Alien Romulus doesn’t hold back on exploring humanity’s bleak trajectory. From the outset, it frames artificial intelligence not merely as a protective tool, but as a messianic figure—AI, cold and unfeeling, becomes humanity’s twisted new savior. Or should I say, its mechanical God? As if humanity wasn’t already lost enough, religion itself persists even as mankind spreads through space, a grim irony considering humans were supposedly crafted solely for Earth. With religion colonizing the stars, its purpose becomes disturbingly hollow—faith drifting through the void, meaningless as a prayer whispered into the vacuum.

But Alien Romulus doesn’t stop at existential dread. It delves grotesquely into biology as well. There’s something genuinely disturbing—almost perversely blasphemous—about witnessing an alien violently birthed through a young woman, inverting nature with a sickening display reminiscent of a gay man trying to usurp a woman’s role in childbirth. The scene is a raw violation, a horrific transgression of nature’s own laws-abomination.

Yet, amid the visceral horrors, the film weaves a grim commentary on class warfare, spotlighting the exploited working class as disposable pawns in humanity’s ceaseless hunger for profit. Corporations—those bloodless monuments of late-stage capitalism—loom large, crushing humanity beneath their impersonal machinery. In Alien Romulus, these corporate monstrosities are perhaps the darkest predators of all, rivaled only by the alien creatures they inadvertently unleash.