Content warning: blood, gore, sexual content, sexual assault, parasites and body horror
This is a heavily modified version of an essay I originally wrote for a literary theory class and then turned into a script for a video essay that I never finished.
One of the things that really bothers me about the critical conversation around Alien (1979) is the long-running idea that the alien and its various forms are so enduringly horrifying because they break the sexual/gender binary.
The worst example I can find is this excerpt, from Alien Woman: The Making of Lt. Ripley, by Ximena Gallardo and C. & C. Jason Smith:
The Alien species disregards the sexual difference that is so essential to our definition of what it is to be human. The male body is repositioned to correspond to the female body: the male mouth becomes the vagina, the chest the womb. The dichotomy male/female is broken down, as all humanity is female (a womb) in the face of the alien.
I get that this was published in 2004, but Gender Trouble had already been around for over a decade, so that’s not much of an excuse for weird ass gender essentialism in academia.
The idea that the xenomorph and its various stages are scary because the gender binary is being broken down is comically disregarded by the simple fact that trans people (like myself) ALSO find the damn thing scary. We are living embodiments of a shattered binary, but we aren’t shitting ourselves over our own existence (usually). I contend that the alien is scary not because of a violation of gender or sexual norms, but because it utilizes a much more widespread and visceral kind of horror: that of the parasite.
Most other animalistic horror monsters rely on the fear of the predator: monster wanna eat you → you run away → get caught → get eated. This is an oversimplification, obviously, and if you want a really good exploration of how the fear of predators effects us, read Val Plumwood’s Eye of the Crocodile. For real, my fav ecophilosophy book.
No, instead of the more straightforward horror presented by the predator, the alien uses the inescapable, cloying, and violating horror of parasites and parasitoids. Where the predator hunts, kills and eats, the parasite clings, defiles and tortures. When the predator catches you, you’re dead. When the parasite catches you, you don’t know what is going to happen. Is it going to bury inside you? Is it going to feed on your body? Is it going to lay eggs in you? You literally don’t know, and that’s what makes them so scary. Hell, they could get inside you without you even knowing. It isn’t just the fear of death, it’s the paranoia of violation AND the fear of the unknown. This makes Alien akin to a Lovecraftian horror in many ways, but instead of the fear of race-mixing or disabled people, it is the fear that whatever you do, wherever you go, there are beings that can enter your body and use it against your will.
Hell, the whole premise of the movie, at least according to the screenwriter, came from the thought “what if ichneumon wasps laid eggs in us instead of in worms?” That basic idea is glossed over constantly in analysis of Alien in favour of more Freudian explanations that rely heavily on antiquated notions of gender essentialism. When early screening audiences were throwing up in their seats in 1979, were they thinking about how “this monster really transgresses gender norms :/” or were they thinking “fuck what if that thing was growing inside me?!?!”
The only time I agree with these old school interpretations is when they view Alien through the lens of sexual assault. The fear of sexual assault and the fear of parasites are fucked up sisters in a way. They are both fears of bodily violation that induce a strong paranoia, and their symbologies easily feed off one another. Sexual imagery (e.g. a penis shaped head with a mouth on the end) combined with parasitic imagery (e.g. a creature grabbing a hold of you and doing unknown things to your body) are both niggling at the part of your brain that is repulsed by internal invasion.
However, I’ve seen arguments that Alien specifically targets fears for cis men being sexually assaulted, and I think that’s a very limited approach to the movie. The idea of a creature latching onto you, ignoring your autonomy, and using you as an incubator is pretty universally scary if you ask me, and I think for most people, that idea connects to a primal and often unaddressed fear of parasites far more than sexual violation. Just look at videos of botfly maggot removals and tell me you don’t get the same yucky feeling as when you watch Alien.
Even for people like me who find these creatures fascinating, I still get that skin crawly feeling when I look at images of them for too long. And it isn’t just a short-lived disgust reaction happening, it’s also that feeling of paranoia that it could be happening to you right this minute. This is all a part of what is called the behavioural immune system, which is the brain’s first line of defense against infection and why most people are grossed out by signs of disease on the body (pus, rashes, body odours, etc.).
We really don’t like thinking about parasites, and it shows across our culture. Deadly predators of all kinds have been worshiped all over the world, but is there anyone in history who paid fealty to the tick? Who invoked the name of the roundworm for strength? Are there cartoons about anthropomorphic scabies and their kingdom of flesh? (If any of these exist and I just don’t know it, please tell me.)
I’m not saying that this is an innate feeling in all of us (the human experience is about as diverse as it gets, and I’m sure some people just don’t have this reaction and never have) but I do think it’s widespread enough and so infrequently felt that when this parasite repulsion is triggered it makes for a horror that is far harder to shake than any socialized fear of gender violation. Far more than any Freudian psychosexual imagery, the horror of the parasite is what I believe has made the xenomorph such an enduring cinematic monster.
I wanna leave this post off with one of my favourite quotes about parasites from Annie Dilliard’s book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek:
It is the thorn in the flesh of the world, another sign, if any be needed, that the world is actual and fringed, pierced here and there, and through and through, with the toothed conditions of time and the mysterious, coiled spring of death.