Film critic Michael Phillips says “Predators” is a cinematic stab in the dark.
“Predators,” plural, starts well and ends poorly, and in the middle it’s in the middle. The original 1987 “Predator,” featuring future politicians Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jesse Ventura, was an entertaining hybrid of the commando genre and “Alien“-inspired science fiction. The new one, directed by Nimród Antal (“Kontroll“), lifts its building blocks from an unproduced 1990s script by Robert Rodriguez, who ended up producing the revised screenplay by Alex Litvak and Michael Finch.
For a while it’s a worthy successor, or remake, or whatever it is. Instead of the Central American jungle of the original, the action takes place somewhere “else,” let’s say (the reveal comes early, but who am I to spoil your day?). In the prologue a motley multinational crew of thugs drops from the sky, having free-fallen from places unknown. They do not know each other and hail from different countries — Japan, Russia, what have you. “What is this, a dream? Hell? “What if we’re dead?” asks one of the eight, clearly a fan of “Lost.”
Soon enough they determine their location and who’s trying to eviscerate them…
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— Michael Phillips
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