Predator: Badlands continues the revival started by Prey with this "buddy movie"

4 out of 5

The Predator franchise, much like its titular hunters, has historically stalked the cinematic landscape with stealthy, inconsistent intent. For decades, the series struggled to replicate the primal, sweaty tension of the 1987 original with Arnold Scharzenegger. Then came Dan Trachtenberg’s 2022 masterpiece, Prey, which achieved the seemingly impossible: it stripped away the noise, relocated the hunt to the raw American wilderness of 1719, and delivered a survival thriller that stands shoulder-to-shoulder with the best of the genre.

With Predator: Badlands, Trachtenberg doesn't just replicate the success of Prey; he annihilates the established formula, launching the franchise into the deep future, into the very heart of the Alien/Predator canon, and making a bold, almost blasphemous narrative pivot and I loved it. For the first time, a Yautja—the species commonly known as the Predator—is our protagonist. This isn't just a gimmick; it’s a radical inversion that transforms the series from a creature feature into an emotionally charged, high-concept, sci-fi action-adventure buddy movie. While it sacrifices some of the suffocating, horror-adjacent menace of its predecessors, it gains something far more valuable: a beating heart.

The film opens not in the dark jungles of Earth, but on Yautja Prime, giving us the most comprehensive and fascinating glimpse yet into the warrior culture of the Predators. We are introduced to Dek (Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi), a young Yautja who is, by the cruel standards of his species, a "runt." Trachtenberg and co-writer Patrick Aison immediately establish a surprisingly complex, almost Shakespearean family drama: Dek is despised by his tyrannical father, Njohrr, the clan leader, who views his son's smaller stature and perceived weakness as a cultural blight, ordering his death in a tense opening sequence.

This prologue, while dialogue-heavy (Dek's Yautja dialogue is rendered via subtitles, a daring choice that pays off immediately by lending instant intimacy to the creature), is crucial. It provides Dek with tangible, traumatic motivations: his quest is not just for a trophy, but for recognition and self-worth in a society that only values brute strength.

Dek flees his home world and crash-lands on Genna, a planet instantly christened "The Death Planet". It is here that Badlands truly begins its masterclass in world-building. Genna is not just a jungle; it is an active, malevolent ecosystem determined to kill everything on it. The filmmakers utilize Jeff Cutter's dynamic cinematography to showcase a landscape teeming with inventive, deadly fauna and flora. We see "razor grass" that slices through armour, exploding caterpillar-like creatures, and massive, terrifying predators that aren't the Kalisk, but merely background threats.

For a while, the planet itself becomes the central antagonist, replacing the single, stealthy hunter of previous films. This shift in scale works brilliantly, forcing Dek, the supposed hunter, into a role of pure survival. The intricate way the script—and Trachtenberg's direction—references back to environmental details, showing how Dek learns and exploits the planet’s dangers for his own means, is supremely satisfying. It demonstrates a thoughtful construction that respects the rules it establishes, unlike so many science fiction films.

The structural simplicity of the plot—outcast on a quest to prove himself—is complicated (and perfected) by the introduction of the film’s co-lead: Thia (Elle Fanning), a damaged Weyland-Yutani synthetic. Yes, Weyland-Yutani, the "evil" corporstion from the Alien franchise are on the planet already, harvesting bio-weapons.

Thia is the heart and unexpected comedic center of the film. We meet her literally legless, having been dismembered by Genna’s aggressive ecosystem while on a mission to capture the Kalisk, the ten-meter-tall apex predator that Dek has vowed to hunt. Thia offers Dek a deal: she will use her extensive knowledge of Genna's terrain, flora, and fauna to help him track the Kalisk if he carries her to the scene of her team's massacre to retrieve her missing appendages and potentially resurrect her "sister" synthetic, Tessa.

What ensues is a wonderfully perverse take on the buddy road movie. Fanning is astonishing in her dual role as both the relentlessly, almost tragically optimistic Thia and the cold, ruthlessly logical Tessa. As Thia, she channels a disarmingly cheerful, chatty energy that is the perfect foil for Dek’s guttural silence and stoicism. Their dialogue, mostly Thia's monologue against Dek’s grunts and exasperated body language, is consistently hilarious. Dek constantly refers to her only as "tool," yet his pragmatic reliance on her expertise slowly evolves into something resembling respect, and even affection.

