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Review: Predator: Badlands (dir. by Dan Trachtenberg)

Posted on by Arleigh

“Here, you’re not the predator. You’re the prey.” — Thia

Predator: Badlands, directed by Dan Trachtenberg, marks a significant evolution within a franchise that has captivated audiences for nearly four decades. Known for its intense action and the enigmatic extraterrestrial hunters called the Yautja, the Predator series has continuously explored themes of survival, honor, and primal combat. Trachtenberg’s vision shifts the focus toward a more intimate and nuanced perspective by centering the narrative on Dek, the youngest and smallest member of the Predator clan. Through Dek’s journey, the film delves deep into Predator culture, ritual, and the personal struggles of one cast out from his tribe.

Dek, the youngest and smallest member of his Predator clan, finds himself exiled and cast out due to perceptions of weakness. Determined to prove himself worthy, he crash-lands on the hostile planet Genna—infamously named “The Death Planet”—where he must navigate a dangerous ecosystem full of lethal creatures and unpredictable hazards. Struggling to survive alone, Dek forms an uneasy alliance with Thia, a damaged synthetic android with knowledge of the planet. Together, they embark on a perilous journey that will test their strengths, challenge their beliefs, and redefine what it means to be predator and prey.

The chemistry between Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi and Elle Fanning as Dek and Thia is notably believable and compelling. Their performances breathe life into this unconventional duo—Dimitrius conveys Dek’s internal struggle and fierce determination almost entirely through physicality and subtle expression, while Fanning’s portrayal of Thia is richly layered with intelligence, resilience, and warmth despite her synthetic nature. Their interactions—marked by moments of tension, wit, and genuine connection—ground the narrative emotionally, making their partnership feel authentic even amid the film’s relentless action and alien setting.

At the emotional core of the film lies this evolving relationship, where Thia’s intelligence, wit, and empathy contrast Dek’s warrior stoicism. Physically bound to Dek early on, their partnership forged from necessity deepens into a profound bond that challenges traditional Predator stereotypes of ruthless isolation, opening space for exploration of trust, companionship, and mutual reliance in an unforgiving universe.

Adding to this complexity, Fanning also portrays Thia’s sister Tessa, embodying a dogmatic loyalty to the Weyland-Yutani corporation’s ruthless agenda. This dual role enriches the film’s meditation on identity, autonomy, and control, as the opposing android personas reflect divergent paths of resistance and compliance. The tension between Thia’s compassion and Tessa’s dogmatic obedience mirrors Dek’s own conflict between inherited tribal honor and his emerging personal values shaped by empathy and survival.

The narrative intensifies in the second act as the story shifts from Dek and Thia navigating Genna’s rough terrain to confronting the formidable forces of Weyland-Yutani and their synthetic android enforcers. This escalation brings broader stakes and a shift from survival to active resistance, with Dek’s combat style evolving into inventive use of the alien ecosystem’s deadly plants and creatures. His resourcefulness and adaptability are tested as much as his physical prowess.

Thia’s role grows beyond mere survival partner, serving as a moral compass guiding Dek through escalating challenges. Their deepening bond underscores themes of loyalty and defiance against overwhelming power. The rivalry between Thia and Tessa encapsulates both personal and systemic struggles, enriching the narrative’s emotional and thematic layers.

Action scenes in this act blend visceral intensity with strategic ingenuity, highlighting the evolving dynamic between Dek’s warrior instincts and Thia’s empathetic intelligence. This partnership provides an emotional anchor amid rising external threats.

Visually, while some of the VFX may not reach the technical heights of blockbuster films like Avatar, Predator: Badlands excels in blending digital effects with practical makeup and effects work. This approach makes the portrayal of Dek and the other Yautja—particularly when not helmeted—convincing and tangible. The hybrid effects allow Dek’s Yautja character to emote convincingly, adding crucial depth and relatability to a typically masked and silent character. This tactile realism enhances the immersive quality of the film and brings the Predator characters to life in a way that CGI alone might not achieve.

A distinct departure for the franchise, the film carries a PG-13 rating—a strategic decision enabled by the filmmakers’ exclusive use of non-human characters—synthetic androids and other alien beings—in violent scenes. This choice eliminates the display of red human blood, substituting blue synthetic fluids, thereby maintaining intensity while broadening audience accessibility. Although this approach softens the visceral brutality traditionally associated with the franchise, it allows for sustained creative violence and suspense without an R-rating’s restrictions. Some fans may find the absence of traditional gore reduces the raw impact and immediacy familiar to previous entries.

