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I have been a fan of Ridley Scott’s Alien franchise since I was a kid. I saw every movie in theaters and many times at home. The first film was a masterpiece. The second and third were good. Prometheus was a strong effort and worth watching.

Alien: Covenant was crap.

For a decent review and summary of the movie’s failures from a big-picture audience perspective, go have a look at John Nolte’s review here.

But today, I wanted to write about the movie’s failures from a writer’s perspective. As a preface, let me say that I’m not an expert writer. I’m just beginning to learn the craft of creating fiction. But there are some fundamentals that even beginners learn that are absolutely mandatory in certain types of stories.

Now, before I go any further, I feel it necessary to warn you.

THIS WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS.
THIS WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS.
THIS WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS.

If you read past those warnings, don’t get angry with me and send me hate emails because you found out something about the movie you didn’t want to know. I warned you.

Let’s start with the obvious – genre. This is a science fiction action thriller with horror elements. The science fiction is there, so no need to dwell on that. The action is sometimes there and sometimes not. But that’s not the real problem. The problem is that the main structure of this film (indeed, all Alien films) purports to be that of a thriller but fails to deliver on those promises.

There are some required elements in a successful thriller story. Some of those required elements are found in Alien: Covenant. The problem is that even when the elements are present, they are misapplied.

For example, two closely paired elements in a thriller are the “speech in defense of the villain” and the “hero at the mercy of the villain” scenes. Often, these are found jammed together in the same scene. Think of James Bond on the table while the laser is coming at him, and the villain is spewing some drivel about how he’s so much smarter than the masses and will take over the earth. That’s both scenes in one. The hero is supposed to call on some skill, talent, or special gift at his or her disposal to escape that situation. And as for the villain, it’s a bonus if the villain’s worldview is partially justified or understandable.

In Alien: Covenant, we have a problem. The “villain” in all the other movies was the alien monster. Even when dirtbags helped put Ripley or others at risk, it was still the alien that was the real evil in the Alien franchise. The “helpers” of the alien monster were secondary goons.

In Alien: Covenant, the villain is David, the android who is manipulating genetics and biology to create the alien monsters. The audience learns this almost halfway through the film. And then, the story continues to build as the bad android maneuvers to beat the hero. The “good” android (both androids are played by Michael Fassbender) tries to stop the “bad” android. And in a “twist”, the bad android kills the “good” android and assumes his identity to get back onto the ship with the crew. The way this is handled is supposed to leave the audience unsure about whether the android going back with the crew is the good or bad android. But let’s face it, no one is stupid. This has been done so many times before. The bad android goes back to the ship and pretends to be helping the crew fight the alien monster.

And then it all falls apart. A key component of a thriller is suspense. The writer has to find a way to create tension by not letting the audience know something (the twist or big reveal) or by letting the audience know exactly what’s going on and squeezing the tension by prolonging the inevitable (the hero now finding out the truth for a long time until the stakes are high). In Alien: Covenant, almost everyone knows that the bad android got back on the ship. There’s no surprise or big reveal there. So, that means we settle in for the big suspense build where the hero doesn’t know and has to find out before the big battle with the villain. Right? Wrong.

As I said above, there has to be a moment where the hero is at the mercy of the villain and somehow escapes through her own resources. In Alien: Covenant, the story sets that up as a brief and uninspiring fight between the hero and the alien, but it goes nowhere. The hero’s triumph over the alien is unfulfilling and tepid. Why? Because by this point, the audience KNOWS that the real villain is the android. There’s no big reveal for us – no twist. That means the audience becomes aware that they’re on the hook for a suspense ride as the hero gets deeper and deeper into trouble before finding out that the bad android is the villain, at which point we’ll see a big showdown. So, when the hero defeats the alien, everyone is waiting for the REAL conflict between good and evil. We’re waiting for the moment when the hero discovers for herself that the android is an imposter and defeats him in a battle of some sort.

As a paramount issue, it’s absolutely critical for a successful thriller that the hero (good) triumph over the villain (evil). If a thriller ends with evil winning, it takes a supremely skilled writer to pull that off. The reader/audience have been identifying with the hero and rooting for him/her to win. If you’re going to go against that expectation, it better be absolutely brilliant. Literary novels and social commentary films sometimes have the bad guy winning. But they don’t satisfy the audience, and they don’t win at the box office. Why? Because humans want the good guy to win. That’s it. It’s that simple.

Some may say that an example of a successful version of evil winning as part of a successful story is Silence of the Lambs. But that’s not right. People don’t remember that film (or the book) very well. Anthony Hopkins only has a few minutes of screen time in that flick. The MAIN story is Cadet/Agent Starling and the FBI vs. Buffalo Bill. And Starling (good) wins over evil (Buffalo Bill). Because Hannibal Lecter got away at the end, and because Hopkins’s performance was larger than life, many people INCORRECTLY think that his presence and escape were the main story. They weren’t.

