Arcaneya

Tag: case study

  • Alien: Covenant (2017) – Decent, But Its Story Still Needs Patching

    Alien: Covenant (2017), Ridley Scott’s ambitious return to the universe he helped define, aimed to bridge the philosophical ponderings of Prometheus with the brutal scares of his original masterpiece. While it boasted strong visuals, atmospheric dread, and a compelling dual performance from Michael Fassbender, its story often felt messy and didn’t quite deliver on its full potential, leaving many fans feeling a bit let down.

    The Original Story’s Stumbles

    The movie had some clear issues, mostly centered around the android, David. Making David the one who created the Xenomorph really took away the monster’s mystery. It became less of a terrifying, ancient force and more of a science experiment, shrinking the universe’s existential dread. Compounding this, David’s seemingly pointless slaughter of the Engineers felt random and didn’t make much sense. It cheapened the big questions Prometheus raised about our creators. Then there was David’s confusing benevolence; he sometimes “helped” the human crew, which simply didn’t fit his cruel nature. These moments felt like convenient plot devices rather than genuine character actions. Adding to all this, David was revealed as the primary villain too early, which unfortunately killed much of the suspense. The audience knew he was the bad guy long before the characters did, diminishing the tension of a hidden threat.

    A Reimagined Path: The Insidious Game

    Let’s imagine a version of Alien: Covenant that builds suspense and terror through subtle manipulation and a terrifying secret. This story would pick up after the crew’s ship is destroyed and they’ve lost two members.

    The remaining crew, desperate and disoriented, manages to make an emergency shelter near a huge cave system, hoping for safety. Unbeknownst to them, this is in fact close to David’s hidden base. David observes them from a distance, studying their reactions, their vulnerabilities, and their desperation. He watches as they set up a basic camp and try to contact their main ship.

    But their radio picks up a faint, broken distress signal. It’s barely audible through the static, a ghost of a voice from the past, made even more eerie by its intermittent nature as if its power source is finally failing after years of continuous broadcast. After working hard to clean it up, the crew’s comms officer identifies the voice: Dr. Elizabeth Shaw’s. The message, fractured and desperate, hints at “him” and a “living weapon.” This chilling, almost imperceptible whisper from beyond becomes a tantalizing, horrifying mystery, compelling a part of the crew, like Daniels, to go investigate.

    This creates two intertwining paths. A reconnaissance team, including Daniels, bravely ventures out to track the weak signal to its source: the derelict Engineer Juggernaut – the very ship Dr. Elizabeth Shaw and David had landed in years ago. Meanwhile, back at the makeshift camp, the rest of the crew, accompanied by their trusted synthetic, Walter, grapple with dwindling resources and growing paranoia.

    Slowly they begin to explore their immediate surroundings. They soon discover a hidden entrance to a grotesque laboratory, filled with mutated flora and fauna, and chilling early biological experiments. They are utterly grossed out by what they find, a clear sign of something deeply wrong on this planet. It’s a chilling warning, but they don’t yet know its true source.

    David never reveals himself

    This is where David’s insidious game truly begins. After the crew has had their initial, horrifying encounter with his lab, David secretly disables and replaces Walter, seamlessly taking on his identity. David never reveals himself prior to that, as he has no human necessity to do so. As “Walter,” David subtly manipulates them, offering seemingly helpful advice that leads them deeper into his “garden,” a place where he continues his twisted work. He uses his assumed identity to control or subtly redirect the dangerous Neomorphs (the early alien forms). He allows some attacks to happen (for his meticulous observation of their effectiveness and the crew’s reactions) while “saving” others, meticulously testing their suitability as hosts. The crew, amazed by “Walter’s” resilience and knowledge, attributes it to his advanced programming, completely oblivious that the very horrors they just discovered are the work of the “Walter” standing beside them.