This relationship is the true engine of Badlands. It allows Trachtenberg to explore the philosophical core of the Predator franchise in a way no previous entry has. Through Thia’s persistent, almost naive empathy and her constant questioning, Dek is forced to confront the toxic nature of his Yautja code. Thia, a machine, is striving to define her own, self-taught humanity, while Dek, a biological being, has been conditioned to equate concepts like empathy, grief, and memory with weakness. The film powerfully argues that true strength is found not in adhering to an ancient, rigid doctrine of 'alpha' hunting, but in the vulnerable act of forging a trusting partnership.

Schuster-Koloamatangi, despite being encased in the Dek suit for the majority of the film, delivers an incredibly expressive performance. His eyes, the tilt of his masked head, and his physical reactions communicate volumes, making the non-human character wildly relatable. When Thia teases him about his double rows of teeth—"Which does the chewing, your outside fangs or your inside teeth?"—the comedic timing lands because we, the audience, are invested in Dek’s prickly disposition being slowly worn down.

The addition of Bud, a monkey-sized native creature that Thia adopts and nicknames, further softens the edges of the narrative, leaning into the heart-of-gold sidekick trope. While some legacy fans might find these elements too "cutesy" or a dilution of the franchise's edge, these character dynamics are precisely what make Badlands such a refreshing and vital installment. The film refuses to be just another hunt; it demands that you care about who is doing the hunting, and why.

Trachtenberg's vision for the action in Badlands is undeniably grander than the contained ferocity of Prey. The set-pieces here are spectacles of planetary warfare, pitting our heroes not just against the formidable Kalisk, but against the environment, corporate threats (in the form of Tessa's reactivation and the overarching Weyland-Yutani presence), and even Dek's own kin.

The Kalisk itself is a magnificent, terrifying creature design—spiny, dagger-toothed, and possessing an unnerving capacity for regeneration. The initial encounters between Dek and the Kalisk are inventive, emphasizing strategy over brute force, requiring Dek to use the treacherous terrain and Thia’s scientific knowledge to stand a chance.

However, the film does not escape criticism entirely in the action department. By shifting the central focus to a protagonist we are encouraged to root for, the franchise’s trademark menace inevitably takes a hit. The Predator, once an unstoppable force of nature, is now the vulnerable party, and some action sequences—particularly those involving Dek fighting other Yautja or Weyland-Yutani synthetics—feel less galvanizing than the creature-feature elements. The film maintains a surprising amount of gore, which is impressive given the studio’s decision to pursue a 12A rating, but the palpable sense of dread from the original film is absent. Badlands doesn't aim for horror; it aims for epic adventure, and it succeeds wildly on those terms, even if a few sequences feel hurried by the film’s brisk 107-minute runtime.

Crucially, the film boldly and successfully expands the Predator canon by cementing its relationship with the Alien franchise through the deep involvement of Weyland-Yutani. The inclusion of synthetics like Thia and Tessa, and the mention of the MUTHER A.I. overseer, are more than simple Easter eggs; they are foundational plot devices that suggest an exciting, integrated future for this sci-fi universe. This is a significant risk, as previous crossovers (looking at you, AvP) failed due to over-complication, but Trachtenberg threads the needle perfectly. The corporate machinations are kept to the necessary minimum, serving primarily to introduce Thia’s character complexity and raise the stakes for Dek’s quest, without becoming a distraction from the main survival narrative.

The greatest triumph of Predator: Badlands is its creative bravery. This is the rare studio blockbuster that doesn't feel like it’s checking boxes. It operates with the joyful, pulpy abandon of a 1990s comic book, yet is constructed with the thoughtfulness of modern prestige sci-fi. By having a Predator as the hero and framing the entire narrative as a journey of self-discovery and found-family, Trachtenberg has done what was unthinkable: he made the audience care deeply about the creature behind the mask.

For legacy fans seeking only the stripped-down, suspenseful horror of the original, Badlands might be a challenging shift. But for those willing to embrace a grander, more heartfelt, and frankly, funnier science-fiction adventure, this film is a tremendous success. It confirms Dan Trachtenberg as the savior and chief innovator of this decades-old franchise, proving that even the most relentless killers can learn the value of a friend.

It’s bold, bizarre, beautiful, and bloody good.