Throughout, the violence is intentional and purpose-driven, enriching the narrative rather than serving gratuitous spectacle. The film’s conclusion thoughtfully underscores themes of self-determination, as Dek eschews rigid tribal expectations in favor of personal autonomy, while Thia embraces an evolving identity beyond her synthetic origins.

One of the film’s most impressive achievements—and a testament to its commitment to authenticity—is the introduction of a fully constructed Yautja language. Developed by linguist Britton Watkins, who was recommended by Paul Frommer (the creator of the Na’vi language for James Cameron’s Avatar), this language was crafted with respect for the anatomical and cultural traits of the Predator species. Lead actor Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi and his fellow Yautja cast members learned to perform fluently in this language. This effort adds remarkable depth and realism to the Predator characters, creating a linguistic culture that supports the film’s immersive world-building. Scenes featuring Yautja dialogue are carefully subtitled, offering fans a fascinating and detailed glimpse into Predator communication and ritual.

Predator: Badlands is a layered, compelling addition to the saga. It pairs exhilarating action with thoughtful meditations on identity, survival, and connection. The evolving relationship between Dek and Thia, amplified by Elle Fanning’s complex dual roles, grounds the film emotionally and thematically, broadening the Predator mythos in significant ways.

Director Dan Trachtenberg has firmly cemented his position as the franchise’s caretaker, continuing a remarkable three-film streak following the critically acclaimed Prey and the animated Predator: Killer of Killers. Each installment boasts distinctive narrative voices and innovative approaches that have successfully engaged and expanded the fanbase. Trachtenberg’s vision skillfully balances honoring the franchise’s core elements with fresh storytelling, ensuring Predator remains vital and intriguing for both longtime followers and new viewers alike.

Predator Franchise Reviews

Review: Predator: Killer of Killers (dir. by Dan Trachtenberg)

Posted on by Arleigh

“A fight to the death… only one will live… and the survivor… will face me!” — Grendel King

Hulu’s Predator: Killer of Killers signifies an ambitious and stylistically bold evolution of the Predator franchise, once again directed by Dan Trachtenberg following his excellent 2022 film Prey. Trachtenberg has clearly become the new creative caretaker of this series, bringing fresh vision and depth to the franchise. This animated anthology spans three distinct historical periods—Viking-era Scandinavia, feudal Japan, and World War II Europe—and tells the story of humanity’s ongoing, brutal clash with the alien hunters. By setting the predator mythos across such different cultures and eras, Trachtenberg presents a compelling exploration of survival, legacy, and adaptation.

The film unfolds in three chapters, each focusing on a different protagonist. The first segment introduces Ursa, a Viking mother consumed by grief and vengeance, who soon encounters a Predator in a primal battle that tests her strength and will to survive. The second segment is largely silent, centering on estranged brothers—a samurai and a ninja—in feudal Japan, who must unite against the alien menace. The final chapter shifts to World War II, following Torres, a Latino mechanic who seizes a chance to become a pilot amid chaotic battles against the Predators. Each story is steeped in its cultural milieu, aiming for depth and texture despite the limited runtime.

Visually, the film leverages a painterly animated style reminiscent of acclaimed adult animations like Arcane and Spider-Verse, yet it carries a darker, grittier tone suitable for the Predator universe. This style allows for intense, stylized violence—gore, blood, and brutal combat—which the anthology format showcases spectacularly. The distinct visual aesthetics of each era—from the somber shadows of Viking times, the flowing elegance of Japanese landscapes, to the metallic intensity of WWII dogfights—remarkably serve the film’s atmospheric ambitions. Notably, the Predators themselves are designed to reflect the atmosphere of each segment: the hulking, brute force Predator in the Viking-era matches the raw, physical brutality of that time; the lithe, agile Predator in feudal Japan suits the stealthy, precise combat of the samurai and ninja; and the grizzled, veteran pilot Predator in the WWII segment complements the aerial warfare and war-hardened theme. While some viewers may find the animation style unconventional compared to live-action, it delivers a fresh and inventive energy, allowing for spectacle and mood impossible in a traditional film.

