Prey (2022)

I was just graduated from high school when Alien vs Predator released and, from the marketing fervor around it, I knew I was supposed to think that clash of franchises was a big deal. Although my parents were and are big sci-fi fans, I had seemingly missed both franchises, though, rendering AVP as a movie I never even thought to see. My first film in the franchise was The Predator a few years back; my lack of institutional knowledge posed no problem for me there. 

Because I have such a limited history with the Predator franchise, I hesitated about turning on Prey, the newest entry streaming exclusively on Hulu. It wasn’t so much a concern about missing something as a non-fan—I understood these films don’t exactly build that kind of mythos—as simply a lack of interest. The best reviews I heard and read came from longtime fans of the franchise. I took their endorsement as coming from a different place than would serve me. 

But the concept behind Prey intrigued me. I love those alternate pathway stories that play with convention. always thinking of Red Son, the Superman comic series that imagines Kal-El landing in Communist Russia rather than Metropolitan City. I had real curiosity about how a violent and advanced alien killing machine would grapple with Comanche warriors. It was different and I wanted to see it play out, a fact that combined with a series of insistent recommendations to compel me to watch over dinner. 

And I’m glad I did because Prey impressed me. 

Prey follows the intense and often grisly conflicts that arise when a Predator arrives on earth in Comanche hunting land centuries ago. As soon as it’s shimmering but translucent feet hit the ground, violent confrontation looms, but the story focuses first on Naru (Amber Midthunder), a talented Comanche healer who prefers to hunt. Her brother Taabe (Dakota Beavers) who leads the hunting parties humors her but doesn’t hesitate to diminish her obvious skill or discourage her participation. When the Predator arrives, though, it begins to attack everything in sight except Naru, whom it deems a non-threat. Soon, though, it is Naru who must contend with the ruthless hunter and try to outsmart it despite its abundant physical and technological advantages. 

The success of Prey owes great credit to its fun premise, but that premise only soars because of Midthunder. Although the first act is a familiar conceit—the younger sister wants to participate but is discouraged from working in the “man’s” world—even that section still plays behind the leading performance. Midthunder, whom I knew only from her work on Legion, is perfectly cast: her diminutive stature and young face lend instantly to the idea that both the tall and muscular hunters and the massive Predator would see her as physically unimposing. Likewise, this heightens the drama when she gets sucked into a skirmish: there’s a terrifying menace to seeing her face off against larger foes and forces. But it’s not just her stature that plays but her expressive intensity as well. We see big swings of emotion in her eyes that range from mortal fear to gritty determination and even diabolical hatred; when she enhances those looks by painting her face, she becomes not just a clever problem-solver and rooting interest but a haunting threat of her own with demons to exorcise. 

Even with such a great character and performance at its center, Prey still could have been a silly exercise, but this is a film that not only excels in its story but that looks and sounds great in every frame. This is a beautifully filmed work with grand sweeping shots of the Great Plains but also intense close-ups of muddied and bloodied faces alike. Despite the vast battleground, there’s a sense of intimate geography present too; I felt like I could follow Naru’s planning because the filmmakers familiarized us with the terrain in a way that made her decisions feel logical and satisfying. The soundscape of this natural world comes out wonderfully—we hear Naru approaching the hungry party early on through the same slight sound the men do, for instance—and contributes to the immersive depth of this world. The score is also great, evocative and stirring while used in just the right moments. 

Not knowing the Predator franchise well coming in, maybe it’s wrong of me to make this statement but I will anyhow: a super powerful alien hunter movie didn’t inherently demand the quality craftsmanship and thought that Prey delivers. With a few clever kills and enough story, CGI, and fake blood to get from A to B, the result could have surely still experienced moderate success from its built in loyal fans without pushing itself. But the team behind this film went hard on making Prey sing and that effort shows, making what could have been a fun but disposable sci-fi slasher into something far greater. It’s hard not to admire and appreciate that effort. 

The Bad Guys (2022)

Effectively a heist movie for a children’s audience, The Bad Guys mimics the slick style of the Ocean’s trilogy. It’s got the cuts and costumes and double-crosses and MacGuffins you’d expect from a genre staple, but it also features zany, child-friendly plot lines with zombie Guinea pigs and (explicit and methodical) lessons about how to be nice. I like this in theory far more than in its execution but, even when I knew what was coming from a mile away, I found this earnest spoof enjoyable enough. 

The Big Bad Wolf (Sam Rockwell) leads a gang of criminal masterminds, his surly best friend Snake (Marc Maron) among them. Pulling off elaborate thefts and toying with the police along the way, the five outcasts live together as friends, but things change when Wolf’s gang is badmouthed by Governor Diane Foxington (Zazie Beetz), prompting the proud Wolf to lead a rushed operation at a charity gala. While there, Wolf inadvertently saves an old lady and gets a taste for good deeds which stirs conflict among his crew. They oppose his new lease and want one last high-stakes job, even when they get caught red-handed and must rehabilitate themselves working with philanthropist Professor Marmalade (Richard Ayoade). But a grander conspiracy swirls around the bad guys and Wolf can’t help but be sucked into its center. 

