Suggested Audio Candy:

 

[1] James Horner “Aliens”

[2] Nikki “Rock With Me”

 

Fucking aliens man! You can always count on them to piss acid on mankind’s bonfire. I guess we can only hold ourselves accountable, after all, we just can’t help ourselves when it comes to snooping around abandoned vessels floating aimlessly through space or attempting to throw a surprise party on terraformed colonies which are clearly already sporting severe hangovers and all soiréed out. Even John Hurt, who should really have known better, couldn’t resist sneaking a peek inside that ominous pulsating ovium; earning himself some fresh headgear as an opportunist facehugger tested out his cunnilingus skills, laying its eggs in his man womb in the process. As for the event horizon; well if I came across a gargantuan orb the size of the death star floating dubiously on a space cruiser with no known survivors, I’d be in the escape pod faster than you could say “budge over Darth”.

You gotta spot the signposts. Unfortunately our species have a tendency to plant our flags wherever we see fit and are never simply content with slowly whittling away our own planet’s natural resources when there are so many others circulating our sun to decimate. Thankfully, there is always a last line of defense in such situations so no need to be throwing in the towel just yet. Lieutenant Ellen Ripley knew a thing or two about survival, thus when Captain Dallas come over all alpha-male and overruled her proposal to navigate the Nostromo’s sprawling air duct network, she simply let him get on with it. Hell, even the ship’s onboard computer console was named Mother. While Father was away testing out his external hard drive, she was stuck at home tending to the bairns.

Three sequels on and it was poor Ripley who was left as mankind’s only bankable chance of continuation; just as Sarah Connor was forced to accept that the buck stopped with her also. Women have long since been doing it for themselves and its man’s foolish insistence that they hold all the aces that got us into this sorry mess in the first place. Thanks to Oklahoma Ward’s claustrophobic survival horror Crawl or Die, we now have another heroine to root for and Tank is absolutely nobody’s bitch. Sporting a peroxide mohawk, knee-mounted flashlights, sports bra and matching skivvies; this incandescent woman-at-arms is living proof that Tina Turner was full of shit when suggesting we already had our fill of heroes.

 

tank
noun: a heavy armoured fighting vehicle carrying guns and moving on a continuous articulated metal track

 

The first of many things that Ward does so brilliantly is that he provides his heroine with insurmountable odds to swallow. The fate of the entire planet rests squarely on her supple shoulders just as Ripley was burdened with the weight of unreasonable expectation. The population explosion is a thing of the past and, fully functioning ovaries, no longer in over-abundance. She carries this weight, not because she wishes to play martyr, but because no man alive is up to the task. Moreover, she doesn’t bitch and gripe about woe being her or sit about in the corner menstruating, instead she uses the bleed to paint on war stripes and gets down to business, leaving the other hapless moths to dance into the flame.

So, by this point, we’ve pretty much ascertained that she is one tough cookie right? No messing, back against the wall, and guns set to tote; Tank is the very epitome of badass. However, Ward’s next masterstroke is that he isn’t content to provide us with just another plucky heroine with a little blaze in her belly. She isn’t afraid to exhibit a dash of weakness and this gives her something to overcome and ample humanity for us to relate to. It’s no use just giving her a firearm and an itchy trigger finger; we want to care about the outcome and cannot do such if she’s too busy flexing her biceps to truly appreciate the plight mankind is facing.

Tank hits the ground running and is forced to locate her equilibrium on the move, with nary a moment for quiet reflection. Nicole Alonso doesn’t simply provide us with a one-note character and instead metamorphoses before our very eyes, placing us face down in the dirt alongside her with every penned-in shuffle and ensuring that we will her on, despite the fact that her safe passage is far less than assured, nay because of it. During my recent appraisal for Crawl or Die; I noted that Ward’s roving camera gets right up in her grimacing grill, offering no personal space to catch but a solitary breath. Every rock pigment and dust mite is highlighted; with the environment itself doing almost enough to bag itself a credit.

I have already suggested that Crawl or Die is headed for the stars and the fact that Ward and Alonso have already pledged their allegiance to administering a trilogy comes as absolutely no surprise to Keeper. The whole project reeks of passion and they have evidently done their legwork by working on limited resources to supply us with a feature possessing all the big-budget sensibilities of its more moneyed silver screen cousins. By keeping things tight and never overplaying their hand; they have become ambassadors for the already percolating independent scene and have shown the true ingredient to prosperity.

They have also showed already how much they care, not only by gifting us the inimitable Crawl or Die, but through the manner in which they carry themselves on social networks. It can be a thankless task attempting to juggle so many plates, and this only grows more difficult as things continue to escalate, but the moment #CRAWLorDIE appeared on their respective Twitter feeds they were on it like willing whippets and sharing the exhilaration of those who believe in what they are proposing to bring to the table. This speaks volumes for their character and we already know they possess the minerals to make this trilogy a bankable reality. It has forever been my intention to celebrate such spirited endeavor and I can state with vehemence that this dynamic duo have all the necessary tools for the epic battle ahead. It’s time to cock those triggers Grueheads. Die You Alien Bitches!

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