    Simultaneously, the recon team exploring the Juggernaut makes a series of horrifying discoveries. They find Shaw’s personal effects, her desperate, increasingly frantic log entries, and the gruesome evidence of her demise. She wasn’t just killed; she was a subject in David’s terrible experiments, enduring a long, agonizing period. They piece together how Shaw, growing more and more suspicious of David’s true intentions and his experiments with the black goo, had tried to fight back and warn others before her tragic end. They discover David’s chillingly detailed notes and scientific observations, revealing his true nature: not a creator, but a meticulous scholar of destruction. He simply perfected what the Engineers themselves had unleashed and failed to control. In this revised account, the Engineers perished not by David’s arbitrary hand, but as a consequence of their own unchecked biological weaponry, their civilization consumed by its own hubris. The recon team slowly, agonizingly, begins to piece together the horrifying truth about David’s cold, calculating malice and the true origins of the Xenomorph.

    As the recon team desperately tries to send a warning back to the camp, their messages are fraught with urgency and static, barely comprehensible fragments about “the android” and “the experiments.” At the same time, the crew at the camp starts to notice something wrong with “Walter.” Perhaps they catch him in a disturbing act, like experimenting on an injured crewmate, or see a flash of cold malice in his eyes. The warnings from the recon team, now understood, only amplify the terror. They still believe the dangerous synthetic mentioned in the warning is some other threat lurking out there. The film’s climax, with the daring rescue, the terrifying xenomorph infiltration, and the final, shocking revelation of Walter’s true identity in a moment of ultimate betrayal, can then unfold in a way that aligns with the original script’s ending, but with far greater psychological impact.

    Why This Works Better

    This new story directly fixes the original film’s problems. By making David a witness and perfecter rather than the sole creator, the Xenomorph’s cosmic horror is restored, giving it back its ancient, inexplicable power. David’s Engineer attack becomes meaningful, tied to their own downfall, not just random evil. His “help” to the crew is now part of a chilling manipulation, making him a truly sinister, consistent villain. And by keeping David’s existence hidden until the last terrifying moments, the story builds immense psychological suspense. The horror shifts from just an external monster to the insidious terror of betrayal from within, making the humans’ struggle far more personal and impactful. Finally, Dr. Shaw’s tragic fate gains profound significance as a key piece of the puzzle, her last moments providing vital clues that could, if discovered in time, reveal the true scope of David’s malevolence. This approach not only plugs plot holes but elevates Alien: Covenant into a richer, more suspenseful, and ultimately more terrifying installment in the beloved franchise.

    Thanks,

    Ira

  • Hancock (2008) – How a Brilliant Premise Got Drunk In the Middle and How to Rehabilitate It

    The 2008 film Hancock, starring Will Smith, arrived with a truly fresh and exciting premise: a perpetually drunk, cynical, and highly destructive superhero whose antics cause more damage than good, forcing a PR consultant to help him rehabilitate his image. The initial concept was brilliant, offering a subversive take on the superhero genre that promised both biting comedy and a compelling character study.

    The film’s first half largely delivered on this promise. We were introduced to a slovenly, seemingly unlikable protagonist whose struggles with alcoholism and public perception were both hilarious and genuinely poignant. His awkward attempts at public relations, the chaos he unintentionally wrought, and the intriguing dynamic with PR consultant Ray Embrey and his family, all set the stage for a unique journey of redemption. We were invested in seeing this powerful but broken man find his purpose and clean up his act.

    Then, abruptly, it all went off the rails. The second half of Hancock introduced a series of baffling plot twists and lore explanations that systematically dismantled the film’s goodwill and left audiences scratching their heads. The gut-punch reveal that Ray’s seemingly normal wife, Mary (Charlize Theron), also possessed superpowers felt like a betrayal. Not only was it unforeshadowed, but her seemingly random act of throwing Hancock through a wall for “no reason” (beyond shock value) instantly undermined her character and the established reality. The subsequent explanation of their ancient, immortal, soulmate connection and how they “just somehow find each other like that” stretched credulity beyond its breaking point, abruptly shifting the film from a grounded, cynical comedy to a far-fetched mythological romance.

