POST RIPLEY STRESS SYNDROME (PRSS): HOW RIPLEY MADE ME BY E.F. SCHRAEDER

21/4/2021

And so a crush was born: Ripley this, Ripley that. I didn’t stop talking about the character or the movie. For months. Technically, years, since I’m still talking about her right now. Have you seen it? Isn’t Ripley just so cool? I hope there’s going to be a sequel. Do you want to see it again? What else has Sigourney Weaver been in? Do you want to see literally every movie she ever made starting right now?

There’s a tub of popcorn shuffling between us, our knees knocking in the dark. For differing reasons, we are both prepared to scream by the time the end credits roll. Even with a hazy early memory about watching the sci-fi horror Alien franchise, one thing stands out: Ripley. Before anyone swiped right or hosted LGBTQ+ student alliances for kids in the Midwest, I was a young queer kid falling into a deep infatuation with the lone survivor of the Nostromo. What follows are my reflections about this increasingly transgressive character and my experiences with Post Ripley Stress Syndrome (PRSS).

PRSS never impaired my judgment, but it definitely had a set of identifiable symptoms and stages in my experience: Anxiety. Confusion. Recognition. Acceptance. Pre-Ripley, a lot of horror’s women often seemed to follow a pattern of STD: Sexy Til Death. After years of repeated exposure to these relatively un-liberatory, often voyeuristic fantasies about women, I met Ripley on an afternoon excursion to the theatre. I don’t remember a lot about that fateful day at the mall, but I imagine I bought a ticket to something PG and ducked in unnoticed. My memory loss was not because the film was so scary (though it was). Mostly, my memory blurred due to more distracting thoughts, mental intrusions that overrode my ability to process information and store memories. Cue the first stages of PRSS— anxiety and confusion.

At first Ripley seemed like a side character, but then she kicked ass all over the ship and took charge of shit. Ripley saved the day. Ripley outlived the tough guy. Hell, Ripley outlived the android. These were awesome and overwhelming events in my impressionable mind: an inspiring and appealing woman hero at last. Though a refreshing alternative to the usual fare, other distractions also snagged my attention and spawned some anxiety. Just what was the matter, what thread of self-awareness prompted such a profound disturbance?

Jockeys. More specifically, Ripley in Jockeys.

These visuals led to a brief but disorienting bout of confusion. I considered (for reals) that despite an acute fondness for Vincent Price and a few other pretty gentlemen, I had a stirring toward Ripley that was as unanticipated as it was undeniable.

In fact the first time I returned to the original Alien as an adult viewer, I spotted the old symptoms flaring up. About halfway through the movie I admitted the signs of PRSS.
“This isn’t how I remember it at all.” Confusion.

Turns out I had very little recollection of the film, just Ripley. Apparently I’d been so transfixed by my original viewing, I remembered the film all wrong. For instance, it took For.Ev.Er. for Ripley to take charge. All I remembered was Ripley’s extreme badassery. Also (honestly) back to Ripley in those Jockeys: My youthful queer memory rearranged all the events in the film. The way I remembered it, Ripley spent more than half the movie fighting that nasty alien in cotton skivvies, not an oversized green uniform. Busted!

This momentary confusion quickly gave way to recognition, stage three of PRSS: I liked and wanted to be like Ripley. Unlike so many scream queens that came before, Ripley was highly capable. She made plans, fought hard, and faced her fears. To me, Ripley was the whole package: indignant when ignored, smart and tough, but caring enough to save the cat. That’s a model woman, right there: facing certain death and utter terror, but calm and loyal enough to retrieve her feline companion. Also— obviously, Ripley was crafted to be appealing to lesbians. Why else would the cat even be on the ship?

And so a crush was born: Ripley this, Ripley that. I didn’t stop talking about the character or the movie. For months. Technically, years, since I’m still talking about her right now. Have you seen it? Isn’t Ripley just so cool? I hope there’s going to be a sequel. Do you want to see it again? What else has Sigourney Weaver been in? Do you want to see literally every movie she ever made starting right now?