Trachtenberg and screenwriter Micho Robert Rutare invest effort in creating emotionally grounded characters despite the anthology’s compressed storytelling. Ursa’s portrayal as a grieving mother brings weight to her arc, the Japanese chapter uses sibling rivalry and silence to evoke tension and tradition, while Torres embodies hope, determination, and cultural representation in a largely unexplored protagonist archetype for the series. The Predator itself remains a fearsome, vigilant hunter. Yet this film adds layers by examining how violence and survival shape human experience across eras, giving thematic weight beyond simple action thrills.

The film delivers relentless and varied action, ranging from poetic, skillful duels in Japan to brutal, visceral fights in the Viking and WWII chapters. Its anthology structure allows exploration of different combat styles and settings. However, this rapid pace sometimes sacrifices emotional depth and character development, making the stories feel like glimpses rather than fully realized narratives. Regarding the WWII segment, I found Torres’s character problematic; he often seems to succeed less through skill or ingenuity and more through luck or circumstance, embodying a “failing upwards” trope that weakens the audience’s emotional investment in his narrative. His frequent self-dialogue also disrupts the tone established by the near-silent Japanese chapter, creating a jarring shift that detracts from the overall cohesion.

Another notable aspect is the anthology format itself: while it enables a rich diversity of storytelling across periods and styles, the film’s roughly two-hour runtime limits how deeply each segment can develop. This leaves viewers craving more time to fully explore the characters and settings. In this respect, Predator: Killer of Killers might have been better served as a four-episode limited series rather than a single anthology film. Such a format would have allowed each segment to breathe, providing more room for nuanced storytelling and emotional engagement without making the runtime feel excessive. Stretching this anthology into a feature film already pushes its length near two hours, and adding more time to fully flesh out each story could have pushed it close to three hours, which might have been challenging for a theatrical or streaming movie. A limited series would have accommodated this expansiveness, letting each era’s story flourish while maintaining pacing and cohesion across episodes.

Though the film culminates in a grand finale combining the protagonists, the climax is somewhat chaotic and lacks coherence, which diminishes its impact. Notably, the movie ends on an unresolved note that doesn’t fully tie up the main storyline but instead clearly hints at a future sequel. While this open-ended conclusion may frustrate viewers seeking closure, it sets up anticipation for what lies ahead under Trachtenberg’s continued direction.

A fun piece of trivia is Michael Biehn’s inclusion as one of the voice actors in the film. With his role as Vandy in the WWII segment, Biehn has joined a very exclusive club: he is just the second actor to be part of all three iconic 1980s sci-fi franchises—Alien, Predator, and Terminator. Known for his roles as Kyle Reese in The Terminator and Corporal Dwayne Hicks in Aliens, Biehn’s presence in Killer of Killers cements his unique legacy alongside fellow actors Lance Henriksen and the late Bill Paxton, who both previously held this sci-fi trifecta distinction. Director Dan Trachtenberg deliberately cast Biehn as a nod to this legacy, making his involvement a meaningful Easter egg for longtime fans.

While Predator: Killer of Killers marks a striking artistic and narrative effort within the franchise, it is not without flaws. The anthology format, while innovative, sometimes feels like a drawback—it limits how much the film can dig into each character or setting fully. The weakest link remains the WWII chapter and its protagonist Torres, whose arc doesn’t quite deliver the same resonance and often feels contrived. The finale’s lack of narrative closure may leave some feeling unsatisfied, though it promises more to come.

Despite these negatives, this film confirms Dan Trachtenberg’s role as a visionary leader for the Predator franchise, blending genre thrills with cultural specificity and psychological insight. For fans and newcomers alike, it offers a unique, stylized, and intense take on the alien hunters—the best the franchise has offered in many years. The film’s ambition and creativity outweigh its shortcomings, setting a foundation for a promising future for Predator under Trachtenberg’s direction.

Review: Prey (dir. by Dan Trachtenberg)

Posted on by Arleigh

“It knows how to hunt, but I know how to survive.” — Naru

Dan Trachtenberg’s Prey is honestly a breath of fresh air for the Predator series. It takes us way back to the early 18th century, deep in the Comanche Nation, ditching the usual sci-fi city jungle for actual wide-open plains and a history-rich vibe. The story follows Naru, a young Comanche woman who’s determined to prove she can hunt just as well as the men in her tribe. Amber Midthunder totally nails it as Naru, giving a performance that’s both vulnerable and tough without trying too hard. Her journey isn’t just about hunting the Predator; it’s also about breaking free from the limits her tribe has set for her as a woman, and that makes the story hit a lot deeper than your typical monster flick.

