5 Great Things About Alien: Romulus

In Alien: Romulus, we follow Rain Carradine (Cailee Spaeny) and her adoptive android brother Andy (David Jonsson) as they labor under the douchey thumb of the Weyland-Yutani Corporation on the desolate planet LV-410. Desperate to escape their grim, shitty existence, they hatch a plan to steal cryosleep chambers from the derelict space station Renaissance, hoping to start anew on the unregulated planet Yvaga III. But the station harbors a terrifying secret: Xenomorphs, chaos, and the wreckage of humanity’s hubris.

1. The Plot: Smart Characters, Seamless Flow

If the previous installments taught us anything, it’s that most characters have all the survival instincts of a toddler at a petting zoo — scientists licking alien spores, engineers taking their helmets off on unknown planets, touching alien goo, wandering off — frankly, these people deserved to be chestbursted. Romulus mercifully ditches that brand of idiocy in favor of a plot that moves naturally without requiring characters to be complete dumbfucks.

“Let’s just see how this plays out.”

The group’s plan to steal cryosleep pods is not only reasonable, but on paper, it’s damn near foolproof. No alien fuckery expected, no heroic last stands — just grab the pods and go. Unfortunately, Renaissance has other plans, and things spiral out of control in a way that feels earned, not forced.

Moments of real humanity make the crew more than just glorified Xeno chow. Tyler (Archie Renaux) tosses out a corny joke that makes Andy crack a smile — a rare and telling moment that shows Andy isn’t just a machine to them, he’s a friend. That’s why it fucking hurts when things start going south. The tragedy here isn’t that they were careless, but that they were never in control to begin with. Here, it’s not because of stupidity but because the station was already a ticking time bomb, with Xenomorphs lurking around every corner. This chain of events felt natural, not forced, which made their plight all the more terrifying — not reliant on anyone acting like a complete idiot. Unlike Prometheus or Covenant, where scientists were basically licking alien spores for fun, Romulus unfolds logically. The horror comes from the situation, not from you screaming, “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!” at the screen.

“Shit, my bad.”

The plot doesn’t just work — it needed to work. After Prometheus and Covenant tried (and mostly failed) to push the franchise into new territory, Romulus serves as a necessary return to form. The last two films gave us plenty of big ideas, but let’s be real — neither one gave us a goddamn Xenomorph until Covenant’s third act. You can’t just keep expanding a franchise while leaving behind the very thing that made it iconic in the first place. Romulus understands this and takes the smartest approach possible: establish a new story, reintroduce the terror, and build the foundation for something bigger. You don’t get to skip this step.

And yet, the usual suspects still whined about the film “copying” past installments, because apparently, a movie from the same fucking franchise using similar elements is now a crime. If you’re the kind of person who recognizes every callback and thinks it somehow detracts from the experience, congratulations: you played yourself. Easter eggs and throwbacks aren’t the enemy here — bad writing is, and Romulus doesn’t have that problem. What it does have is a brutal, tightly paced, terrifying story that nails what an Alien movie should feel like. So what if it quotes a previous installment? Only people who’ve seen them would notice.

“You are one ugly motherfucker.” -Rain Carradine

Even the ending, which leaves Rain and Andy floating toward the unknown, is a perfect blend of classic and new. It mirrors Ripley’s Alien escape but with a darker edge. There’s no guarantee they’ll find peace, just another Weyland-Yutani trap waiting to spring. That’s the kind of storytelling that honors the franchise while setting up something fresh. So if you’re mad that the movie had the audacity to remind you of Alien and Aliens, maybe the problem isn’t the film. Maybe you just like being pissed off.

2. Sound That Hits Like a Xenomorph Tail

Let’s talk about the sound. Holy shit. If Romulus had to be summed up in audio form, it’d be a symphony of nightmare fuel.