I can’t really think of a non-literary/non-high-falutin’ film right now that had the villain winning that succeeded and satisfied the audience. Now, let’s not count series installments with cliffhangers. That’s a different thing altogether. I’m talking about a self-contained story with an ending where the hero loses and the dirtbag wins. That kind of story just doesn’t win audiences over very well.

Now, one more time, I’M GOING TO TALK ABOUT SPOILERS HERE.

In Alien: Covenant, the story completely collapses after the hero kills the alien. She goes back into the ship, where only she and one other crew member are still alive. They decide to go back into hypersleep to carry on to the new colony planet, while the android stays awake to take care of the ship. In the big scene the audience has been waiting for, the co-pilot is already asleep, and the hero is climbing into her pod. She looks up at the android and asks him if he would help her build her cabin on the lake when they get to the new planet. The android stares back with a blank and bewildered expression. THIS is the moment when the hero knows he’s the bad android, because she and the good android had already discussed the cabin. The bad android didn’t know what she was talking about. So, when she realized this, she knew he was the bad guy. And she’s at the android’s mercy, because she’s in the pod with the hypersleep process beginning to take over.

So, what’s the problem? We’ve got the perfect setup. The hero is at the mercy of the villain in the pod at the moment when suspense is at its peak and she discovers the truth. The expected sequence that should follow would be her getting out of the pod and engaging in a big physical battle with the bad android and somehow defeating him using some knowledge or talent she gained earlier in the movie. Then, when she wins, the hero defeats evil, and the audience is satisfied with the arc of the story. Even if there’s a little twist at the end that sets up a possible sequel (e.g., an alien hanging onto the outside of the ship), the MAIN STORY ends with the hero beating the villain.

Nope. Didn’t happen. Ridley Scott screwed this up. And he didn’t have to. He knows better.

In Alien: Covenant, the hero discovers that the bad android is on the ship as she’s being put into hypersleep. She desperately bangs on the door of the pod to escape, but it doesn’t work. She falls asleep. She fails to escape the pod. It’s over.

And the film ends with about three minutes of the bad android looking smug as he walks among the 2,000 colonists’ bodies in hypersleep (a farm of ready-made bodies for the alien development he’ll be doing) and puts two alien embryos into storage for the trip to the planet. There’s no doubt that he’ll be using those two embryos and countless human bodies to continue his despicable work breeding alien monsters.

That’s it. That’s how the movie ends. The hero and co-pilot are locked away unconscious in their pods, and the evil android is about to set to work on raising thousands of alien babies in human colonists’ bodies.

The effect on the audience is palpable. I heard groans in the theater. Lots of chattering and negative comments as I walked through the lobby.

Imagine the same thing in the context of a book. For a movie, we spent two hours that ended in a disappointment. For a book, the reader spends MANY more hours invested in the hero’s struggle against evil.

If you’re a writer, be careful. Be very, very careful.

Sci-fi aficionados are well acquainted with the 1982 film Blade Runner. And most of those aficionados are at least aware (even if they’re not clamoring for details) that a sequel is scheduled for release later this year.

The official trailer promises an epic and faithful return to the world of Blade Runner. The effects are great. Harrison Ford returns. And the casting directors and producers did an excellent job picking Ryan Gosling for the new male lead. Even if Ford and Gosling only produce average quality performances, the end result is likely to be a blockbuster with multiple sequels greenlit.

Why am I writing about this now?

My upcoming novel series contains some similar concepts and elements to the Blade Runner world. My fictional universe has aliens, clones, and androids. My series features action and thriller scenes set in a dystopian future world.

And that got me thinking… Would my books be seen as knock-offs or copycats?

Science fiction is based on our understanding of the scientific world. As our knowledge changes, so do sci-fi tropes and conventions. But just as often, our knowledge and the sci-fi tropes remain consistent.

In the case of aliens, clones, and androids, science fiction has featured such concepts for as long as the genre has existed. In that respect, there’s nothing unique about Blade Runner (or my books, for that matter). What’s interesting and unique is how writers USE those concepts. In the case of Blade Runner, Ridley Scott brought Phillip K. Dick’s story to life to use some of those elements as a commentary on the nature of humanity. My books have a similar theme, but the execution is different.

Writers use words the way artists use paint and brushes, or the way sculptors use chisels and hammers. They all have an idea in their brains that they want to portray and communicate to the audience. For visual artists, the end product is a painting or a statue, or in modern times, a virtual reality demonstration. For filmmakers, the end result is a screen filled with brilliant images and compelling acting. For writers, the challenge is even greater. We must use 26 letters, arranged in varying sequences, on a flat page (either paper or digital), to string together sentences that work in the reader’s mind to create the visual world we imagine. We use words to paint a picture. We use phrases to sculpt the shapes.

