces of capitalism and patriarchy.
At its core, Alien is more than just a monster movie. It presents an intersection of fears: the fear of the unknown, the fear of losing bodily autonomy, and the fear of systemic oppression. While body horror manifests through the violence of physical boundaries (such as the forced impregnation of Kane by the facehugger), cosmic horror looms in the background, whispering that human lives are insignificant and disposable in the eyes of the corporations that control them.
One of the most telling scenes that encapsulates these themes occurs when Dallas, Kane, and Lambert return from the unknown planet, bringing with them a threat they do not fully comprehend. Kane, attacked by an alien organism, lies unconscious with the parasite latched onto his face. The crew rushes to the ship, desperate to get him inside. But Ripley, following company protocol, refuses, knowing the potential dangers of bringing him on board. If there is something foreign inside him—be it an infection or a parasite—he must remain quarantined for 24 hours. It is a rational, calculated response, yet Dallas disregards it, prioritizing his judgment over the established rules. Before Ripley can enforce protocol, Ash, the ship’s Science Officer, opens the door, sealing the fate of the entire crew.
This moment is crucial—not because of the alien, rather because of the way power is exercised. The systematic disregard for women’s authority and expertise is the horror, not the creature itself. Ripley, a woman acting by logic and survival, is overridden by two men who assume control. Dallas acts out of desperation, but also from an ingrained belief in his own authority. His actions, though well-intended, stem from a patriarchal worldview that values instinct over reason and action over caution. Meanwhile, Ash who later reveals himself to be working in the company’s interest, chooses to ignore Ripley not out of desperation, but out of design.
The true horror of Alien is not just the Xenomorph lurking in the vents; it is the system that enables destruction through arrogance, control, and institutional oppression. The company, represented through Ash, sees the crew as expendable, with their survival being secondary to the corporation’s interest. Dallas, even as a victim of this structure, unknowingly perpetuates it. The film invites us to ask: Which is more terrifying— the alien, an animal simply trying to survive, or the corrupt power structures that lead to its arrival in the first place?
Exploring horror beyond the monster is essential. It forces us to confront the systems that shape our world, to recognize the real threats that exist in the shadows and in the institutions we trust. Alien endures as a masterpiece not just because of its terrifying creature, but because of what it reveals about us—and in these trying times, knowing the actual horror can make it not so horrifying.