There’s a scene in the 1986 classic “Aliens,” when Bill Paxton’s character, Pvt William Hudson, is freaking out. Their shuttle has just been destroyed, leaving them stranded on a hostile planet infested with alien lifeforms, who are not exactly there to greet them with a smile, and this particular grunt is not amused.
“That’s it, man,” cries the usually cocky Hudson, now in full panic mode. “Game over, man. Game over! What the fuck are we gonna do now, huh? What are we supposed to do now?!”
Cooler heads prevail, and eventually at least two of them make it out alive, but not before the rest of the platoon of Marines is completely wiped out. It’s not exactly an inspiring story for the mess we’re in now, and more often than not, I feel like Hudson, and not the cool-headed Hicks, or the unstoppable Ripley.
I have rarely been calm, cool, and collected. Instead, For the better part of a decade, I’ve been living on the edge, just seconds away from freaking out. I read story after story of horrific news, cruel and unusual actions taken against innocent people by the most corrupt administration in our nation’s history.
“Game over, man!” I want to scream.
“That’s it, man. Game over, man. Game over! What the fuck are we gonna do now, huh? What are we supposed to do now?!”
Pvt. Hudson
I don’t, because this is not dignified behavior, so I do my best to suppress my terror and try to remain calm and carry on. At times, it seems like panic is a more rational response given the constant onslaught of corruption, tyranny, and trauma we’re experiencing on a daily basis, and there’s every reason to believe it could get much worse. The only people who aren’t worried are the ones either too stupid to understand what’s actually happening or the ones in on the joke that is our current administration.
It’s not as if “Aliens” is a metaphor for 21st century America, or late-stage capitalism, but there does seem to be some apt metaphors. The aliens are the oligarchs, only in it for themselves, using us as hosts for their offspring. Burke, the corporate weasel is a tech bro, willing to sell out humanity for the potential of untold riches.
Hicks, the corporal with the cool head, is the Progressive leader, trying his best to lead save humanity, and then there’s Ripley, who presumably represents us as the undeniable hero of the story, but she hardly seems representative of your average schlub. She’s a caricature, a movie superhero, an archetype of the average person who rises above her station to succeed where other more qualified people have failed.
There is only one person in the movie who represents the audience and that is Pvt. Hudson. Hudson might be the only one who truly understands what they’re up against and how slim their chances really are. He dies, just like everyone else, and just as he feared he would. The fact that Ripley somehow manages to escape is not due to bravery or skill, but mostly incredible luck and good fortune. She got the Hollywood ending where someone has to prevail, someone has to live.
In another scene, they’re discussing blasting off from the surface of the planet, and nuking the settlement, presumably killing all the aliens in the process. The corporate shill, played by Paul Reiser, pipes up, clearly wanting to protect the corporate investment.
“Okay,” says Burke. “This is an emotional moment for all of us, but let’s not make any snap judgments. This is clearly an important species we’re dealing with and I don’t think you or I or anybody has the right to arbitrarily exterminate them.”
“Maybe you haven’t been keeping up on current events,” Hudson says, “but we just got our asses kicked, pal!”
The problem is that we’re all waiting for Ripley to show up and save the day, while Burke is in the process of selling us all out. I fear that we are less like Ripley, willing to fight beyond what is reasonable, and much more like Hudson, ready to call it quits.
What are we supposed to do now?
