Predators
[Movie Review by John E. Rogers, Jr.]

Slam-bang off-planet bulletfest. Fast. Loud. Bloody. Yeah, derivative, but who cares? Maybe not smart, but at least not stupid. In short, better than expected. Third entry in the B-movie franchise, the first being Predator (1987), starring Arnold Schwarzenegger, and the second Predator 2 (1990), starring Danny Glover. There is also a later two-film Aliens versus Predator sub-franchise. But this flick relies only on the 1987 installment for its foundation.

Brought to us by mid-budget pulp factory Troublemaker Studios (Grindhouse). Propelled by what may be the best SF-thriller film music of all-time, the original Predator score by Alan Silvestri (The A-Team). Adequately, if unevenly, helmed by relative newcomer Nimród Antal (Armored). Top grade cast—led by new genre darling Adrien Brody (Splice), here flexing his budding action hero muscles, legitimized by veteran Laurence Fishburne (The Matrix) in a prize role, semi-softened by lovely Brazilian soldierette Alice Braga (I Am Legend), and rounded out with a bunch of familiar faces. Of particular note is Topher Grace (Spider-Man 3) as the guy who for some reason just doesn’t fit the profile.

Serviceable, though plodding, script by neophytes Alex Litvak and Michael Finch, from characters created by brothers Jim and John Thomas. Borrows very heavily from humans-as-prey films like 1932’s The Most Dangerous Game (which was itself based on an earlier short story by Richard Connell), 1966's The Naked Prey, and 1994’s Surviving the Game. Also owes a debt of gratitude to science fiction novels such as Marion Zimmer Bradley’s under-appreciated Hunters of the Red Moon. Alas, just not as well thought out as those seminal works.

Group of elite warriors—gangland thugs, soldiers, mercenaries, Yakuza, death row inmates, homicidal nut-cases—are captured, flown from Earth to a distant game preserve world, and then brutally knocked off one at a time by a trio of Predators, butt-ugly interstellar killers who live for the hunt.

Perfect for fans of high octane SF. Big guns firing thousands of rounds. Lots of grunting and snarling. Bombs and people exploding left and right. Skies full of bulbous alien moons. Jungles packed with razor-toothed, triceratops-horned hellhounds. Plus—it’s got a damn fine blowout ending.

Maybe not so hot for the Merchant-Ivory crowd.