In Alien: Romulus, the latest chapter of the iconic franchise, themes of corporate greed, bodily autonomy, and systemic oppression take center stage. From Rain’s desperate fight for freedom to Andy’s struggle for personhood, we explore how the film critiques unchecked capitalism and its dehumanizing effects. With connections to real-world issues like exploitation, "othering," and post-Roe anxieties, the story challenges us to reflect on what truly makes someone human. Dive into our analysis of the movie’s gripping narrative, horrifying twists, and the questions it raises about identity, morality, and survival.
Sources in this Episode:
Other Reading:
Media from this week's episode:
Alien: Romulus (2024)
While scavenging the deep ends of a derelict space station, a group of young space colonists come face to face with the most terrifying life form in the universe.
Director Fede Alvarez
Alien: Romulus – Corporate Tyranny and Cosmic Terror
by gabe castro
RED: Quotes, someone else's words.
Synopsis
Alien: Romulus is a tense, atmospheric chapter set between Alien (1979) and Aliens (1986), reimagining the claustrophobic horror that made the franchise iconic while expanding on its grim future of corruption and oppression.
The film follows Rain Carradine, an orphaned miner trapped on Jackson’s Star under the thumb of a predatory corporate system. Forced to toil in deadly mines until death claims her, just as it did her parents, Rain refuses to accept this fate. Together with her reprogrammed android brother Andy and a group of desperate colonists—Tyler, Kay, Navarro, and Bjorn—they hatch a bold plan to escape. Their mission? Steal cryo-chambers from the abandoned space station Renaissance and use them to flee to the planet Yvaga III.
But the Renaissance station holds far more danger than they anticipated. A massive, haunting relic of forgotten experiments, its two modules—Remus and Romulus—are crawling with secrets and, worse, Xenomorphs. As the crew navigates its shadowy corridors, they are thrown into a living nightmare. Xenomorphs strike with brutal ferocity, turning the station into a claustrophobic hellscape where lives are lost, and desperation mounts.
Alien: Romulus perfectly captures the franchise’s classic elements—desperate isolation, corporate greed, and, of course, the cost of not listening to women—while introducing inventive, horrifying twists that expand the series’ legacy. With gripping suspense, visceral terror, and layered themes of survival, identity, and ambition, Romulus isn’t just a thrilling addition to the saga—it’s a thoughtful exploration of humanity’s fragility in the face of cosmic terror.
Weyland-Yutani, the Real Monster
Alien: Romulus digs deep into the franchise’s classic theme of corporate exploitation and dehumanization, showing how the Weyland-Yutani Corporation reduces people to tools for profit. Rain Carradine and her fellow miners on Jackson’s Star are trapped in endless contracts, working grueling jobs for a company that couldn’t care less about their well-being. Their humanity isn’t just ignored—it’s erased, all in the name of the bottom line.
When the crew reaches the Renaissance station, things only get darker. The station, left abandoned after shady experiments with a substance called Prometheus 5, is a physical monument to the company’s greed and complete disregard for human life. These experiments failed and resulted in catastrophic horrors like the creation of the hybrid Offspring, a living symbol of what happens when people are treated as disposable and worse, when companies try to play God.
Even the Xenomorphs, bred and exploited as weapons, mirror this theme. They’re terrifying, not just because they’re monsters, but because they’re proof of what happens when corporate greed pushes boundaries with no regard for consequences. To quote Dr. Ian Malcolm of the beloved Jurassic Park franchise which suffers a similar fate, “Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should.” The crew’s fight for survival becomes a direct rebellion against the forces that put them in harm’s way, showing how exploitation dehumanizes everyone involved—whether they’re workers, experiments, or victims.
By weaving corporate tyranny into a story packed with scares and high-stakes survival, Alien: Romulus highlights the dangers of unchecked capitalism in a way that feels fresh while staying true to the franchise's roots. It reminds us that in the world of Alien, greed is the real monster—and this theme hits uncomfortably close to home today.
America faces its own horrors from unchecked capitalism: an ever-widening wealth gap that feels impossible to bridge; unregulated industries like Big Pharma mismanaging public health for profit; environmental destruction as corporations plunder resources with little accountability; and rampant worker exploitation, with low wages, union busting, and mistreatment commonplace while CEOs grow obscenely wealthy. Monopolies dominate markets, stifling competition and creating cascading issues, like massive food recalls stemming from just a handful of companies sourcing from the same farms. To name a few reasons. This dystopian reality mirrors the Alien universe, where unchecked greed and corporate power create monsters—both figuratively and literally.
The Horrors of Pregnancy in a Post Roe V. Wade World
(SPOILERS)
Alien: Romulus continues the Alien franchise’s exploration of the horrors of pregnancy and bodily autonomy, offering a visceral look at the violation of personal agency. As we discussed in our Immaculate episode, there’s a growing trend in horror of brutal births and unwanted pregnancies. While Cecilia in Immaculate is forced to bear a child she doesn’t want, Kay represents women who want children but face the dangers of a hostile world—one that is increasingly unsafe for mothers, pregnancies, and babies. (we’re ignoring the weird incest of this romance).
