Prey

This is Midthunder’s show, through and through. She makes for an immensely compelling lead, both tough and vulnerable, her large, expressive eyes communicating every wisp of emotion. The actor must have trained for months prior to filming, as she displays a set of skills that would make Taken‘s Bryan Mills blush. The rest of the cast fares well, Naru’s brother Taabe (Dakota Beavers) especially convincing as the “less-toxic-than-others” warrior.

Naru (Amber Midthunder) and the Predator (Dane DiLiegro), shown. (Photo by David Bukach.)

“This is Midthunder’s show, through and through.”

The most effective parts of Prey are those that are wordless, letting the action and imagery speak for themselves. To avoid the issue of having the cast learn an ancient language, Apocalypto-style, or worse, fake an accent, the filmmakers immediately sort of inform us that it’s all been translated. Still, when the characters do speak, it feels a tad clunky and anachronistic. Don’t come here looking for depth either, although the feature’s feminist motifs are pleasantly unforced, adding to the story rather than distracting with preachy polemic.

Prey was never intended to be Shakespearean fare. What it sets out to accomplish, it does so masterfully, marking arguably the best entry in the series so far (let’s face it, McTiernan’s original hasn’t aged all that well, the sequels are subpar, and the Adrien Brody reboot is rudimentary at best). Trachtenberg and Co keep things humble, never resorting to bombast, cheap emotional manipulation, or soulless spectacle. At 90 or so minutes, Prey is a lean, mean machine without an ounce of fat on its muscular body. It’s a reminder that this land was populated long before we, the original predators, overtook it, a subtle treatise of “man as predator,” but mostly, a vicious, wildly entertaining flick that’s bound to become the new classic in the series.