Predator: Badlands promised to deliver what drew many fans to the franchise in the first place: visceral action, relentless hunts, and a hyper-masculine warrior ethos grounded in honour and survival. The titular Predators, with their ritualistic hunts and strict codes, embody a universe where skill, courage, and cunning dictate respect. This is a world steeped in a certain mythic masculinity — fierce, ritualised, and unapologetically primal.
The protagonist, Dex, seems poised to navigate this brutal landscape with the stoicism and competence that such a setting demands. For much of the film, we feel the tension of a hunter playing predator in a foreign and unforgiving terrain, with the promise of high-octane action sequences reminiscent of the original films.
And then arrives the "girl boss" android, a chatterbox companion whose relentless commentary rarely lets the protagonist operate in silence. Suddenly, the narrative shifts. The weight of the warrior society, the ritual of survival, and the raw spectacle of hunter-versus-hunted action are diluted by what feels like a politically correct interjection. The android's presence, while possibly intended as comic relief or narrative foil, undermines the isolation and gravitas of Dex's journey. It's hard not to feel that the film's hyper-masculine fantasy is being subtly critiqued — or even rolled over — by feminist tropes.
This is particularly striking in a story that could have explored cosmic multiculturalism — a pure narrative of alien honour codes clashing with human ingenuity. Instead of focusing on the predators themselves and their intricate culture, the plot diverts attention to human relational dynamics. Dialogue-heavy banter, personal debates, and the ever-present "wisecracking companion" trope shift the focus from the raw, ritualistic violence that made the franchise distinctive.
In other words, Predator: Badlands starts in the right place but hesitates at the edge of its own mythology. The predators, in their stoic and alien honour, promise a universe where traditional masculine virtues, courage, honor, focus, and skill — are tested against cosmic challenges. Yet the human subplot, complete with an overbearing AI companion, consistently interrupts that immersion. What could have been a celebration of interstellar warrior culture becomes instead a hybrid narrative where alien culture is filtered through contemporary Earthly woke social norms.
Fans seeking the cold, brutal elegance of Predator society may leave disappointed. The movie's action sequences are competent, even thrilling at times, but the thematic resonance — the tension between survival, honour, and alien ethics — is often drowned out by chatter and interpersonal distraction. There's a sense that the film wants to be both a hyper-masculine spectacle and a nod to modern feminist sensibilities, and in trying to balance the two, it undermines both.
Ultimately, Predator: Badlands is a cautionary example of what happens when a story built around cosmic, culturally distinct alien societies is forced to cater to Earthly debates. A film that had chosen to focus purely on the predator culture, their honour-bound hunts, and the protagonist's engagement with that society might have achieved something closer to true cosmic multiculturalism: an exploration of ethics, power, and ritual through an alien lens. Instead, we get a partially grounded action film whose philosophical bite is muffled by incessant dialogue and human social commentary.
For viewers interested in adrenaline-fueled hunting sequences, there's plenty to enjoy. For those hoping for a pure dive into the predator's ritualistic, warrior ethos, the film is an exercise in frustration — a reminder that sometimes, the cosmic stage is best left to the aliens themselves.