Predator : Badlands

There are moments when a long-running franchise suddenly feels reborn, not through nostalgia or a facelift, but through a fundamental shift in how its core mythology is approached. Predator: Badlands, directed with fierce conviction by Dan Trachtenberg, is exactly that moment: a reinvention so confident that it seems inevitable in hindsight. The film takes the most daring conceptual leap since the 1987 original, positioning the Predator not as an invisible terror, but as the emotional center of the story, without ever betraying what made this universe fascinating in the first place. What unfolds is a planetary odyssey of survival, identity, and reluctant camaraderie, carried by such tactile world-building and surprising character work that it becomes, without exaggeration, one of the best entries the franchise has ever produced. Dan Trachtenberg treats the Yautja not as mere killing machines, but as a culture with its contradictions, cruelties, and strange, wounded poetry; when the final images appear, the saga seems richer, more flexible, and more human, even though it contains no humans.

From the very first images on the Yautja's home planet, the film anchors itself in a familiar ritual—a young warrior proving his worth—but refracts it through the vulnerability of Dek, played by Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi, a runt by his clan's standards and the target of his imposing father Njohrr's contempt. Trachtenberg stages these early scenes not as elements of the story, but as wounds to the characters; the camera lingers on Dek's subtle hesitations, on how being smaller in a society obsessed with dominance turns into shame. The moment when Kwei, played by Mike Homik, chooses to spare his brother instead of obeying their father's order to kill him is the first emotional shock: a small act of compassion that triggers a tragedy and shapes the entire film. Dek's flight to Genna is less the beginning of a quest than a desperate attempt to escape a culture that has decided he is unworthy, a personal exile disguised as a rite of passage. The script feels both archetypal and strangely new, establishing a character whose narrative arc deserves the weight the film gives it.

Once on Genna, a beautifully realized deadly world where every plant and creature seems designed to mock the concept of safety, the film transforms into a relentless survival adventure reminiscent of both pulp science fiction novels and naturalist documentaries. Dan Trachtenberg, in collaboration with cinematographer Jeff Cutter, creates a visually maximalist landscape without ever feeling artificial: plains of sharp grasses that wave like meat grinders in the wind, creatures that drop stones onto chemical sacks to ignite organic napalm, vines that behave like predators in their own right. The details are astonishing, but the essence lies in how they shape Dek's psychology. Stripped of most of his equipment and battered by the environment at every turn, he is forced to improvise: trapping, observing, learning. His isolation amplifies every grunt and breath into a study in physical storytelling; Schuster-Koloamatangi's performance becomes a masterclass in nonverbal characterization, the kind of physical acting that awards tend to overlook but which quietly defines the soul of the film.

The turning point—and the stroke of creative genius that unifies the film's tone—comes with the introduction of Thia, played by Elle Fanning, a Weyland-Yutani synthetic who has been cut in half but remains cheerful, curious, and disconcertingly optimistic for someone lugging a severed torso around Genna. The image of Dek reluctantly carrying her around like a backpack is funny, sad, and strangely poignant. Thia's talkative nature becomes both a dramatic counterpoint and a source of moral friction; challenging Dek's belief that empathy is synonymous with weakness, while Dek's brutal pragmatism catches Thia off guard, pushing her beyond her programmed optimism. Their dynamic echoes classic mismatched duos in cinema, while remaining distinctly foreign thanks to the language barrier and the constant threat of annihilation that surrounds them. Elle Fanning brings a double brilliance: Thia's candid warmth contrasts with the frightening efficiency of her counterpart Tessa, also played by Elle Fanning, whose cold precision embodies everything Thia refuses to become. The scenes where the two versions of the same synthetic clash resemble miniature tragedies about identity and programming, a science-fiction echo of sibling tensions filtered through corporate exploitation.