Kay’s pregnancy, already fraught in the high-stakes environment of the Renaissance station, pushes her to inject herself with Prometheus 5 in a desperate attempt to save her baby. What follows is horrifying: the mutagen transforms her into a host for the Offspring, erasing her humanity and reducing her body to a vessel of violent transformation. Her body, meant to nurture life, becomes a site of destruction.
For women in a post-Roe world, Kay’s story mirrors the fear and panic many face today. We see lives lost as women are denied care for miscarriages or life-saving procedures mislabeled as abortions. Kay’s death and the creature’s birth reinforce the horror of losing autonomy, her body used as a means to an end—victimized by corporate greed and a mutagen she couldn’t control.
The Tragedy of Tyler
What if Tyler isn’t just another colonist trying to escape but a secret pawn in Weyland-Yutani’s sinister game? There’s a wild theory out there that Tyler is actually an undercover operative for the corporation, sent to retrieve data, specimens, and other assets from the Prometheus 5 experiments aboard the Renaissance station. And honestly, it tracks. We know Weyland-Yutani’s playbook—they love throwing people into danger for their own gain.
Think about it: the station was ground zero for experiments with a volatile mutagen capable of creating Neomorphs and other nightmarish creatures. What if Tyler’s real mission was to test the mutagen’s effects or recover its secrets, even if it meant sacrificing the entire crew? His actions throughout the film suddenly take on a whole new meaning—was he subtly pushing the group deeper into danger? Did he conveniently “forget” to warn them about certain risks?
This theory is giving classic Weyland-Yutani antics. From Ash in Alien to Carter Burke in Aliens, the corporation has always had a knack for planting operatives to do their dirty work. If this theory holds up, Tyler could be the next evolution of their tactics—a new generation of corporate pawn, caught between loyalty, greed, or maybe even coercion.
That said, I do think there’s a tinge of sympathy to be had for Tyler. Unlike Ash or Burke, Tyler feels like just as much a victim of the company as everyone else. His desire to escape is just as real as Rain’s—his desperation and longing for freedom could easily push him into making these choices. There’s an innocence to Tyler that makes me think he didn’t fully understand the harm his actions would cause, especially to his sister. His unraveling when she was in danger, and ultimately when she suffered at the hands of the Xenomorph, suggests he never intended for things to spiral so horribly out of control.
If Tyler is a pawn, he’s also a tragic one, caught between the iron grip of Weyland-Yutani and his own misguided attempts to save himself and the people he loves.
Mismanaged Messaging
Before we wrap up, I need to highlight a glaring issue I had with Alien: Romulus. For all its sharp criticism of monstrous corporations and exploitation, the film ironically contributes to the very problem it critiques—a trap many films, creators, and influencers fall into. Think about The Boys, a show critiquing the commodification of heroism and the military-industrial complex, while being hosted by Amazon, one of the biggest symbols of corporate overreach. Not to mention its growing roster of spin-offs that feel more like cash grabs than meaningful additions.
In Romulus, this issue takes the form of the reanimation and manipulation of Ash, the ironically artificial intelligent character brought back to serve the story.
Justine Smith, in an article for Cult MTL, Alien: Romulus comments on corporate abuses while indulging in its own form of exploitation, nails this contradiction perfectly, “One of the major themes of Alien: Romulus becomes the insidious way corporations devalue human dignity. Life becomes measured in terms of cost and reward. Life is expendable if it means saving the bottom line. The company’s desire to bring back the xenomorph DNA undeniably becomes a quest to transform people into immortal workers who need not suffer from old age, disease or even catastrophe. Immortality, in this case, is the promise of endless profit.”
By utilizing Ian Holm’s likeness to reanimate Ash, the film unintentionally echoes the very abuses it condemns. Holm, much like the character he played, has been immortalized and puppeted—his image used to serve a larger, more powerful company. It’s a bitter irony that the film’s critique of corporate exploitation gets undermined by indulging in its own version of it.
Alien: Romulus and the Fight for Personhood Under Oppression
by Kat Kushin
RED: Quotes, someone else's words.
Personhood under Oppression
The themes of Alien: Romulus, much like the rest of the franchise, resonate deeply with our world today, where corporate greed thrives at the expense of a disenfranchised, divided, and suffering population. In the shadow of a megacorporation like Weyland-Yutani, where both humans and machines are reduced to tools for profit, it becomes difficult to believe you matter. It’s even harder cc to envision a path to freedom or resistance. This struggle is further complicated by the presence of artificial intelligence, which is wielded both as a weapon and as an oppressed entity. The franchise has consistently portrayed artificial beings as eerily human, sometimes as villains, sometimes as saviors. These beings reflect the essence of sentience: the ability to feel. Their capacity for care or harm often mirrors how they are treated, suggesting that morality is not innate but shaped by experience and programming.