My preoccupation with this iconic character followed her many triumphs and trials throughout the sequels. Though early in the series Ripley’s heteronormative identity was confirmed with various love interests and backstories, I didn’t long doubt that my fondness was based on aspiration and attraction. Hence, the ultimate resolution of PRSS. Acceptance.
As the franchise developed alongside my own queer identity, Ripley became a figure of resilience. During this time, Ripley also became less human and more alien. After coming out and being rejected by some important people, I felt more like an outsider in my own life, too. All of which made Ripley’s rebirth and resilience even more appealing.

By the final installment, Alien: Resurrection (1997), Ripley was more than a woman, if the alien-human clone was a woman at all. This Ripley was also constructed more clearly in terms of lesbian window-dressing. In addition to the concerned, flirty glances between Ripley and Call (Winona Ryder) there was Ripley’s incredibly butch, behind the back, basketball shot (major swoon). By the time Ripley held Call’s face in her hands in a quasi-dominant, slightly threatening yet suggestive come-on, I was out of the closet and reading the queer subtext (and probably drooling a little). When Ripley pressed her cloned-alien hand into Call’s soft, white android-goo, it was damn near the steamiest, thinly-veiled lesbian sex scene I’d ever watched on the silver screen. With that kind of queering, no wonder Ripley 4.0 was more monster than woman, but to me she remained the only hero worth cheering.

In retrospect PRSS guided me toward healthy independence and self-acceptance. Years later, I’m still recognizing the influence the film had on me. Amidst the terrifying effects and creepy alien cloning, I got comfortable with the co-existent fantasy of Ripley’s badassery and sexiness. Now as a happily coupled adult, I relish the presence and celebration of tough women. I make room for them in real life, and I write them into my stories. I look for horror where outsiders and underdogs take the lead, where tough women save the day and save the cat. And I’m not going to lie, I still swoon every time Ripley makes that over-the-shoulder shot.

Just a few nights ago I was thinking of how to wrap up this essay with a deep comment about what Ripley symbolized to me as a youth. That night, I dreamt my real-life sweetheart miraculously arranged a Sigourney Weaver appearance at my birthday party. Sigourney cooly emerged from a giant cake in Nostromo gear (not Jockeys) and waved at me with an ironic eyebrow-raise and a twinkle in her eyes. Like one resilient outsider-survivor to another, Sigourney-as-Ripley said it all with a wink in that dream: Guess what, kid, I’ve still got this. And you know what? She does. So do I. And that’s good enough for me.

Liar: Memoir of a Haunting

Who doesn’t crave a little escape? Dreaming of small town life and rural charm, Alex and Rainey find a deal on an old rustic home they can’t resist. But soon after Rainey moves, her preoccupation with weird local history and the complications of living alone in the woods take a toll. Alex worries that the long nights and growing isolation are driving her stir crazy. When the Sugar House is damaged and Rainey goes missing, Alex doesn’t know where to turn. Was it a storm, vandals, or something worse? What happened at the Sugar House? The only thing worse than wondering is finding out.

E. F. Schraeder

E. F. Schraeder is the author of the queer gothic novella Liar: Memoir of a Haunting (Omnium Gatherum, 2021); and the story collection Ghastly Tales of Gaiety and Greed (Omnium Gatherum, 2020). A semi-finalist in Headmistress Press’ 2019 Charlotte Mew Chapbook Contest, Schraeder is also the author of two poetry chapbooks. Dr. Schraeder’s work has appeared in many journals and anthologies including Strange Horizons, Birthing Monsters, Mystery Weekly Magazine, The Feminist Wire, Lavender Review, the ALA Intellectual Freedom Blog, Radical Teacher, and other places.

Links
Author, http://www.efschraeder.com
Liar: Memoir of a Haunting! at Omnium Gatherum,
Goodreads
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5989787.E_F_Schraeder