ar from its destination, its crew in hypersleep, the deep-space mining ship Nostromo receives an unknown signal. Programmed to investigate such occurrences, the ship's computer alerts its sleeping crew, waking them in order to investigate the source of the mysterious signal. The ship puts down on a barren planet where it finds the derelict shell of an alien vessel, its lone occupant mummified—dead. But it is not alone. Deep inside the bowels of the ship lie row upon row of mysterious eggs. As one unfortunate crewman peers closer at one of the eggs, it bursts open and an alien lunges at him, pushing itself through his helmet and visor and attaching itself to his face. And as mysteriously as it appeared, it just as mysteriously dies, leaving no ill effects. At least none immediately apparent.
This is the beginning of Ridley Scott's 1979 film Alien, perhaps the scariest science fiction film ever made, whose deep, gorgeous atmosphere and grittily realistic sets and design are a pleasure to behold. Of course, this is not the end of the Alien story. Not long afterward, an alien nurtured inside the body of the stricken crewman bursts out and begins to grow—and to kill. This seemingly indestructible creature makes xenophobia completely understandable. Only one crewmember, Ellen Ripley, survives, and barely, after successfully defeating this practically unbeatable creature.
In 1986, James Cameron created a sequel to this horror story. This time, however, the emphasis was less on stark terror and more on action, and the film caught the imaginations of a whole new audience. It is considered perhaps one of the best film sequels ever, and certainly of all science fiction films. This time, Ellen Ripley is brought in as a consultant to accompany a military mission to the planet on which the alien eggs were discovered, to determine why contact with a newly formed colony there has suddenly ceased.
After mighty battles and many dead aliens, as well as dead Marines, Ellen Ripley faces the most vicious of all aliens—a queen protecting its brood.
H.R. Giger designed the original alien that took the world by storm. The disturbing blending of machinery with muscle and bone has been the focus of his artistic career, and he used this dichotomy in designing this deadly menace to glorious effect. If audiences thought the original alien was a daunting form, destined to haunt their dreams forever, they hadn't yet seen the alien's mom.
McFarlane Toys recently introduced its Movie Maniacs 6 series, and, as its showpiece, this large, gorgeous diorama features a highly detailed alien queen, in a setting that includes a captured human colonist, made host to her unborn progeny.
The Alien figure measures a total of 25 inches from the top of its magnificently carapaced, jointed head to the tip of its spiny tail, and she stands upright to a height of 13 inches. Her gnarled limbs and pitted form stand on a diorama base that is itself hinged to form two parts—her stand and the resin-covered human host, cocooned against a ducted, piped, wire-strewn wall. Together, the diorama measures nearly three feet in length.
Creepy colonist takes the cake
Discussion of a Todd McFarlane toy cannot fail to mention the strides made by this toy-designing pioneer in articulation and affordable detailing. He has raised the bar many times and has sometimes failed to meet it himself. In the case of this queen alien, her articulation is in some ways excellent and in some highly restrictive.
Her head is mounted on a ribbed, rubbery neck that can be moved in many directions but fails to hold any pose but one, perhaps due to the fact that the thick rubber neck prevents the joint from holding its place. Also, the elbows have no joint at all, while the shoulder has a nicely articulated slotted rotator joint. The wrists have only straight rotation, and the hands do not pivot or angle in any direction other than that one.
Her legs have only one joint each—at the hip, and since she is pegged to her floor that articulation is basically moot. Smaller arms protrude from her chest, ball-jointed at the shoulder. Those arms easily come free of their ball sockets, however.
There is a very solid and useful joint at the waist that pivots the entire body at various angles, and a detachable multi-vertibrate tail is wire-jointed inside soft rubber and takes to any desirable pose a person could care to set for her.
One extra nice touch is the pivoting front section of the queen's head, which is molded in transparent plastic and painted so her teeth show through as clear. Disappointingly, the mouth does not open.
These things may or may not be important to collectors, who will most likely pose this domineering figure in a particular way and just admire her.
One of the creepiest features of this diorama is, of course, the half-dead human colonist. In the film, these zombielike people were seen begging for death rather than survive a minute longer as living hosts for the spawn of these vile creatures. This is portrayed quite adequately in this diorama. On a set piece that is excellently detailed, a human female is completely encased in the alien's excreted resin, which holds her in place as a womb for the alien about to hatch within her. This would be gruesome enough, given the woman's near-dead expression, realistic pallor and hands twisted in agony. But to further this poor figure's hell, a plunger that is operable from the rear of the base can be manipulated to cause a small chest-bursting alien to push through the rubber of her shirt and chest in a very realistic and sickening way. All in all it mimics a particular scene in Aliens very well.
With these extra touches, the minor disappointments in this figure's points of articulation can be forgiven. At this price point, one can't have everything, and if we must sacrifice some mobility for gritty realism, it is a small price to pay for such an excellent toy.