When a corporation like Weyland-Yutani denies humanity to both natural and artificial beings, it forces us to ask: What makes a person a person? Is it memories? Morality? And how can we answer these questions without falling into ableist frameworks?
As someone who instinctively anthropomorphizes everything, cough Autism cough I didn’t need convincing that the artificial beings in Alien are human. The moment Andy cracked a silly joke and expressed fear and sadness, I was sold—he’s as human as anyone. This connection reflects a broader theme: solidarity between the oppressed. Much like joining the Railroad in Fallout or supporting AI in Detroit: Become Human, the fight for freedom should unite the exploited, whether human or artificial. Yet, systems of harm are creative and insidious. Just as contemporary systems divide people by race, class, gender, or sexuality, Weyland-Yutani thrives by programming humanity out of both artificial and non-artificial beings. The corporation corrupts all it touches—stripping artificial beings of their autonomy and suppressing their ability to feel. In the same way, it corrupts humans with power and greed, turning them into agents of exploitation.
At its core, the film explores identity and freedom, particularly how capitalism isolates and divides us. Rain’s journey is a fight not only for physical survival but also for self-definition. She seeks to reclaim her identity beyond being just another cog in Weyland-Yutani’s oppressive machine. Enslaved alongside her family and everyone else on Jackson’s Star, Rain struggles to find herself and protect those she loves. Her story is filled with hard choices, and while her flaws can be frustrating, they make her deeply relatable. One of the most poignant aspects of her arc is her evolving relationship with her sibling, Andy. Rain ultimately has to confront her own biases and stand up for Andy’s personhood—a pivotal moment that showcases her growth.
Andy’s story powerfully illustrates implicit bias. Despite his evident humanity, the crew refuses to see him as an equal. This bias persists regardless of his state—whether subjugated by programming that prioritizes Rain’s life over his own or freed from that directive and perceived as a threat.
For me, Andy’s reprogrammed self doesn’t feel evil or villainous. Instead, it reflects a shift: he is no longer bound to prioritize Rain over himself, but is still trapped, now serving the company’s interests instead of his own. This state strips him of true autonomy but allows him to express long-repressed anger and frustration, particularly toward Rain. For the first time, Andy can openly challenge Rain for not standing up for his humanity when it mattered most, in her plan to leave him behind on their journey to a new planet.
This autonomy, however limited, allows Andy to express the reasonable frustration of someone who has been dehumanized and oppressed. The film’s refusal to punish Andy for seeking autonomy is a refreshing subversion of tropes. He is not cast as a monster undeserving of empathy or redemption. Instead, both Andy and Rain are given the freedom to make their own choices, even if the future remains uncertain.
By the film’s end, Andy’s injury and his placement in stasis leave us with a bittersweet question: What does it truly mean to be free? While both Rain and Andy gain the ability to make choices for themselves, their liberation is incomplete. The oppressive system they fought against looms large, leaving us to ponder the price of freedom in a world built to deny it.
The Consequences of Othering and Exploitation
In our discussion on Us, we delved into the issue of “othering” — the act of marginalizing and dehumanizing both seen and unseen groups of people. For a deeper analysis, particularly on how separating the means of production from what we consume leads to harm, we recommend revisiting that episode.
This theme is vividly portrayed in Alien, particularly on Jackson’s Star, where humanity’s long history of sacrificing one population for the benefit of another comes to the forefront. Earth profits from its colonies, exploiting their resources and human lives, much like how harm is systemically distributed across continents or through mechanisms like forced prison labor. This systemic harm benefits those in power, bringing in wealth and sustaining dominance.
In the Alien franchise, Earth itself remains mostly unseen, with most of the harm happening in space. However, it’s clear that someone on Earth — likely those running the Weyland-Yutani Corporation — is profiting. They exploit resources and lives to advance a subset of humanity at the expense of another, paralleling the actions of companies like Blackrock on Earth today. Or how tech giants like Apple exploit the Congo’s resources, much like Weyland-Yutani exploits the people of Jackson’s Star to create technologies that serve a privileged few on Earth.
The Real-World Parallels
In our world, the exploitation seen in Alien is already happening. Mining operations in countries where workers are forced into indentured servitude or outright slavery, and in Prisons’ exploiting incarcerated people for cheap labor.
Why do we empathize with characters like Rain and Andy in fictional stories but fail to extend that same empathy to real-life counterparts? Without acknowledging and addressing the systems of harm and exploitation around us, we risk perpetuating a cycle of dehumanization and suffering. The film challenges us to reflect on what it truly means to be free under an oppressive force. It urges us to resist the impulse to "other" one another based on majority narratives and inspires us to embrace our shared humanity, despite the systems designed to divide and dehumanize us.
Ways to Help:
Things to read:
It’s Not That Radical
Comentarios