short film reviews, criticism, and occasional musing.

Friday, July 16, 2010

Predators (2010, USA)

Adrien Brody may be the glummest action hero in the history of the genre (no, Alain Delon doesn’t count). With his hangdog eyes, Christian Bale Batman growl and ridiculous abs, there’s not a lot about Brody’s anti-hero hero that exactly makes sense, but then . . . . this is Predators. Who the fuck cares? Let’s see some folks get disemboweled real good.

One of my gripes about Predators, which, while not particularly inspired, is certainly one of the more entertaining of summer 2010’s dull crop of “blockbusters”, is that it is in fact a bit light on the disembowelings, eviscerations, and other sundry splatter. Why introduce such a team of unlikable jerks if you’re going to deny us, by and large, from the pleasure of seeing their guts ripped from their bodies? (And by all means, feel free to call me out on the seeming self-contradiction between that statement and my review of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.) What there is ample opportunity for here, however, is a great game of “who dies first?”, one which I must confess I lost miserably, despite receiving a whopping clue from a friend just before entering the theater.

Though a third-act reveal is rather obvious from the get-go, and Predators largely runs out of gas about halfway through, these things don’t erase the enjoyment of the film’s set-up, which is by and large executed well by director Nimrod Antal. (If you haven’t seen his 2003 film Kontroll, I highly recommend it. Antal knows from atmosphere.) If slightly above-middling action fare is what you’re looking for this summer, Predators might be your best bet. (How’s that for damning with faint praise?) Plus, I bet you’ve been missing Topher Grace and Fat Laurence Fishburne, haven’t you? Who hasn’t?

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