At the start of Dan O'Bannon’s script for Alien, there’s a note that few other screenplays contain: “The crew is unisex and all parts are interchangeable for men or women.” It’s a line that fundamentally altered the nature of the film, affecting everything from the presentation of its characters to the way Ridley Scott and his team approached casting, and it was certainly for the best. Alien is one of the best horror films of all time, largely because of its seven unfortunate crewmates stationed aboard the Nostromo. None of them fall into the usual clichés associated with the genre, like its female characters becoming a damsel in distress or its male characters being try-hard macho men who jump into every situation guns blazing in a vain attempt to impress the opposite sex. Instead, they’re just a group of seven space truckers thrust into a situation well beyond their control and desperately trying to survive, trying one doomed plan after another while the titular alien picks them off. What gender everyone identifies as is irrelevant, and even if Scott had opted to make the crew all-male or all-female or all-non binary or any other possible combination, it wouldn’t have made any difference to the story. That O’Bannon chose to embrace this rather than just assigning everyone a gender anyway is incredible, and it resulted in the creation of one of science fiction's most iconic characters. It’s not an approach that would fit everything, but for films where gender has no bearing on the plot (something that applies to many horror films), it’s something more writers should try.
While it’s more than possible to enjoy Alien without knowledge of its creation, viewing it with the perspective that all of its roles were written for any gender does make for an interesting experience. Notice how everyone is only referred to by their surnames, for example, or how there’s not even a hint of a shoehorned-in romance that is inserted into films with the grace of a sledgehammer cracking open a walnut. The only instance of the film using gender-specific dialogue comes when Dallas (Tom Skerritt), the ship’s captain, refers to Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) as “my dear” after she questions his decision-making following the events on LV-426 (the moon that housed the alien eggs). However, since this line is not included in any version of the script that is available online, it’s possible it was just an ad-lib by Skerritt. Without it, it’s just a scene where a commanding officer exerts authority over a subordinate, and the scene would play out the same no matter the gender of its participants.
The most striking aspect of the film’s characters is how neutral they are. In Aliens it is established that Ripley is a mother, but that information is absent here, as is any reference to anyone being a parent or a spouse. Indeed, O’Bannon reveals little about anyone’s backstory, keeping the focus entirely on the here and now. In lesser hands this would have made them too plain for audiences to have any real attachment to, but thanks to Scott’s steady direction and excellent performances across the board, this problem is entirely avoided. The simplicity of everyone allows for extensive interpretation on the part of the actors, transforming them well beyond their roots. The necessity to achieve this means a complete absence of movie nonsense like love triangles, causing everyone to treat the threat in a realistic way, that mirrors what anyone would do in this situation. Even though everyone fits into an archetype that is as old as storytelling itself (the captain, the engineer, the medic, etc.), this simplicity ensures the Xenomorph is never overshadowed (while also reaffirming the belief that the simplest techniques are often the best). Ultimately they’re just cargo haulers who want nothing more than to get back to Earth, dump their load, and get paid, and watching them argue over mundane things like whether they’re going to get overtime makes for surprisingly engaging viewing. Writing them as unisex aids this approach, and gives them a relatability unmatched by their competitors.
Ripley in particular benefited from this decision. It’s strange to think that one of cinema’s most iconic female protagonists was not even written as a woman, but it’s exactly this that made her the icon she is. Ripley is not just a strong female character, but a strong character, full stop. She’s resilient, tenacious, willing to make tough decisions but never abandoning her humanity in the process. A truly independent woman, carving out her own path through the world without ever being defined by the men around her, but there’s also a compassion to her that makes her appealing to all viewers. It’s not clear when exactly the decision was made to cast a woman in the role, although it wasn’t solely based on the casting team meeting Weaver (Veronica Cartwright, who played Lambert, had originally read for the role). Regardless, it was a genius piece of casting, with Weaver bringing a vulnerability to the character thanks to her relative youth compared to the rest of the cast. This makes her eventual triumph over the Xenomorph even more satisfying, while also providing a wildly different viewpoint on the underlying sexual themes that permeates much of the film’s imagery. To quote O’Bannon’s original script, she’s “a survivor,” and there’s no other way of summarizing her.
It’s interesting to compare her characterization in Alien to Aliens, by which point her gender was no longer ambiguous. Her role as a gun-toting badass is significantly ramped up, a natural evolution for her character that stops it from feeling like a pointless sequel, but there’s also an overtly feminine side to her character this time around. The revelation that she is a mother immediately removes the unisex characterization the previous film had established, a theme that continues when she takes on a motherly role with Newt (Carrie Henn). Similarly, many of the supporting characters fall into more stereotypical male/female roles, such as Bill Paxton’s Hudson who spends much of the film trying (and failing) to assert himself over Ripley, or Jenette Goldstein’s Vasquez who’s a very deliberate rejection of the usual female roles in action films.
Not that any of these characters are bad, of course. There’s a reason why Aliens is one of the few sequels discussed in the same breath as its predecessor, but its radically different approach to characterization makes O’Bannon’s script even more fascinating in retrospect. Writers have been crafting tales where characters have been assigned genders since the dawn of storytelling, and while that doesn’t seem to have caused much trouble, there is something to be said about taking the opposite approach. Slasher films in particular would benefit from this philosophy (which Alien essentially is). Michael Myers and Leatherface tend not to be picky about who they kill, with someone’s survival being determined by a delicate combination of skill but also a lot of good old-fashioned dumb luck. If you were to gender swap the casts of their films, individual moments and characterizations would change, but the motivations of the villain would not, and broadly the films would continue as before. In such circumstances extending the casting calls for anyone to play anyone could lead to some fascinating results even the writer did not imagine, and help avoid tropes that have long since worn out their welcome.
However, writing a cast as gender-neutral would not work for everything, There are many films where gender is important for a particular character[s], the story as a whole, or when examining a broader political or socioeconomic point. Psycho or Rosemary’s Baby, for example, would alter drastically if genders were changed, necessitating major rewrites that would alter them on a fundamental level. But for films where gender does not matter, where the story will continue forward regardless of the gender identity of its characters, then it’s something more writers should be willing to try. Going back to Alien, it’s interesting that this approach never changed despite numerous rewrites. The all-male crew that populated O’Bannon’s original script followed largely the same beats as the mixed-gender crew of the final film, and while producers David Giler and Walter Hill did perform extensive (and uncredited) rewrites in-between O’Bannon signing a deal with the studio and the start of filming, these were largely based around the newly added character of Ash (Ian Holm) and general touch-ups to the dialogue rather than restructuring the wider narrative. Even after eight additional drafts, the personalities of the core characters and their role in the story remained mostly unchanged, indicating the strength of O’Bannon’s initial approach.
And just look at what it gave us. While there’s another timeline where we ended up with another generic male hero who could join the ranks of innumerable other characters, instead we got one of cinema’s greatest protagonists, who continues to be an enduring figure. Even the film’s supporting cast benefited, with every actor giving their own twist on the material that never detracts from the relatability that makes them so successful. Every film is unique, and what works in one is by no means guaranteed to work in another, but that’s no reason why it should never be attempted again. In our increasingly progressive world where what it means to be a man or a woman is being radically altered, now would be the perfect time to embrace Alien’s secret weapon once again.