Predator: Badlands – Film Review

Dan Trachtenberg’s Predator: Badlands isn’t just a sequel — it’s a seismic leap forward for one of cinema’s most enduring science fiction sagas. Following the success of his stripped-down prequel Prey (2022), Trachtenberg once again demonstrates his mastery of world-building and tension, but this time with a grander, more mythic scope. The result is an electrifying, soulful, and visually staggering addition to the Predator canon that combines visceral creature action with a surprisingly affecting emotional arc. It’s not just the best Predator film since the 1987 original — it may very well redefine what this franchise can be.

The film’s premise, centered on Dek, a young and “runt” Predator exiled to prove himself on the savage planet Genna, sounds straightforward enough — a lone hunter facing impossible odds to claim honor. Yet Trachtenberg and his creative team infuse this premise with astonishing nuance and world-building depth. Badlands feels like the first Predator film to truly explore Yautja culture beyond the thrill of the hunt. It transforms their mythos into something both primal and poetic, giving audiences a story that is as much about survival and identity as it is about dominance and warfare.

Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi delivers a remarkable performance beneath the heavy prosthetics and motion capture as Dek, the outcast Yautja whose physical fragility becomes a mirror for emotional vulnerability. Schuster-Koloamatangi conveys a remarkable amount through physicality — subtle head tilts, measured breathing, and expressive movements — turning what could have been a purely monstrous role into a profoundly empathetic one. Dek’s journey from disgrace to defiant warrior unfolds with Shakespearean resonance, driven by a yearning for belonging and justice that feels wholly new for this franchise.

Elle Fanning is equally mesmerizing in dual roles as Thia and Tessa, two Weyland-Yutani synthetics whose divergent philosophies reflect the duality of humanity and artificiality. As Thia, Fanning brings warmth and sorrow to a character literally pieced back together, while her portrayal of Tessa radiates cold authority and corporate precision. Watching the two clash — emotionally, intellectually, and physically — is one of the film’s most rewarding dynamics. Through Thia, Badlands adds an unexpected tenderness to its brutal universe. Her partnership with Dek evolves into something strangely beautiful — not romantic, but symbiotic, grounded in mutual loss and resilience.

Predator: Badlands is also just absolutely breathtaking to look at. Cinematographer Jeff Cutter, who also shot Prey, crafts a palette that is both nightmarish and breathtaking. The planet Genna is a hostile Eden — lush jungles pulsing with bioluminescent fauna, endless crimson deserts where storms of glass whip across the horizon, and subterranean ruins that shimmer with alien architecture. Every frame feels deliberate, painting Genna as both death trap and living organism. Trachtenberg’s direction uses the environment not just as backdrop, but as an active force — a crucible that tests and transforms its inhabitants.

The creature design is another major highlight. The Kalisk, glimpsed only briefly in the trailers, is a masterclass in practical and digital effects integration. It’s a towering, regenerative apex predator — terrifying not only for its physical might, but for its quiet intelligence. The action sequences featuring Dek’s confrontation with the Kalisk are constructed with stunning clarity and tension, especially a mid-film encounter set amidst a geyser field that erupts in bursts of steam and flame. Trachtenberg stages combat like a ballet of brutality — measured, tactile, and full of weight.

Composer Sarah Schachner and Benjamin Wallfisch’s score, blending orchestral bombast with haunting percussive tones and tribal instrumentation, amplifies the film’s emotional and thematic textures. The music underscores the loneliness of the hunt, the tragedy of legacy, and the dual nature of predator and prey.

One of Badlands’ greatest achievements lies in how it reframes the Predator mythos without discarding its roots. It honors the franchise’s legacy of survival-driven storytelling — humans (or otherwise) pushed to their limits — while expanding it into something mythic. The Yautja aren’t just intergalactic trophy hunters anymore; they’re a civilization grappling with the ethics of strength and the cost of honor. Trachtenberg’s screenplay, co-written with Patrick Aison, imbues these alien rituals with striking emotional clarity. Dek’s conflict with his father, Njohrr, hints at generational cycles of violence and expectation — the eternal burden of proving worth in a society defined by conquest.

Despite its heavy thematic core, the film never forgets to thrill. The set pieces are breathtaking, from the initial crash landing on Genna — a sequence of sheer chaos and sensory overload — to the final showdown that blends practical creature effects, slow-building suspense, and cathartic ferocity. Trachtenberg has a gift for pacing; the film breathes between bursts of chaos, allowing moments of quiet connection and dread to simmer.

If there’s any minor fault, it’s that the third act occasionally teeters on overextension. A few exposition-heavy exchanges surrounding Weyland-Yutani’s motivations slightly blunt the film’s otherwise lean narrative. Still, these moments are quickly redeemed by the film’s emotional payoff, which feels earned rather than forced.

Predator: Badlands also benefits from its bold decision to center non-human characters without sacrificing accessibility. By positioning Dek as the emotional anchor, the film invites empathy for what has traditionally been a monstrous species. His bond with Thia and the creature Bud injects unexpected warmth into an otherwise brutal saga. Their interactions — filled with curiosity, fear, and tentative trust — evoke shades of The Iron Giant and District 9 in their ability to humanize the alien.

Technically, the film is astonishing. The combination of practical makeup, animatronics, and CGI achieves an immersive realism rarely seen in modern blockbusters. Each creature and environment feels tactile, and the choreography of motion capture performances is seamless. The sound design, too, is impeccable — every guttural growl, metallic scrape, and thundering impact feels immediate and enveloping.

Perhaps most impressive is how Trachtenberg balances scale with intimacy. Despite its cosmic setting and elaborate lore, the film remains focused on a handful of characters and the relationships that define them. This restraint gives Badlands its emotional power. Beneath the carnage lies a story about survival through connection — how even the fiercest creatures seek understanding, not just dominance.

By its conclusion, Predator: Badlands stands as a work of thrilling reinvention — brutal yet soulful, ambitious yet grounded. It expands the series’ mythology while deepening its emotional resonance, proving that longevity doesn’t mean stagnation. The Predator franchise has rarely felt this alive, this dangerous, or this human.

Predator: Badlands is a ferocious, visually dazzling, and emotionally charged sci-fi epic that propels the franchise into uncharted territory. Fueled by Dan Trachtenberg’s visionary direction and standout performances from Elle Fanning and Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi, it’s both a haunting odyssey of redemption and a masterclass in cinematic world-building.