In nineteen seventy-nine, a question was posed that would redefine horror: what if the true terror of space wasn't malice, but biology? Before Ridley Scott, Dan O'Bannon's gritty script was a hard sell. Then, in a dark studio, Scott unveiled a print of H.R. Giger's Necronom IV. Its skeletal frame was a nightmare of flesh and machine, a disturbing fusion of sex and death. The studio balked, but ...