Speaking of the monster, Prey strips away the Predator’s fancy gadgets and drops it into a more primal, back-to-basics showdown. This Predator isn’t rocking all the high-tech gear we usually see—it’s raw and brutal, with stuff that fits the time period, which makes the whole hunter vs. hunter dynamic feel way more grounded and tense. The movie smartly uses survival skills and brains over flashy tech, and that makes the hunt way more interesting because it’s about anticipation and smarts, not lasers and gadgets.

One of the coolest behind-the-scenes moves with Prey was the filmmakers’ emphasis on cultural authenticity, especially with language. While most of the film is in English, they also made a full Comanche language dub, which is huge because Comanche is a nearly lost language with very few fluent speakers. The cast went back and recorded the whole movie in Comanche, making it the first feature to do so. Originally, they intended to shoot the whole film in Comanche, which would have been even more impressive, but having this dub option available on streaming platforms gives viewers an immersive way to connect with the culture in an authentic way. This shows a real commitment to uplifting Indigenous voices while still making the film accessible.

Trachtenberg did a great job balancing the suspense with action. The Predator’s scenes are super intense and keep you on edge without going overboard. One of the coolest parts is when the Predator takes down a bear—it’s done so cleverly that even though the creature is rarely fully seen, the splashes of its green blood make the moment feel really eerie and unforgettable. The film really puts you in Naru’s shoes, making you feel her fear and determination as she tries to outsmart this deadly creature.

Now, even though the Predator is the main beast to watch out for, the behavior of the French fur trappers is actually more disturbing in many ways. These guys aren’t just out there trying to survive—they’re slaughtering entire herds of bison en masse, skinning the animals and leaving huge carcasses to rot. It’s a brutal, wasteful approach to hunting that contrasts starkly with the Predator, who hunts singularly and with purpose, never wasting what it kills. The trappers’ wanton destruction of the environment and disregard for the land and its creatures makes them a reprehensible presence in the film. They’re essentially invaders who exploit the natural resources with no respect, creating a real commentary on colonial greed. So while the Predator is the alien menace, the human antagonists serve as a grim reminder of real historical violence and environmental exploitation faced by Indigenous peoples. It’s a powerful layer in the story that adds depth to the conflict.

Besides Naru, the rest of the characters feel real and fleshed out. Her brother Taabe adds a nice sibling angle—there’s a good mix of support and conflict that makes their relationship believable and keeps the story grounded. The French fur trappers act as another layer of conflict, showing that not all dangers come from the Predator. Their ruthless ways make you think about the real threats to the Comanche people, adding depth to the narrative beyond just monster vs. human.

Visually, the film is gorgeous. The cinematographer Jeff Cutter captures the sweeping plains and natural beauty in a way that really draws you in, and the natural lighting, weather, and shadows all add to the mood perfectly. The music supports this vibe, mixing suspense with subtle tribal influences that really tie the whole atmosphere together. This combo of visuals and sound creates an immersive world you just want to get lost in.

The themes in Prey are surprisingly meaty. It challenges old-school gender roles, shines a light on indigenous culture with respect, and subtly touches on colonialism through its human villains. Naru’s fight to prove herself becomes more than just physical—it’s a stance against tradition that resonates on a broader level. This isn’t your usual throw-everything-at-the-wall action flick; it’s thoughtful and makes you care about the characters.

Sure, the movie’s pacing slows down a bit toward the end, stretching out the finale more than necessary, and a few moments lean on familiar action tropes, but these are small grumbles in an otherwise tight and exciting film. Practical effects—especially in how the Predator moves and attacks—bring a rawness that CGI-heavy movies often miss, making the battles feel grounded and visceral.

All in all, Prey stands out as probably the best Predator movie since the original. It respects the classic elements fans love but brings fresh ideas and a ton of heart. Amber Midthunder steals the show with her performance, and Dan Trachtenberg’s direction keeps things suspenseful and sharp. The cultural respect and social layers make it more than just another monster movie—it’s a rare example of blockbuster cinema that gets representation right.

If you’re into smart, intense action movies with a meaningful story and some cultural depth, you really shouldn’t miss Prey. It strips things down to the essentials—survival, smarts, and heart—and the result is a movie that sticks with you long after the credits roll. It’s about more than just hunting a monster; it’s about standing your ground, breaking through barriers, and owning your strength. Definitely worth checking out if you haven’t already.