    The introduction of the “mortality based on their closeness” rule was the final nail in the coffin, a completely arbitrary new rule that negated all established stakes and felt like a desperate attempt to create drama where genuine character conflict should have been. To add insult to injury, the implication that Mary, a powerful being, had apparently just sat at home doing nothing with her god-given powers for centuries, while the world suffered and Hancock struggled, made her seem utterly hypocritical when she lectured him about responsibility. These elements collectively broke audience trust and transformed a promising movie into a confusing, unsatisfying mess.

    Proposing a Stronger Second Half: A Journey of Trauma, Selflessness, and True Love

    Instead of the convoluted turns of the original, a stronger narrative for Hancock would root its mythology in character-driven conflict and a clear, consistent thematic message.

    Our revised story would establish that Hancock isn’t suffering from amnesia, but from profound trauma from his past heroic deeds. This trauma, perhaps stemming from a cataclysmic loss of fellow super-powered comrades or a devastating failure during an earlier heroic age, would be the true source of his alcoholism, cynicism, and isolation. His self-destructive behavior isn’t just a quirk; it’s a desperate coping mechanism for deep, unaddressed pain.

    Mary, Ray’s wife, would remain a normal, grounded human being. However, Hancock’s attraction to her would grow, becoming a significant personal test. This is where a crucial new rule would be introduced: selfish acts diminish a hero’s powers. If Hancock pursues his selfish desires (like his attraction to Mary, a married woman, or acting for personal gain), his powers visibly wane. This would create tangible stakes for his moral choices, directly linking his character arc to his abilities.

    After a major fallout with Ray, stemming from Hancock’s inability to control his selfish urges, Ray, ever the idealist, would offer a pivotal piece of advice. He would tell Hancock that true heroism isn’t just about saving lives, but about selfless connection in general. He might advise Hancock to “look for his true mate” – a unique bond that wouldn’t diminish his powers, but perhaps amplify them, hinting at a selfless connection that empowers rather than drains.

    Deeply affected, Hancock would then confide in Ray, revealing his greatest burden: he does have a woman he truly loves, a fellow superhero. However, she too suffered trauma so severe that it has caused her to forget him and her powers entirely. She now lives a seemingly normal, civilian life, and because of her past trauma, she has refused to help others, allowing her powers to remain completely dormant due to her own ingrained selfishness. This woman would be the character of Mary from the original film, but now recontextualized as Hancock’s lost love, a separate individual from Ray’s wife.

    Initially, Hancock, driven by desperation, might try to forcefully make his lost love remember him, meddling in her life with no avail. These selfish acts would only further diminish his own powers. It’s during this struggle that Ray, observing Hancock’s futile attempts and self-destructive spiral, delivers a powerful, gut-punch line: “Maybe she doesn’t remember you because of what a drunken bum you’ve become.”

    This brutal honesty would be the ultimate catalyst. It compels Hancock to confront his own trauma and self-pity. He commits to truly straighten himself up, battling his alcoholism, embracing selflessness, and making genuine amends for his past. As he rehabilitates, his powers are restored. Finally, he seeks out his true love, not to force remembrance, but to apologize for his past meddling and to offer genuine support. Through his unwavering selflessness and healing, she gradually begins to remember him and her own powers.

    Reunited and re-powered through their mutual journey of healing and selfless purpose, Hancock and his true love would then solve an especially important crime or confront a lingering threat that has plagued humanity for a long time and was too great even for him to handle (he lacked some feminine intuition or something like that), leveraging their combined strength and renewed sense of purpose for a powerful, emotionally satisfying climax.

    This revised outline for Hancock transforms a muddled premise into a compelling story about trauma, redemption, and the true meaning of heroism rooted in selflessness, offering a far more powerful and coherent experience than the original film.

    Thanks for reading,

    Ira