Sci-fi: it really is women’s work
On Thursday, I took a break from the hard strains of reality – Brexit, elections, Donald Trump – by settling myself down in a cinema seat and watching a movie about a group of people who set out to find a better world, only to end up being picked off, one by one, by a parasitic creature with acid for blood, a spear for a tail and teeth like kitchen knives.
Alien: Covenant is the latest film in the Alien franchise, a monster of a film that I absolutely adored and must watch again with my husband, who told me he would “see it at a later date” and that he wanted “to stay home and do a bit of extra work”, which seemed to involve sorting through the clothes pile. Men, eh? Such wimps!
I love science fiction and still remember the joyous horror of watching the first
Alien film as a teenager. People are often surprised by my adoration of a genre more often associated with geeky men. But in my mind, sci-fi is owned by women. Romantic comedies are all well and good, but if you want a strong female lead (as in every Alien film, from Sigourney Weaver through to Noomi Rapace and now Katherine Waterston), then sci-fi is the thing for you. The Alien franchise is really one big feminist masterpiece – men get penetrated, give birth in the goriest ways possible and the ladies are always, always the ones who get stuff done. (Also, a ship run by “Mother”? I mean, come on…)
Then again, sci-fi has always been a job for the girls, with Margaret Atwood turning out dystopian nightmares such as The Handmaid’s Tale and Oryx and Crake, and the new Star Wars films now being led by women.
Bridget Jones is, of course, a total babe. But when push comes to shove, Lieutenant Ellen Ripley is the woman for me.