content: Director Fincher takes his death fetish to new lows in this grim and mostly pointless followup to Aliens. In this one, Ripley--perhaps the universe's most unlucky astronaut--washes up at a penal colony that makes Alcatraz look like a Howard Johnson's at sunny Myrtle Beach. She's joined by a dour cast of British unknowns (a wasted Charles Dance being the major exception), which coupled with the pseudogothic production design, makes the film feel like a bad Henry James novel come to life. With hints--hints--at some deeper meaning, the story basically rehashes the first film; this time, though, the apparent innovation is that prisoners are picked off one at a time by a fast-moving alien that has combined with canine DNA. Masochists undoubtedly will enjoy scenes like the child from the previous film, Newt, being autopsyed, but most viewers will just shake their head at this relentlessly unhappy movie.