If you spend any time at all thinking about the original Predator, and Lord knows I have, you'll reach the inevitable conclusion it was the outcome of government conspiracy.
Specifically, a conspiracy to crossbreed bulls with the world's best handshakers, resulting in action stars who could charm their way into leadership of our state capitals, then literally crush the opposition between their freakishly large hands.
-- Local show times, theaters, trailer.
Don't think the program's over yet, either. Mark my words: Carl Weathers will be running the state of Florida by the end of the decade.
Things have changed a lot since Predator released in 1987. In these days of the new Predators, the musclemen have been relegated to side characters while the big parts are reserved for lanky, athletic, but slightly dorky types, as if this time the feds have been breeding basketball players with Drizzt Do'Urden fans. Only history will tell what branch of government they'll end up running.
In Predators, Adrien Brody awakens mid-fall into an unknown jungle. Within minutes, he meets up with seven other dangerous men and women, none of whom have any memory of how they got there.
Soon, they discover they're not on Earth at all. And it's no coincidence they're all soldiers, convicts and gangsters they've been brought here because they're so deadly. After all, the best prey is the kind that can fight back.
Genre junk such as Predators can become a classic through two means: vivid, memorable characters and moments of such transcendent badassitude that just watching them makes you feel capable of punching down a wall, draining a keg, and challenging every living U.S. president to an arm-wrestling match.
Predators really skimps in the character department. Brody is a standard lone wolf supersoldier. Brainy doctor Topher Grace baldly refers to him as "the tough guy," but contrary to modern artistic practice, making fun of your work's shortcomings within the work itself does not change the fact you're using a cliche so old it probably had to be excavated from the rock with those tiny chisels and little brushes that look more like kitchenware than implements of digging.
The other characters are equally one-note, defined either by their homeland (Russian dude, African guy), their profession (Walton Goggins' death row super-rapist), or both (Danny Trejo's Mexican cartel enforcer). The exception is Laurence Fishburne, whose performance is so whacked-out crazy it will make you put the lotion on your skin or you will get the hose again.
Predators fares better on the badass scale. While Brody's character isn't particularly memorable, he does have some cunning ideas, thanks to writers Alex Litvak and Michael Finch, who throw a couple nice plot curveballs amid a firm if unexceptional story. Perhaps two Aliens vs. Predator movies have lowered my standards for things involving Predators, but this entry functions perfectly well as a franchise entry, preserving some of what made the original a success while expanding its universe in believable ways.
Most importantly of all, Predators dishes up several servings of rad shit (it tastes better than it sounds). A modern-day samurai fighting a Predator solo in a dark field ranks as my personal favorite, barely edging out Goggins' prison-influenced moment of glory.
Let's not fool around here: to a big extent, the reason we're going to see something like this is for the acts of heroism and the gruesome, jacked-up deaths that inevitably follow for one side or the other. Predators satisfies fairly well on that front.
Meanwhile, the writers and director Nimrod Antal tell a clear, competent story that may not revolutionize the way we think about Predators, but it gets the job done. For those of us who can't get enough of this sort of monstery, space rockety foolishness, it's worth a look.
Grade: B-
