Directed by: David Fincher. At the end of this iconic trilogy (I’m not even touching Alien: Resurrection or AVP), I have to generalize and say that it was a pretty interesting trilogy. What can I say? There were aliens, there were spaceships, there were aliens on the spaceships. Seriously, though, the character of Ripley is, and deserves to be, one of the most enduring and interesting leading characters in Hollywood film. Sigourney is forever in my brain from these movies—and from Ghostbusters, but I digress. The fact that each film was directed by a different modern auteur is interesting food for thought. “Is there something in this franchise that breeds success?” etc etc. Whatever it was, Fincher was a natural fit for this kind of thing, with his dark, neo-noir-noir approach to film and his—at the time—young eyes to energize what could easily have become a stagnant, predictable series. The crazy, fast-paced and bureaucratic way that Fincher was forced to make this movie kind of thwarts any attempt to fit it into his later oeuvre, but I thought it was interesting that this film had this kind of queasy, feverish kind of claustrophia that was markedly different from the sterile, Kubrickesque claustrophobia of Ridley Scott’s film. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see Terry Gilliam’s name on the credits after seeing this movie. It stands out so drastically in terms of style and art direction from the other films, and I think that is this film’s ultimate triumph. If you’re going to do a third movie, you might as well make it weird.