In the first two films, the aliens were scary and tantalizing because you hardly ever saw them. Not so here: The more you see of the computer-generated beasts, the less threatening and more generic they seem. (H.R. Giger's designs are sorely missed; the hum/alien hybrid at the end looks like a microwaved Barney.) The director, Jean-Pierre Jeunet, who made the grim French fantasies Delicatessen and The City of Lost Children, can do the creepy-crawly comic-book stuff, and every so often there's a neat little detail or effect--the cartoony bounce of a rolling grenade, the Chuck Jones trajectory of a ricocheting bullet. But his pacing is agonizingly mirthless, and his tone is clammy. The movie administers its cheap thrills like tetanus shots.

As for the highly expendable crew, the movie makes the same mistake as Alien 3--without a character to root for, there's not much suspense. As a simpering crewmate, Winona Ryder looks and acts uncannily like Bud Cort; the other characters, played by actors as capable as Michael Wincott, Ron Perlman, and Dan Hedaya, are so repellent they're not worth eating. The only one I missed was Brad Dourif, whose few scenes as a bug-eyed caregiver are outrageously freaky. Dourif was born to make goo-goo eyes at aliens.

But even Ripley isn't particularly likable or interesting this time around. Equipping her with smart-ass quips was an awful idea, and Weaver can't decide whether she's playing it campy or straight. Who can blame her? Dramatically, Alien: Resurrection isn't what you'd call a stretch. In basic variations, here's the movie: Several people walk down a corridor. Out jumps an alien. Grrrr! Back down the corridor runs everyone who still has legs. And so 95 minutes starts to feel like a year in a biopod.

To pass the time--apart from notching each minute in your armrest--you can consider the curious contemplation of motherhood that has transpired over the course of four Alien movies. In Alien men give birth, kids are parasites, and parenthood is murder; in Aliens the big stand-off is between two tough mothers whose maternal urges make them totally lethal. (The climax was like Johnny Guitar, only less butch.) By contrast, despite all the gore and kinky overlays, Alien: Resurrection is almost quaintly Victorian. Ripley and the queen are females put on earth only to breed, and they share a special bond; at one point, they even cuddle together. You half expect them to watch the Lifetime Channel and knit some booties with snaky little tails.

Of all the retread genres, the horror-movie sequel stands the best chance of equaling or surpassing its original. What scared you in the first film is likely to scare you again, if handled with a little imagination, and most horror films these days are so lousy that a sequel couldn't be any worse. Alien: Resurrection fails on both counts, even with the dismal, darker-than-radio Alien 3 lowering the bar. At least in space, no one can hear you snore.