Paul Laird

Written by Paul Laird

Paul Laird is a Modern Studies and Media Studies teacher in a Scottish secondary school having had a range of jobs beforehand. He loves film... and politics...but not as much as he loves film. He has reviewed films for STV's Moviejuice, blogged at the Edinburgh Film Festival, written and presented for the BBC, hosted BAFTA awards (not The BAFTAs), and defended Scottish education on BBC radio as a regular interviewee.

Prometheus – the final cut

When Prometheus had the glorious idea of stealing fire from the Gods and gifting it to man he probably wasn’t expecting Zeus to chain him to a rock and have an eagle eat his liver…which grew back every day thus subjecting poor Prometheus to an eternity of torment of the worst sort imaginable.

Ridley Scott is a God of film.

He made a gift to we mere mortals of Alien in 1979.

It was perfect.

Here was a film that was equal parts horror, sci-fi, thriller and, quite possibly, feminist tract.  It was claustrophobic, shocking, thought-provoking and unforgettable.  Few films since have ever come close to matching it.  For over thirty years man has sung the praises of Ridley; a God of film.

The level of anticipation that greeted the news that He was to release an Alien prequel was the match of the pre-teen hysteria that welcomed the news that Stephanie Meyer’s no sex please we’re undead Twilight saga was to transfer from the page to the silver screen.

Movie geeks, nerds, sci-fi anoraks and simple film fans were giddy with excitement.

At last, Ridley Scott…a Titan of the movie world was to return to the film that elevated him from mortal to cinema deity.

This couldn’t be anything other than glorious.

Actually, as it turns out glorious is very far removed from what we have been delivered.

A silly, nonsensical, turgid, sci-fi by numbers, thrill-free mess is what He has given us.

Prometheus is that rarest of things; a film without a single redeeming feature.

A script that would make the writers on “Hollyoaks” hang their heads in shame.

Performances from the players that have more wood than Wickes.

A plot that has more holes than OJ’s alibi (a neat reference for anyone over 30 who is reading this).

Let’s take the best thing about Prometheus according to most critics; Michael Fassbender. He plays “David” a, supposedly, sinister robot who seems to have been designed to remind the humans of the future of the glory days of 1970s British light entertainment; he’s all Larry Grayson “shut that door” and David Bowie hair.  It’s a performance that is camper than  a night  in with Christopher Biggins and Russell Grant watching Strictly Come Dancing.

Remember the original Prometheus?  My suggestion is that you spare yourself the torture of watching this film that carries his name and instead tie yourself to a rock and have an eagle eat your liver…sure you will die a slow, agonising death but that has to be preferable to two hours in a cinema watching this mess.



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