ALIEN WAR - Aliens Live in London
In London, no-one can hear you scream.
If you think it took the Alien movie franchise until 2025 for Xenomorphs to arrive on Earth, I have news: The were in London 32 years ago, this week!
London: Its Structural Perfection is Matched Only by its Hostility.
Back in the summer of 1994, I found myself standing on a litter-strewn pavement, KFC and Burger King wrappers swirling around my ankles as I stared at an unimposing doorway just off Piccadilly Circus. Beyond the doorway I could see a long narrow flight of stairs descending into the dark and, as I stood there, in the way and being constantly jostled by the shoulders of passing Londoners, I was undecided about taking those stairs to sample the pleasures which awaited at the bottom.
I was, of course, standing outside central London’s largest amusement complex The Trocadero, gazing at the entrance of ‘Alien War’, which had taken over the basement of that complex.
I typically avoid theme parks, escape rooms, paint balling and anything that involves pretending to be comfortable in crowds… But ‘Alien War’ was different. It was Alien!
The live role-playing ‘experience’ had opened the year before and several of my friends had persuaded me that I was missing out by not going. So I did.
Tailoring the briefly fashionable ‘Laser Quest’ adventure games of the mid-nineties into an authorised ‘Alien’-themed ride. Well, as I was to learn, it was more of a run than a ride!
The brainchild of ‘Alien’ movie-memorabilia collector John Gorman, and Gary Gillies, ‘Alien War’ began as an elaborate way for them to show off Gorman’s collection of original props in their home town of Glasgow. Essentially, the idea was to get away from the traditional way of presenting such treasures – on stands or in glass cases, by allowing the viewer to see the props in use as Marines fought off Aliens whilst running through gloomy, smoke-filled corridors.
During 1992, ‘Alien War Glasgow’ scared the kilts off more than 100,000 Scots in just six months, and attracted the attention of broadcasters and print journalists from all around the world. It also caught the eye of American venture capitalists who brought with them the possibility of opening a more elaborate, more expensive ‘Alien War’ in the heart of London.
So, there I was. Gazing down the stairs. What the hell.
At the bottom of the stairs, a sign welcomed me to Weyland Yutani Base 166 and a left turn took me into the arrival/departure lounge. Appropriately, off-duty Space Marines lounged about, cradling their rifles and sharing a smoke (yes, I know they were actors earning a living whilst waiting for their first big West-End break, but suspension of disbelief is half the battle with these things, so bear with me).
I saw a small group of punters (whose multi-coloured clothes and shopping-bags didn’t really fit-in with the drab distempered walls and standard-issue fatigues of the players) gathering in front of the memorabilia stall, debating whether to buy this t-shirt or that base-ball cap.
At the ticket-office, I shelled out my £8.00, which I felt was steep, even by London standards (this was 30-odd years ago, remember) and joined the group by the stall.
Obviously deciding that we now had a quorum, the Marines split up. One - a muscled famle Vasquez-alike - went through a door marked ‘Fury Base 166’, while another one came over to us, introduced himself and asked us to follow him on a guided tour of the scientific facilities of the Base.
Alien War: Mostly They Come at Night. Mostly.
Inside, we gathered in an ante-chamber, in almost pitch-dark, and our guide explained that live Aliens were being held captive inside, and we would have to be aware not to touch anything as we were escorted through to see them. He then excused himself and went back the way we had come.
So, there we stood, eight of us, in the dark, waiting. The girls giggled, the lads began to mutter about being bored. Then alarms started to go off – was it a real fire-alarm, or part of the game? A garbled tannoy message told us that the Aliens had escaped; ahh, part of the game then.
We heard more sirens, more messages, even the occasional burst of gunfire. And there we stood, wondering if this was it, just standing in the dark and listening while the fun was going on around us. Had they forgotten us?
We had all, quite naturally, been watching the door our guide had gone out, waiting for him to come back. Everyone jumped about a foot into the air when a hidden door behind us burst open and a Marine hurled himself through it, turning his pulse rifle to blast the darkness behind him. He yelled at us to follow him, and we were off, racing down low, dark corridors, dimly lit from behind metal grilles.
Alien War: Stay Frosty. Check Those Corners.
We had to hide behind corners, run across exposed areas in groups of two, or wait at the back whilst our Marine went into the next room first. Once, just as he told us it was safe to proceed, the lights blinked out and he was lost amid screams and sporadic flashes of gunfire. At that point we were on our own again – in the dark, coughing on the dry ice and being deafened by the howls of the Aliens behind the walls and the screams of their victims.
Another Marine, the Vasquez-alike, appeared out of a side corridor and took charge of us. She led all nine of us into a tight elevator, which, of course, fused and plunged us into darkness once more. The hammering on the walls told us that the Aliens were close, then a panel was torn away and one of our number was grabbed and dragged screaming away.
Yes, you did read that correctly. Eight of us started the journey, but nine of us got into the elevator and, in the confusion, no-one noticed. For me, it only clicked later, what had happened.
Lots more corridors, smoke, alien sounds and flights of stairs later, we burst out en masse into the departure lounge, to the surprise and amusement of the next group gathered before the t-shirts and brochures. Looking back, the door was closed and Vasquez-alike had disappeared.
A certain amount of embarrassed coughing and demeanour-adjusting took place, and then off we wandered, back into the world dull, dreary, wind-swept world. As I emerged back into the throng on the streets, all urgently going nowhere fast, I checked my watch. I’d been in there all of ten minutes, including the waiting around in the initial ante-chamber. Eight quid for ten minutes. Hmm.
Upon reflection, I decided that the sets and props had been so convincing, the effects so impressive, and the performances of the Marines so emphatic, that I had enjoyed myself immensely, and that the money had been well spent.
Alien War: It’s Game Over, Man! Game Over!
The Trocadero ‘ride’ closed in 1996 after flood damage and never re-opened.
An altered version of ‘Alien War’, cunningly re-dubbed ‘Alien Wars’, with all of the Fox-copyright material carefully reworked or removed, ran in Glasgow then in Liverpool in 2009.
But, otherwise, it’s an idea that has been forgotten. Nowadays, where live experience atttractions are licences to print money, you’d think the opportunity to be attacked by Xenomorphs and protected by burly Space Marines would be a no-brainer.
I’m clearly not the only one who remembers this as part-and-parcel of a vibrant moment in British culture when we, as a nation, were bold and optimistic.
Earlier this year, a short documentary debuted which has unprecedented behind-the-scenes access to original ‘Alien War’ footage, and tracked-down a lot of the creators and cast members.
So, why not go back there. But not to study. Not to bring back. But to remember the nineties…
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Text © John Ashbrook. Images © their respective copyright owners.