THE 75

The rouge assembly of talent mumbles fart and pussy jokes throughout this aimless misfire. If it bleeds, we can kill it. A mantra that defined many of the machismo driven action films of the early nineties was birthed in the iconic John McTiernan directed Predator. I have been a fan of the dreadlocked space hunter since I first saw him square off mono e mono on the original films jungle finale. Hell, I dug the follow up that transported the mysterious killer to the streets of Los Angeles. Danny Glover and Gary Busey were a fresh bash of frenetic energy, unexpected in a follow-up that saw the gruff and tuff military hit squad replaced by a lone detective and a wacky paramilitary scientist.

The rest of the films that followed including AVP and AVP: Requiem are pretty forgettable, but cute distractions aimed to pump new blood into a dying franchise. So where does 2018’s Predator stand? Sadly, somewhere below the AVP series. Nope, this movie was not a home run for the filmmakers as intended. Both sales and reviews were bad for this one. For me? I could do without this sequel.

It’s basically a twisted story of Prometheus. Here we have a runaway Predator suffering from PTSD due to some pretty traumatic genetic splicing he’s been subjected to. His grand final fuck you to his lords involves him stealing a prototype Predator costume that’s been custom built for a human. Ok, so he’s stealing this fire and giving it to the humans? But first, he will kill any humans he comes across? The films major angle features a major plot hole. The Predator in this film comes in peace, sorta? It’s all confusing.