The egg is hovering. It’s cracked open. A weird, sickly green light is oozing out of the fissure like radioactive mist. You probably know the one. Underneath it, there’s that line—maybe the most famous tagline in the history of cinema: "In space no one can hear you scream."
But here is the thing about the alien movie poster original that most people forget: the Xenomorph isn't even on it.
It’s a bold move. Think about it. You’re 20th Century Fox in 1979. You’ve got this terrifying creature designed by the Swiss surrealist H.R. Giger. It’s got a phallic head, ribs on the outside, and a second mouth. It is, objectively, the most striking monster ever put on film. And yet, when it came time to sell the movie to the public, the marketing team decided to show a glowing chicken egg.
Actually, it wasn't even a chicken egg. It was a hen's egg that they literally spray-painted and rotoscoped.
The design team that changed everything
Philip Gips and Stephen Frankfurt are the names you need to know. They were the masters behind the agency Frankfurt Gips Balkind. Before Alien, movie posters were usually busy. They were hand-painted illustrations of the cast looking heroic or terrified. Look at the posters for Star Wars or Jaws—they tell you exactly what the movie is. You see the shark. You see Luke Skywalker holding a lightsaber.
Gips and Frankfurt went the other direction. They went minimalist.
They realized that the fear of the unknown is way more powerful than the fear of a guy in a rubber suit. By focusing on the egg, they tapped into something primal. It’s about birth. It’s about something "wrong" entering the world. The alien movie poster original works because it doesn't give the game away. It creates a mood of clinical, cosmic dread. Honestly, if they had put Giger’s monster on the sheet in 1979, the audience might have felt they’d already seen the best part.
The typography is another masterclass in anxiety. Look at the word "ALIEN" at the top. Notice how the letters are spaced out? That’s not an accident. They used a typeface that felt cold and mechanical, then they tracked the letters so far apart that the word feels like it's drifting away in a vacuum. It’s lonely. It’s isolated.
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Why the "Egg" isn't what's in the movie
If you’re a die-hard fan, you’ve noticed the discrepancy. The egg on the poster looks nothing like the leathery, pulsating ovomorphs found in the derelict ship on LV-426. The movie eggs have those four folding "lips" at the top. The poster egg has a jagged, vertical crack.
Why the mismatch?
Production timelines.
Marketing agencies often have to start their work while the movie is still being edited or even filmed. Gips and Frankfurt didn't have a finished prop to photograph. They had to improvise. They took a regular egg, blew it out, and used a double-exposure technique to get that internal glow. It’s a classic example of how "wrong" details can sometimes create a more iconic image than "accurate" ones. The simplicity of the cracked shell is universal. Everyone knows what an egg is. Everyone knows what a crack means.
The H.R. Giger factor and the rejected concepts
While the "Egg" poster became the official face of the franchise, it wasn't the only option. H.R. Giger actually designed several posters himself. If you’ve ever seen the Giger alien movie poster original concepts, they are significantly more disturbing.
One of his designs featured a biomechanical landscape that looked suspiciously like human anatomy merged with cold steel. It was beautiful, but it was "too much" for 1979. The studio was worried that Giger's art was too erotic and too grotesque for a mainstream audience. They wanted people to walk into the theater, not run away from the lobby.
There's also the "Worm" version. Some early teaser posters featured a much more literal interpretation of the chestburster. It looked more like a parasitic organ than a creature. Thankfully, Ridley Scott and the producers leaned into the mystery of the Gips design.
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Collectibility: What is an original actually worth?
If you're looking for an alien movie poster original to hang in your office, you need to be careful. The market is flooded with reprints.
A true 1979 "Style A" one-sheet is the holy grail. These were printed on thin paper meant for lightboxes in theaters. Because they were printed on both sides (a process called "double-sided" printing used to make the colors pop when lit from behind), you can usually spot a fake by looking at the back. However, back in '79, single-sided was still very common for standard theaters.
Key things to check for:
- Size: A standard US one-sheet from that era should be 27" x 41". Modern posters are 27" x 40". That one inch is the difference between a piece of history and a $15 Target print.
- Fold lines: Genuine theater posters from the 70s were almost always shipped folded. If you find a "vintage" 1979 Alien poster that is perfectly flat and rolled with no crease marks, it’s likely a commercial reprint or a very rare "studio rolled" version that will cost you several thousand dollars.
- The NSS Number: Look at the bottom right corner. You should see "790033." This was the National Screen Service code. It’s the fingerprint of a theatrical release.
I spoke with a collector last year who paid over $1,200 for a near-mint 1979 original. Prices are only going up. With the release of Alien: Romulus and the general resurgence of practical-effects horror, the 1979 aesthetic is back in high demand. People are tired of the "floating head" posters where every actor’s face is photoshopped onto the page. They want the atmosphere of the egg.
The impact on modern marketing
You can see the DNA of the alien movie poster original in almost every prestige horror film today. Look at the posters for A24 movies like Hereditary or The Witch. They use the same philosophy:
- One central, cryptic image.
- Massive amounts of negative space.
- A focus on texture rather than plot.
The Alien poster proved that you don't need a "hero shot." You don't need Sigourney Weaver looking tough with a flamethrower—even though she’s one of the greatest protagonists in cinema. You just need a question. What is in the egg? Why is it glowing?
It’s about the "slow burn." Ridley Scott famously fought to keep the alien hidden for as long as possible in the movie. The poster was the first step in that psychological warfare. It tells the audience, "We aren't going to show you everything. You have to come to us."
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Actionable steps for collectors and fans
If you're obsessed with this specific piece of film history, here is how you handle it.
First, stop looking on generic marketplaces. If a seller on a major auction site says "Original 1979 Alien Poster" for $40, they are lying. Period. Go to reputable dealers like Heritage Auctions or specialized film poster galleries.
Second, if you do land a real alien movie poster original, do not—and I mean do not—cheap out on the framing. Original posters are printed on acidic paper. If you put it against a standard cardboard backing, the acid will eat the paper over the next decade, turning that iconic green glow into a muddy yellow stain. You need acid-free mounting and UV-protective glass. Sunlight is the enemy of the Xenomorph and its poster.
Third, look for the "International" versions. Sometimes the posters printed for the UK or Japanese markets featured different crops of the Gips artwork or unique typography that is even more striking than the US release. The Japanese "B2" size posters are particularly sought after for their vertical layout and bold Katakana.
Ultimately, the power of this image hasn't faded because it taps into a fundamental human fear. It’s not just a movie advertisement. It’s a piece of 20th-century art that managed to capture the exact moment when sci-fi stopped being about bright lights and hopeful futures and started being about the terrifying things lurking in the dark.
Check the dimensions. Look for the NSS number. And never, ever trust a glowing egg you find in a dark room.