Every sound in this movie is designed to fuck with your nerves. The distant hum of the Renaissance station isn’t just ambiance — it feels alive, like it’s watching you, judging you, and waiting to eat your face. The Xenomorph screeches are bone-chilling, like a banshee mixed with metal scraping against metal. And that Prometheus Fire syringe? That tiny click when it loads? It’s more terrifying than any jump scare, like the cinematic equivalent of hearing a gun cock behind your head when you know you forgot to pay that mobster back.

The soundtrack is just as masterfully restrained. It doesn’t drown the tension in overwrought orchestration — it enhances it, knowing exactly when to let silence speak for itself. There’s a moment where the score just disappears, leaving you alone with nothing but the slow, echoing creaks of the station and the faint sound of someone’s breathing getting way too fast. Other sci-fi horror films should take fucking notes: less is more when the silence is scarier than the noise.

And then there’s the sound of the Xenomorphs moving. Not roaring, not screeching — just the sickening, wet slither of their limbs shifting in the dark, the quiet clicking of their claws on metal. You don’t see them at first, but you hear them. You feel them. And that’s infinitely worse. By the time they actually attack, it’s almost a relief — like, “Oh, thank God, now I can finally stop imagining my nightmare.”fucking dies

It’s a masterpiece in sound design.

3. Characters & Acting: A Synthetic Star

David Jonsson’s Andy is, without question, the film’s MVP. He turns what could’ve been just another “robot finding humanity” arc into something layered, unsettling, and downright gripping. At the start, he’s the calm, docile companion to Rain — reliable, efficient, and eerily composed. But when he integrates Rook’s data, you can practically feel the shift. His movements become stiffer, his speech more clinical, his eyes a little too vacant. Suddenly, he’s not just Andy, he’s something else. The way Jonsson transitions between these phases is seamless, and by the time Andy’s redemption comes full circle, you don’t just believe it — you feel it.

Cailee Spaeny is just as compelling, grounding Rain in a performance that blends desperation with defiance. She’s not a Ripley clone, nor is she some forced “badass” archetype — she’s human. She fucks up in ways that don’t feel scripted but raw and real. She makes gut-wrenching choices, like hesitating when she should run, pushing forward when she should stop, and knowing that every moment could be her last. From her strained but fiercely protective dynamic with Andy to the moments where sheer survival instinct kicks in, Spaeny makes sure every second of Rain’s journey lands with weight. Whether she’s staring down a Xenomorph or clinging to the last shreds of her plan gone to hell, she sells the fight, fear, and exhaustion in a way that makes you root for her at every turn.

Even the supporting cast shines, especially Spike Fearn (Bjorn) and Archie Renaux (Tyler), who provide rare but genuine moments of levity before the carnage kicks in. Tyler had far more reasons to treat Andy like shit than his recently deceased, dickhead cousin. At one point, his own sister was locked out to die, and later, he was nearly next. And yet, he never acts like a whiny, grudge-holding man-baby. Instead of blaming Andy for every shitty thing that happened, he takes it in stride, showing that he’s just not the petty type. It never once feels like an oversight or a script convenience, it just feels like who Tyler is. A guy who deals with trauma by pushing forward, rather than throwing a tantrum like a middle-schooler with a vendetta.

“And you can squeeze here while you shit yourself.”

And then there’s Kay (Isabela Merced), who gets saddled with the most absolute, undiluted bullshit in the film. Watching her friends get ripped apart in the most gruesome ways imaginable? Check. Surviving a spaceship crash and eating absolute shit off the side of said spaceship? Oh yeah. Impaled? You bet. Glued to the floor as a snack for facehuggers? Standard procedure. A bloody horror nightmare pregnancy? Of course. Human guinea pig for the worst science experiment ever conceived? Yep. And after all that, she survives it all — only to be chewed to death by the mutant hellspawn that literally exploded out of her crotch like a fucking Xenomorph gender reveal party gone wrong.