It ain’t easy.

There are definitely examples of knock-offs that are clearly derivative and worthy of dismissal. And then there are those variations on tropes that show how a skilled artist can use the exact same tools to create a new thing worthy of examination.

Take GalaxyQuest as an example. At first glance, it’s a cheesy knock-off of Star Trek. But the moment you start watching that film with an open mind, you realize that it contains parody and commentary on not only the sci-fi genre itself, but the world of science fiction fandom, including the actors who portray characters in popular television shows and movies. The film makes us look at sci-fi conventions differently. It makes us think about the life of the actors after their series is canceled. GalaxyQuest makes us see geek culture in a new light.

Like any writer, my hope is that my books will convey my ideas in a way that entertains the reader while passing along my thoughts on a theme. In the case of the Steraxi Prophecy books, that theme is the nature of humanity and its existence on earth. Where did we come from? How did we get here? Have humans lived somewhere else? Is our concept of God in antiquity based on a divine being, or a being who was just technologically advanced?

And most importantly for me, even if we explain God as being an advanced technology, that just takes us one step farther back. If God was an alien, who created that alien? How did that being’s life come into existence? What created “life” in the universe? What created the universe itself?

In any event, I hope people give writers a break. Any time a big-budget Hollywood movie comes along, a writer who releases a novel with similar concepts is often branded as a sell-out looking to make a quick buck. In many cases, that writer may have been working on that book for many years, long before the movie even started shooting. It’s like the western. If I write a book set in the Old West, it’s going to have cowboys, horses, six-shooters, spurs, and high desert towns with gambling halls and brothels. And if I released a book like that on the heels of Unforgiven, someone could argue that I was just trying to make a quick buck. But tell that to Louis Lamour or Zane Gray.

This morning, I wanted to add a brief post about the 1975 classic(ish) “Logan’s Run.” It was on one of the classic movie channels this week, and I took the opportunity to watch it for the first time since the 1980s.

Interestingly, despite the low-tech effects, this film was far and away better than Krull and Dune. Why? Well, because it had a decent story and script, of course.

Now, don’t get me wrong. It had some gaffes. Some real head-scratchers. But all in all, the global message in Logan’s Run was clear and philosophical.

I won’t bore you with details or plot summaries. Too many of those are already on the interwebs. And if you’ve never seen it, you probably should. But I will say this…

Watching Logan’s Run in 2017 made me realize that it’s essentially a mash-up of “A Clockwork Orange”, “Omega Man”, and “Doctor Who” – but without Charlton Heston and The Doctor.

Maybe someone could do something like that now with 2017 technology and budgets…

Today, I wanted to write a retrospective review and commentary about a much-maligned movie from 1980 – Saturn 3.

The film stars the stunning Farrah Fawcett (in the prime of her beauty), 64-year-old Kirk Douglas (whose acting skills are underutilized in this film), and a 40-ish Harvey Keitel (whose voice we never hear – more on that later).

First, the history. The film was based on a story by sci-fi film pioneer and Oscar-winning set designer, John Barry, who also started out as the film’s director. But early in production, Barry and Kirk Douglas had disagreements, and the studios pulled Barry and replaced him with Stanley Donen. Sadly, Barry went back to production on The Empire Strikes Back and fell ill on set, dying suddenly at the young age of 43.

The movie hit box offices in February 1980 in the US, and a few months later in the UK. The production of Saturn 3 was plagued with problems and bad timing. The studio began the project hoping to cash in on the sci-fi mania sweeping the globe. It was meant to piggy-back off of the success of Alien in the US. But another project the studio had in production went over budget, and Saturn 3 had to give up some of its own budget. The film was behind schedule constantly, as the robot required so much attention and was in so many scenes. There was reportedly much drama about nudity, with Douglas insisting on appearing half- or not clothed, and similarly demanding that Fawcett strip down (he allegedly said “What do you mean she won’t take her clothes off. She’s only a fucking TV actress. I’ll rip her clothes off!”)

And the problems didn’t end there. The studio didn’t like Keitel’s accent, and they asked him to do voice-over work in post-production. He refused, so they re-dubbed his entire presence in the film with British actor Roy Dotrice. Rumors swirled that Keitel and the studio executives were hostile to one another, leading to his refusal to cooperate.

There were many other production woes. The script was rewritten several times, with each one getting farther and farther from the original story. The phenomenal Elmer Bernstein (Oscar-winning composer and conductor) wrote a score and recorded the soundtrack, but the studio scrapped nearly all of it. Two long scenes were cut from the film prior to its release (some believe this was a fatal wound). And the special effects (which weren’t very special) wound up looking cheesy and cheap.

When the film hit theaters, it made a measly $9 million. Even by 1980 box office standards, it was a flop. Alien made $79 million in the US alone the year before. And critics hated Saturn 3, as well, meaning that the studio couldn’t even float the idea that it was a critical success despite its lackluster earnings.

