I think I've made this point repeatedly, but Prometheus becomes a much, much better movie when you realize that the crew on this ship is a whole bunch of mediocre scientists and engineers who are either freelancing due to the lack of steady work, or not so indispensable back home that they can't go away to god-knows-where for a few years and possibly not come back. It's basically Keystone Kops in Space.
"We end with Noomi heading for the homeworld of the creatures who we’ve just learned are determined to immediately kill any human they see."
We pull away from the frosted crystalline horizon, the smooth white curves like snowy fields. Form becomes clear. It’s the body of a woman. It’s Watts.
INT. HYPERSLEEP FREEZER
Watts lies asleep in her underwear in a plexiglass freezer. Pale. Frost on her skin. Venus sculpted in ice. There are IV lines in her elbows and ankles. Shapes move into view beyond her, outside the freezer.
Pressed to the glass.
All of the freezers are open and empty, save two. Holloway lies in one. In the next, Watts. Three men in blue coveralls crouch beside Watts’s freezer, staring inside.
They are DOWNS, 30, a lean fidgety crewman. STILLWELL, 40, a sturdy fellow with the geniality of a labrador. And KAMAROV, 26, whose dark, brooding air belongs to a man twice his age.
Look at that.
Kamarov opens the lid of Watt’s freezer. Leans over her. Watts stirs in her sleep, a drowsy angel.
She wakes up slow.
Watts wakes to find three men looming above her. Disoriented, she pulls away. Tangles her hands in her IV lines.
Get out of there!
Holloway’s voice cracks like a whip. The crewmen jump back.
There is a great difference, whether the poet seeks the particular for the sake of the general or sees the general in the particular. From the former procedure there ensues allegory, in which the particular serves only as illustration, as example of the general. The latter procedure, however, is genuinely the nature of poetry; it expresses something particular, without thinking of the general or pointing to it.
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