Merced delivers one of the most gut-punching performances, making every moment of Kay’s doomed arc feel painfully real. Her decision to inject herself with the Prometheus Fire isn’t just reckless — it’s the kind of desperate, last-ditch move that makes you think, “Yeah, if I were dealing with this level of fuckery, I might do the same.”

4. Visual Effects: Practical Meets Perfect

Romulus proves that practical effects will always be superior to CGI bullshit. The Renaissance station is pure retro-futuristic perfection — grimy, rust-covered, and so claustrophobic you can practically smell the stale air. It’s the kind of set design that makes you feel like touching anything would give you tetanus, which is exactly what you want from an Alien film. The walls look aged and decayed, every inch of the place coated in a film of “somebody definitely died here” residue. The lighting? Oppressively dark with just enough flickering emergency lights to make sure you never feel fully safe. It’s a work of art in sci-fi horror atmosphere, and it deserves some damn respect.

“I just held a tablet with Madame Web playing, and the rest came naturally.” -Isabela Merced, probably

Then there are the Xenomorphs. No overly polished, weightless CGI monsters here — just beautifully horrific animatronics that look and move like they could actually rip your fucking face off. The slime-dripping, muscle-twitching, perfectly imperfect horror show that reminds us why the Xenomorph is the GOAT of sci-fi horror creatures. There’s something uniquely horrifying about seeing a practical effect in motion — no uncanny valley bullshit, just an actual thing lurking in the shadows, waiting to fuck your day up.

And let’s not forget Sparky — the taser-wielding hybrid Xenomorph with a broken taser tip permanently lodged in its skull. Instead of vanishing between scenes like a lazy continuity mistake, that little detail sticks around, a lingering reminder of a failed attempt to stop it. It’s the kind of meticulous attention to detail that Romulus thrives on. Every shadow, every flickering light, every smear of blood — it all feels real. And when shit does hit the fan and we get our full-blown creature feature moments, it feels visceral. The Xenos aren’t just horror monsters; they’re biomechanical nightmares, and this film treats them as such.

Pictured Above: My cat trying to explain why 3 AM is the perfect time for breakfast and parkour.

Even the body horror deserves a shoutout. Kay’s entire arc is a chef’s kiss exercise in grotesque brilliance. The Prometheus Fire mutating her body, the Offspring’s birth, the sheer wet horror of her transformation — it’s a slow descent into a visual nightmare that pulls zero punches. If you ever wanted a movie that makes you actively uncomfortable in your own skin, Romulus delivers that shit with precision.

5. A Final Shot at Redemption: The Franchise’s Future

Perhaps the most exciting thing about Romulus is its promise for the Alien franchise. Director Fede Álvarez delivered a film that respects the past while forging a new path forward. By striking a balance between nostalgia and innovation, Romulus felt like a long-overdue apology to fans who stuck with the series through its questionable moments.

The setup here isn’t just another sequel bait; it’s the perfect middle ground for launching something new. Rain and Andy’s journey to Yvaga III isn’t just an open-ended “what if” — it’s a genuine question of what happens when someone finally escapes Weyland-Yutani’s grasp. Does freedom even exist in this universe, or is it just another illusion? That’s a fascinating setup, and one that feels worth exploring.

“You’re squeezing the panic handle, aren’t you?”

And if there’s one thing Romulus nails, it’s proving that the Alien franchise still has stories worth telling. The core of the franchise has never been about just Xenomorphs. It’s been about human greed, corporate horror, and the terrifying unknown of deep space. Romulus understands that at its core, which is why it succeeds where so many others failed. The horror isn’t just in the monsters — it’s in the system that keeps letting them loose.

The Alien franchise has spent a lot of time trying to find its footing again, but Romulus finally makes a compelling argument for why we should still care. It’s not a reboot, not a cheap nostalgia grab, but a carefully constructed step forward. And if this is where the series is headed? Then strap the fuck in, because we might finally have an Alien revival worth getting excited about.