But is that all there is to the story of Saturn 3? Is it worthless?

I don’t think so. I watched it again recently while researching something for my books. And I came away from it with a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time. And when a movie can give you a feeling, it’s at least doing SOMETHING right.

In the 70s and 80s, sci-fi was trying to find its identity. The springboard of Star Trek and Star Wars caused the genesis of a new genre in film and television. And because the stories were still new to audiences, writers and producers experimented to try and find the right tropes. The action-packed Star Trek series became the awful, navel-gazing and dull Star Trek: The Motion Picture. But some of those experimental stories (speculative fiction) were quite effective in presenting unique questions for the audience.

What does it mean to be human?
Is the human existence limited to the meat-and-blood machine we inhabit?
What is humanity’s existence on earth in the future?
Is emotion purely human, or can machines feel them?

These kinds of questions are at the heart of many of the science fiction WRITING leading up to the film and television productions that have become so popular. Scenes that depict long periods of isolation don’t make great action sequences for popcorn. But that might very well be the future of humans in space. Dialog between characters that illustrate the philosophical questions facing humanity don’t pair well with Milk Duds and Goobers. But they cut to the core of the existential questions that fuel some of the best science fiction written in the last fifty years.

While watching Saturn 3, I felt the same thing I felt in the 1970s and 80s. A contradictory mix of despair and hope. Despair at the bleak and brutal future we may be destined for. But hopeful that technology and ingenuity might someday make interplanetary travel not just a reality, but commonplace.

That feeling still gets me going and inspires story ideas. It’s a heady mix of fear and excitement. It’s the chill I get in the pit of my stomach when I imagine myself isolated up there on that rock with Farrah (ok, the chill isn’t the only thing I feel when imagining myself alone on a space station with Farrah).

In the end, I think that Saturn 3 had real merit as a science fiction story. It makes me think. It challenges my ideas of humanity and our place in the universe. It forces me to question things I previously assumed and took for granted.

Isn’t that what science fiction is supposed to do? Isn’t “speculative fiction” all about making us ask questions? If so, then at least by that measure, Saturn 3 is a success.  Maybe not an over-achiever. But a success.

Robert Heinlein has been canonized by some writers for his prolific output and his philosophy on writing to generate that volume. Heinlein articulated that philosophy in an essay in 1947:

1. You must write.
2. You must finish what you start.
3. You must refrain from rewriting except to editorial order.
4. You must put it on the market.
5. You must keep it on the market until sold.

But do those rules still hold true today?

I recently met with a great guy to get his take on the state of indie publishing today (no name-dropping here). He’s respected as one of the leaders of the indie movement and has earned a LOT of money in the last year on his books. And he writes a lot. I mean A LOT. In twelve months, he published more than a dozen original stories on Kindle’s platform, along with additional box sets, short stories, and other work. And now, he’s branching out to co-write with others to commoditize his author brand and the science fiction universe he created with his stories. It’s a recipe for even more success.

During my conversation with him, I didn’t ask specifically about Heinlein’s rules. But our discussion gave me a sense of his views on the topic. He writes quickly, and without heavy rewriting or editing. Then he passes the work off to beta readers. If the beta readers identify any major issues, he corrects those himself. After that, he pays an editor to proofread and copy-edit the work before quickly pushing it out into publication.

If you look at that broad process description, it follows Heinlein’s rules precisely. So at least for one successful indie, Heinlein’s rules still seem relevant and accurate in 2016 and 2017.

I confess that I’ve spent too much time outlining and revising the story structure on my books. I continually think of another wrinkle or excellent layer of complexity to add to the trilogy, then rush off to rewrite scenes to add in those layers. Book 1 is nearly complete; but it’s been nearly complete for six months. Books 2 and 3 are heavily outlined and ready for serious drafting, but I’m still churning away on that first book.

In reality, my view has been that Book 1 has to be a great book. It’s my first public work and the first introduction the reader will have to my brand and my writing. After the reader is pleased with the story and characters from Book 1, they might be forgiving if my structure in Book 2 is not as intricate, or if the action scene in Chapter 12 of Book 3 is a little less engaging than it could have been. It’s that initial impression I’ve been so worried about.

But re-reading a few articles about Heinlein’s rules this week has made it clear to me that I need to wrap up the revisions on Book 1 quickly and move on. Even the great Heinlein (and Stephen King, and Nora Roberts, and Hugh Howie) are not hampered by imperfection in their early work. The full BODY of work they produce gives them the opportunity to prove to readers the value of their writing and story ideas. So, too, must I get past Book 1 and begin the process of creating a BODY of work that improves over time and eventually builds a platform of successful publication to open the door to success.

How about you? Are you following Heinlein’s rules? Are you moving quickly enough to build that back catalog of work that buoys your career?