[rating=2]
We’re falling. Falling, spinning, hurtling through the air, plummeting to certain death. The Flay-like mercenary, Royce claws at his parachute, desperately trying to punch it open before he liquefies on the forest floor that’s rapidly eating up the space below him.
On the deck he’s swallowed up by imposing capital letters that stamp the screen in the form of the title: “PREDATORS.” It’s an impressive opening, but the trouble with throwing a mercenary out of an invisible plane means your movie can only go the same way as Royce. Down.
That’s not to say that Robert Rodriguez’ script, dusted off from the 90’, isn’t without its merits. As Royce gradually collects a motley crew of murderers, assassins and those much missed stalwarts of the 80s action scene – the Yakuza, their predicament intrigues us. We wonder how those over-familiar aliens will be revealed, which badass will be wasted first and who, if anyone, will survive?
“This is hell,” says one of the killers, twitchy and nervous. Royce, the de facto leader of the group, sneers at any attempt to reason their situation, “It doesn’t matter how we got here or why.” He might as well be growling at the “LOST” generation and their rigorous analysis of popcorn entertainment as he locks and loads his oversized weapon. Sometimes you must simply believe the scenario in front of you.
Rodriguez’ return to the 80s sentiments of slam, bang rock and roll action is all very well and good if that action is directed at the sharp end of a hand grenade and an Uzi. Sadly Rodriguez turned directorial duties over to Nimrod Antal, who seems to have left his live ordinance at home.
So when the Predators finally emerge from the jungle on their deadly dreadlock holiday, the fireworks are more Dolph Lundgren than Arnold Schwarzenegger. The carefully constructed suspense of the opening act is sacrificed and butchered like the bloody cadavers found by Royce and his homicidal troop on their fateful journey.
Adrien Brody, however, manages to hold the movie together – somewhat – with his enigmatic turn as Royce. Imagine Dutch from the original “Predator” run over by a steamroller, picked up, stretched out and forced to chew gravel to give him his rasping Clint Eastwood voice – and you’re close to Brody’s performance.
Aided and abetted by John Debney’s beefed up interpretation of Alan Silvestri’s classic score, “Predators” only seems to disappoint all the more. The promise of Rodriguez’ remake, reboot, re-imagining, call it what you will, is never really fulfilled. If the final cut resembles a big budget version of “Turkey Shoot” or “Gymkata” rather than the lean, mean killing machine of the first movie – why bother in the first place?