And a group of scientific diplomats and their escort departs on a trillion dollar mission financed by Weyland Corporation towards a planetary alignment discovered by a team of archaeologists upon several ancient culturally isolated works of art.
In search of those who brought life to their home world.
But their investigative proclivities awake volcanic slumbering behemoths whom are intent upon annihilating their planet.
Which has functioned as their laboratory for millennia.
In the end, only a devoted non-denominational Christian (whose faith still burns) who at one point initiates a self-inflicted abortion and a brilliant amoral android who was responsible for infecting her husband with the fertile extraterrestrial virus, remain.
Still determined to make contact.
Still driven, to carry on.
Ridley Scott's Prometheus has its moments but on the whole functions like an amorphous geyser, patiently stratifying different levels of neuroses before startlingly expelling their searing undulations.
Several approaches to handling the unknown are precipitated, each exemplifying differing degrees of prohibition.
Thereby carnally creating within a paranoid social constellation.
And intergalactically quarantining exploratory consonance.
No comments:
Post a Comment