Review: The Predator (dir. by Shane Black)

Posted on by Arleigh

“Gentlemen, remember… they’re large, they’re fast, and fucking you up is their idea of tourism.” — Traeger

Shane Black’s The Predator (2018) lands with a bang, offering a spectacle heavy on action, gore, and the signature snarky humor Black is known for. If you come looking for a suspenseful, tightly wound survival story in the tradition of the original 1987 film, you’re in for something very different—a gonzo mashup of nostalgia, R-rated slapstick carnage, and creature-feature excess that leans gleefully into genre absurdity.

The plot barrels forward with almost reckless energy. Boyd Holbrook stars as Quinn McKenna, a sniper whose mission goes haywire when a Predator spaceship crashes to Earth. Through a sequence of provocatively silly events, McKenna’s autistic son, Rory (Jacob Tremblay), ends up with the alien’s high-tech gear, unwittingly drawing attention from both the government and the technologically advanced Predators themselves. McKenna teams up with a ragtag bunch of soldiers, each with their own collection of quirks and psychological scars, plus Olivia Munn’s biologist Casey Bracket. This time, the hunt spills out of the jungle and into suburbia, with the chaos quickly escalating as a souped-up, genetically upgraded Predator enters the mix.

Where the 1987 original thrived on tension and jungle-stalking suspense, Black’s take is more about velocity, bloody spectacle, and loud, rapid-fire banter. The tone is set early, never letting up: The jokes fly thick and fast, the action is relentless, and there’s barely a lull for actual character development. The chemistry among “the Loonies,” McKenna’s loose-cannon squad, is the highlight—Keegan-Michael Key and Thomas Jane, in particular, deliver a mix of comic relief and bruised pathos that provides Black with fertile ground for his trademark dialogue. Sterling K. Brown chews the scenery as Traeger, the government antagonist, with a kind of joyous villainy that’s hard not to enjoy, even when the narrative slides into pure chaos. Olivia Munn starts strong as a scientist thrown into the deep end but is ultimately brushed aside by the film’s mayhem-heavy set pieces.

The film’s comedic pulse is strong, sometimes to its own detriment. Shane Black fills out every moment with his specific brand of irreverence, which works best in the banter between the Loonies but can undercut the menace of the Predators themselves. The violence is over-the-top, with practical splatter and digital effects combining for set pieces that are more monstrous brawls than hunting sequences. The movie rarely worries about internal logic—kids instantly deciphering alien technology and scientists surviving actions that would doom most is par for the course here. For fans of the previous films, there are enthusiastic callbacks and plenty of Easter eggs, though these are delivered more as punchlines than as foundations for new franchise mythology.

One of the film’s major issues is its kitchen-sink approach: it tries to be a throwback action movie, a gory sci-fi thriller, and a self-aware parody all at once. The result is a film constantly threatening to come apart at the seams—some viewers will find the tonal whiplash exhausting, with jokes about mental illness and disability that are more dated than daring. The narrative bounces between subplots and characters so quickly that plot armor and convenient twists abound, while the stakes themselves grow ever more implausible. If you’re looking for slow-burn tension or the primal fear that powered John McTiernan’s or even Stephen Hopkins’ installments, you’ll find yourself unmoored by the gleeful chaos and genre self-parody that Black serves up.

Still, for all its messiness, The Predator is never boring. It’s an action movie that refuses to slow down, boldly swapping iconic mud-soaked hunting for suburban street battles, and musclebound brawn for damaged, wise-cracking outcasts. It is, in its own profane, ADD-addled way, a love letter to the kind of big, dumb, fun genre movies that Black himself helped define in the late ’80s and ’90s.

Ultimately, The Predator isn’t a triumphant reinvention of the franchise nor a true return to the original’s nerve-shredding simplicity. Fans looking to see a return to the franchise’s glory days will be sorely disappointed. However, taken on its own merits and not dragged down by the expectations brought by the franchise, the film does entertain with its wild, unruly, blood-spattered romp that wears its flaws on its sleeve and dares the audience to laugh along with the carnage. If you’re in it for straight-up monster mayhem, creative kills, and a barrage of one-liners, you’ll have a blast. If you’re looking for restraint, genre evolution, or old-school suspense, you’ll probably end up shaking your head—grinning, maybe, but shaking it all the same.