Writer-director Dan Trachtenberg eased his feet under Hollywood's table by finding the tools to unlock long-dormant franchises. His reward for his surprisingly sinuous and profitable work on 2016's Cloverfield sequel 10 Cloverfield Lane was taking possession of the keys to the Predator series, starting with 2022's prequel Prey, a late-lockdown favourite that pitted a young Native American tribeswoman against much the same monster that had bedevilled Arnie, Carl Weathers and co. back in 1987. More so than that small-screen predecessor - a Fox production emitted into the world via Disney+ - this weekend's Predator: Badlands forms a byproduct of Disney Corp's ongoing Muppet Babyfication of all its IP. Trachtenberg and co-writer Patrick Aison have folded into the Predator universe elements of the Alien, Star Wars and Avatar franchises, much as Disney+'s recent TV hit Alien: Earth saw Noah Hawley recycling some of Blade Runner's more intriguing themes and ideas. Nothing overturns the general sense these series are done and dusted, their most compelling stories long mined, told and sold; the corporate hope is that the franchises remain big enough to generate sufficient light, heat and cash when two or more of them are bashed together like flints. Badlands' first and biggest jumpscare comes before the film's even begun with the revelation the BBFC have seen fit to award it a 12A certificate. A 12A-rated Predator spinoff is surely no right thinking person's idea of a good time at the movies, but then the new film - less Alien vs. Predator than Alien x Predator; a collab, as those who are now young enough to see it might say - isn't interested in bloody tooth-and-claw conflict so much as peacemaking and saleable synergy. Overseeing an alliance between a damaged Weyland-Yutani android (Elle Fanning) and wide-eyed, boyish Predator Dek (Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi), Trachtenberg's film dares to suggest the real Predators are the friends and deals we made along the way.
It's fan fiction, then, evident as early as a deathly prologue conducted in the Predators' native tongue, and chiefly of interest for what it reveals about the insecurities of those fanboys being paid handsomely to write it. Dek is dispatched on his mission by an overbearing father - tough even by Predator standards - who doesn't believe his boy has what it takes to be a warrior; some discussion of the differences between alpha and beta males ensues. Ominous references to "the company" would indicate Trachtenberg and Aison are no less aware of the compromises that result from leaping into partnership with corporate paymasters, even as their film shruggingly signs off on every last one of them. The lateral thinking Trachtenberg brought to his Cloverfield project has gone awry here, certainly: a stray, questionable writers' room spitball - what these Predators really need is a girlfriend - accounts for the shuttling on of the angelic Fanning, with her snub nose, can-do attitude and undying fascination with the finer points of Predator lore ("that plasma sword is interesting"). The absence of any real dramatic weight stems from a sense all of this is happening on - or has been generated by - a messageboard far, far away. The action is heavily digitised; the kills kept forever out of shot. We know the razor grass and the plants that fire paralysing darts won't do too much harm, because a) we're deep in franchise territory, where everybody gets out alive and b) that certificate serves as both spoiler and as good a review as any. This is Predator only, you know, for kids. If Badlands functions at all, it's as corporate housecleaning - allowing a studio to fold its franchises together - and/or mere technical exercise: the VFX wonks push the buttons that yield yet more merchandisable bugs, while the audience is once more reimmersed into the same virtual sci-fi environments as James Cameron's third Avatar film, opening next month and prominently trailed beforehand. Yes, some screenings of Badlands are in 3D; yes, you'll need glasses for that; yes, you'll have to pay extra for something that appears so conspicuously reduced. This kinder, gentler, live-laugh-prey confection - which ends, I kid you not, with a Predator forming his own clan with a possible wife and a big furry cat creature, and only the prospect of some future Disney+ sitcom (Predator's Nest?) lurking around the corner - operates under the misapprehension that everyone who thrilled to the 1987 original emerged thinking well, that was good, but I hope someone eventually does a version of it for children and nerds (if, indeed, there's now any distinction between the two). Make Predators fearsome again, that's what I say.
Predator: Badlands is now showing in cinemas nationwide.
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