When Ridley Scott’s Alien first descended upon audiences in 1979, it reshaped science fiction horror — a perfect blend of claustrophobia, industrial futurism, and primal fear. Over four decades and several sequels later, the franchise has wandered through action, philosophy, and spectacle. Alien: Romulus arrives as a deliberate return to that original sense of dread — and largely succeeds.
From its opening frames, Romulus reclaims the stripped-down terror that made Alien so effective. The setting — a derelict space station orbiting a mining colony — is rendered in stunning, tactile detail. Every corridor hums with menace, every flickering light feels like a countdown to something inevitable. Fede Álvarez directs with a sharp sense of tension and pacing, letting silence and shadow do most of the work.
Cailee Spaeny delivers a strong, grounded performance as Rain, a young colonist thrust into survival mode. Her chemistry with David Jonsson’s synthetic companion Andy adds both warmth and unease, echoing the human-machine tension that has long defined the series. The creature effects are gruesomely convincing — practical where possible, and never over-reliant on CGI.
For all its technical precision, Romulus leans hard on nostalgia. The callbacks to earlier films — the set designs, the camera angles, even a few iconic sound cues — begin to feel more like reverence than reinvention. The script occasionally stumbles with thinly sketched supporting characters, whose fates arrive before we’ve learned to care much about them.
A controversial creative choice involving a digital recreation of a legacy character also proves distracting, momentarily breaking the immersion. The film’s final act, while energetic, tips toward predictability — familiar beats that don’t quite match the freshness of its first hour.
Set between Alien and Aliens, Romulus bridges the tonal gap between the haunted-house horror of the first film and the militarized chaos of the second. It’s the most atmospheric entry the series has produced in years — unafraid to slow down, to let the viewer feel the weight of isolation.
Álvarez’s film doesn’t reinvent Alien mythology, nor does it aim to. Instead, it refines what fans loved most: the terror of the unknown and the elegance of survival against impossible odds.
Alien: Romulus is a lean, stylish, and at times genuinely frightening addition to the franchise. It doesn’t reach the mythic heights of its predecessors, but it understands their language — and speaks it fluently. For longtime fans, it’s a satisfying return to form; for newcomers, it’s a reminder of why the Xenomorph remains one of cinema’s most terrifying creations.