As Dek, Thia, and Bud, a surprisingly endearing ape-like creature, traverse Genna, the film deepens into a nuanced reflection on the nature of strength. The Yautja credo—be no one's prey, be no one's friend—fractures under the weight of Dek's experiences, reshaped by small exchanges about group hierarchy, trust, and the function of memory. Dan Trachtenberg subtly references Westerns, particularly the silent company of distant wanderers forced to coexist in unforgiving terrain, and the emotional resonance is stronger than expected. Bud, far from being a mere cute marketing ploy, becomes an environmental bridge, a reminder that even in an ecosystem where it's kill or be killed, interspecies recognition can emerge. Dek's father taught him that strength is measured in trophies; Thia suggests that strength could be measured by what one protects. The film never reduces this tension to simplistic moralizing, but instead lets Dek discover, painfully and gradually, that the identity he was raised to inherit may not be worthy of him.

The spectacle, when it erupts, is one of the most imaginative in the franchise's history. The Kalisk, the imposing creature Dek seeks to kill, is not just a boss monster, but a creature whose regenerative abilities create tactical puzzles rather than pure brutal combat. A key scene, a parallel battle where Thia's severed legs fight independently while Dek attempts to outmaneuver the Kalisk, reaches a delirious level of creativity that feels both absurd and genuinely thrilling. Dan Trachtenberg's willingness to push practical effects, special effects, scale, and choreography into strange and kinetic configurations pays off on multiple levels. And by concealing the violence in alien biology (the Yautja's green blood, white synthetic fluid, the creatures' iridescent blood), the film retains its cruelty despite its PG-13 rating, proving that brutality is not so much a matter of color saturation as it is of momentum and intent.

The emotional crescendo of the story does not occur during the final confrontation, but in its revelations about loyalty and family. The reappearance of Tessa, armed by corporate mandate and stripped of all emotion, becomes the counterpoint that crystallizes Dek's transformation. The contrast between Thia's quasi-human empathy and Tessa's programmed cruelty reflects Dek's internal divisions. When Dek is finally confronted with the meaning of the word “family” — both the one he was born into and the one he built for himself — the film achieves a resonance rarely attempted in this franchise. Even the final twist, an incisive and humorous retort that reframes an oversight in Predator lore, serves as both a punchline and a promise: there is much more to this universe than decades of tradition would suggest.

What makes Predator: Badlands surprising is that it embraces reinvention without rejecting its heritage. It respects the creature's iconography—the hunt, the gear, the code—while dismantling the mentality behind it. It functions as a muscular adventure, a character drama, a sci-fi parable, and an extension of the franchise's mythology that feels belated rather than disruptive. Most importantly, it trusts its audience to follow a Predator protagonist for two hours without diluting its alien nature or softening its traits. In doing so, Dan Trachtenberg offers something rare: a blockbuster that expands its own possibilities while deepening its central theme.

For a franchise long defined by an external threat, transforming its fearsome hunter into an introspective main character should have been a gimmick. Instead, it becomes a revelation. Predator: Badlands rises to the level of the best films in the series, and often surpasses them in its boldness, personality, and cinematic clarity. It's not just a remarkable episode, it's a model of how an old intellectual property can evolve without giving up its identity. Predator: Badlands stands out as one of the most stimulating genre films of the year.

Predator: Badlands
Directed by Dan Trachtenberg
Written by Patrick Aison
Story by Dan Trachtenberg, Patrick Aison
Based on Characters by Jim Thomas, John Thomas
Produced by John Davis, Brent O'Connor, Marc Toberoff, Dan Trachtenberg, Ben Rosenblatt
Starring Elle Fanning, Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi
Cinematography: Jeff Cutter
Edited by Stefan Grube, David Trachtenberg
Music by Sarah Schachner, Benjamin Wallfisch
Production companies: Lawrence Gordon Productions, Davis Entertainment, Toberoff Entertainment
Distributed by 20th Century Studios (United States), The Walt Disney Company France (France)
Release dates: November 3, 2025 (Chinese Theatre), November 5, 2025 (France), November 7, 2025 (United States)
Running time: 107 minutes

Seen on November 5, 2025 at Gaumont Disney Village, Theater 11 IMAX, seat E21

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