Predators: A Manly Movie Review for a Man-Movie

Predators starts out right. Adrien Brody, the guy from The Piano, is asleep. BUT, he's asleep while he freefalls at a zillion miles an hour toward the planet with a parachute that won't fucking open. At the very last second the chute opens and he smashes into the ground at a slightly reduced speed next to Danny Trejo (Machete) and a mangled dead body. Being reformed as an action star in a man-movie, Adrien Brody pops his shoulder back into the socket, does his best Snake Plissken impression, and then mutters monosyllabic man-phrases for two more hours.

Fuck yes.

Being a huge fan of the first two Predator movies, yet present for the PG-13 travesties that came later, I expected only only a few things from this movie. First, I wanted to see a bunch of beefed up badasses getting killed in totally badass ways while they sacrificed themselves to take out the big uglies in R-rated awesomeness. Predators granted that wish. Now, in an effort to keep from you who survives and who doesn't, I won't give away the badass death scenes, but badassness ran amuck. Especially with the silent Yakuza guy in a three-piece suit who strutted around the Jungle barefoot and took on a Predator with a katana.

More fuck yes.

Secondly, I wanted the movie to not completely suck. I really waited for this movie to start sucking it up at any minute. It surprised me by not devolving into lame talkity nonsense about how "the men need to rest" or "what it means to be human" like Tears of the Sun did. This movie took a few moments to acknowledge that these feelings exist in the normal world and then ignored them with the utmost expediency. Sacrifice in this movie only existed so the mean SOBs could kick more ass and the only rest they took was so they could kick even more ass. That's it.

You want plot? Rent Casablanca. You want dramatic character interaction? Rent The Piano. But here, in the world where Predators hunt humans for sport, you need to take a lesson from Adrien Brody. Check your Academy Award expectations at the door and grab a hundred-round drum clip. There ain't no room for wusses.