The Sleaziest Alien Rip-Off Accidentally Remains Influential Today

It speaks to both the potency of Alien and the prolificacy of Roger Corman that, when discussing the latter’s ripoff of the former, you have to specify which movie you’re talking about. Immediately after Ridley Scott changed sci-fi horror in 1979, B-movie moguls began plotting cheap, horny imitations. The 1982 Corman-produced Forbidden World is probably the “best” of his contributions, but it’s Galaxy of Terror, released 45 years ago, that remains the most infamous.

The story, such as it is, sees a mysterious, authoritarian figure called the Master order a mission to the barren planet Morganthus. Our heroes are ostensibly looking for crash survivors, but there’s clearly something more afoot. Eventually, as they search a giant pyramid for the source of whatever’s keeping their ship grounded, rubber monsters slaughter them one by one. Then there’s a single survivor, a final confrontation, yada yada, you know the drill.

Bad movies help you appreciate good ones, and Galaxy of Terror’s random smattering of world-building reveals how tight and credible Alien’s blue-collar clock-punchers immediately felt. One woman has vague psychic powers for no particular reason, while a throwing-star-wielding crew member refuses to use a gun because, as he explains, “I live, and I die, by the crystals.” Throw in some stupid names like Cabren and Ranger, and it’s just enough to make everyone on the overstuffed crew feel sci-fi-y before they’re dispatched.

Then there’s the notorious scene where Taaffe O’Connell, with the help of a stunt double, is fatally raped by a giant maggot that dutifully magicks away her clothes for the benefit of a leering camera. The characters are ostensibly facing manifestations of their greatest fears, and it would later be claimed that Dameia feared sexual intimacy (and worms). But that’s just a cheap, post-facto invention of character traits never alluded to on-screen. Corman, ever the sleaze merchant, promised his backers a sex scene, so they got a sex scene. Apparently, he didn’t promise them a good one.

The whole affair isn’t that gross, but Galaxy of Terror’s exploitative, nihilistic tone is grating. You could do worse if you like your sci-fi grimy, but everyone else has no reason not to just rewatch Alien instead. But we’re still discussing Corman’s work today because his assembly-line approach tossed would-be stars and creators into a sink-or-swim environment, and Galaxy of Terror is full of people who kept their heads above water.

Robert Englund, soon to become Freddy Krueger, is on the hapless crew, and their ship’s traumatized captain, Grace Zabriskie, would later play Sarah Palmer. The crystal-loving Sid Haig was amid a long career that would culminate with a prominent role in Rob Zombie’s grindhouse oeuvre, while Ray Walston, here a sinister cook, was winding down a prolific filmography (Trek fans will recognize him as Boothby). Other contributors weren’t so lucky; frazzled team leader Zalman King would mostly go on to produce erotica, while director Bruce D. Clark’s career can be summed up as “doesn’t even get a Wikipedia page.” Hollywood’s cruel vagaries are on full display here.

And then there’s James Cameron, whose work as production designer has defined his Hollywood origin story. This wasn’t Cameron’s first Corman gig, but it remains his most notable, and you can see why. The spaceship interior, which Cameron and his crew cobbled together with fast-food containers and random bits of metal and electronics, looks surprisingly detailed and lived-in for such pulpy sci-fi, and in another context, you could see it hosting 13 episodes of an obscure but beloved TV series.

Retrospectives often lionize Cameron as a visionary working with hapless scrubs, but even the lousiest movies are team efforts. Fellow production designer Robert Skotak also deserves credit for the claustrophobic alien pyramid, and he and several other Corman acolytes would later collaborate with Cameron. The soundtrack is sufficiently spooky, and the art team delivered matte paintings that punch well above their weight, as their vast, foreboding landscapes capture the tone of the film they’re ripping off. Sometimes, a lot of thought goes into complete crap.

Still, as Cameron would later tell it, Clark’s team “had no idea what they were doing,” so he talked Corman into letting him film a few scenes himself. While there’s no proof for his claim, there’s also no particular reason to disbelieve it. Clark might have disagreed with the analysis, but he never directed another film. A year after Galaxy of Terror, Cameron found himself behind the camera on Piranha II: The Spawning, and then came The Terminator and Aliens. He got to use more than burger cartons then.

Galaxy of Terror is exactly the kind of schlock Hollywood thinks could soon be churned out with AI, and Corman’s process was so factory-like that you can almost see what the soulless suits are thinking. But the little human touches are all that make the movie interesting. All the actors swinging for the fences, some about to find success and others destined for obscurity. Cameron and his colleagues managing some memorable design and effects as they sought art amid rubber tentacles and gushing blood. Everyone who works on movies like Galaxy of Terror hopes their story will turn out like Cameron’s, even if most of them just end up feeding the monsters.

Galaxy of Terror is streaming on Plex.