I caught a trailer for this months ago and, while the “breaking good” story intrigued me, it was the unique animation that drew me in first. It evoked Into the Spiderverse for me in a way, an effect that wasn’t lost watching at home from my kitchen. Up close, though, the limited detail and cartoonish faces of the animal characters could be seen. There was still something visually interesting about it, particularly when the varied animals burst into action, but the novelty had a short half life. 

The Bad Guys includes an eclectic but notable voice cast beyond Rockwell, Maron, and Beetz, with Awkwafina, Craig Robinson, and Anthony Ramos rounding out Wolf’s crew. Outside of Ramos, who has a blast with the wildest performance including a lively musical number that showcases his vocal chops, though, the voice work felt oddly generic. Even after looking up the performers behind the characters mid-movie, I struggled to hear them in the roles—isn’t that the point of stunt casting celebrities? A lot of that issue probably falls to Rockwell capturing the cool conflicted vibe of Wolf but playing things so understated and Clooney-esque: I love Rockwell but a kid-ified script and what feels like an impression robs his work of memorability. 

Having never read the books that inspired the film, I enjoyed a plot full of surprises and changing allegiances that never robbed the film of its gentleness or accessibility. Are all of these telegraphed? Oh, for sure—you’ve seen everything here before in better films. But that familiarity bothered me less in a movie made for a young audience. Give me this over Sherlock Gnomes any day. I do fear that some of this twisting results in mixed messaging for younger viewers—bad being good and good being bad could leave an aftertaste of TRUST NO ONE EVER—but a film about redemption arcs and accountability is nice to offer up. 

As one might expect from a childrens’ caper, The Bad Guys isn’t high art with dynamic characterization or smooth pacing. Elements don’t always add up here and things lurch between tropey set pieces from better-crafted adult movies. But I won’t lambast a kids’ movie, particularly one that entertained me and kept me engaged, even when it seemed to aim lower than its aesthetic and idea seemed capable of. I’d watch a sequel for sure. 

Let Them All Talk (2020)

I have a history of watching films superficially similar to Let Them All Talk. I outright rented Poms (2019); I had a theater to myself for a screening of Book Club (2018). I have no idea why—although I might speculate around a fondness for the Grumpy Old Men franchise—but that history certainly informed my choice to seek out Let Them All Talk, the Steven Soderbergh-directed cruise movie released during the pandemic. Whereas I think of this as Diane Keaton’s genre, the presence of Meryl Streep (as well as Soderbergh behind the camera) piqued my interest. What would these Hollywood heavyweights bring to this gentle but predictable genre?

For most of the film, the answer was a fresh perspective, with rich relationship dynamics, an endearing-if-silly espionage plot line, and both the ancillary characters and sufficient intrigue to keep me engaged even while cleaning up a small cup of Greek yogurt that fell three feet from my unreliable hands and somehow splashed all the way to the ceiling. I thought that I had stumbled onto an “old ladies movie” gem and I eagerly waited to find out where it would go. 

This was a mistake. 

Because it went precisely where all the others do. 

Alice (Streep) is a celebrated New York City author with a dilemma: she has received a prestigious British literary prize but can’t fly. Her new agent, Karen (Gemma Chan), suggests she take a cruise on the Queen Mary 2 and Alice accepts on the condition of bringing a trio of guests. Two are her estranged friends from college: Susan (Dianne Wiest), a lawyer who comes with an optimistic outlook, and Roberta (Candice Bergen), a retail saleswoman who holds a grudge and plans to confront Alice over a particular grievance. Also tagging along is Alice’s nephew Tyler (Lucas Hedges) who lends a hand as his favorite aunt’s pseudo-assistant. 

The majestic boat—it is effectively a horizontal hotel floating in the Atlantic—makes for a grand setting for reconnection…but Alice has other plans. Informing her guests that she plans to work on her new manuscript the whole time, she’ll see them at dinners. Probably. This complicates things: Roberta stews and begins aggressive flirting while waiting to pounce, Susan shrugs and tries to enjoy her escape, and Tyler gets roped into a plot by Karen to unearth dirt about Alice’s manuscript to report back to her publishing house. The ship is gargantuan but far from infinite; these issues, among others, will all come to a head. 

Those pieces all combine to generate far more drama than I initially inspected. Roberta’s bitter fury crackles; what revelations will the inevitable confrontation unearth? Tyler and the much-older Karen have a warm chemistry; where will their relationship go? Susan and Karen both hit it off with thriller writer Kelvin (Dan Algrant); how will that play out and impact the aloof and pretentious Alice? And why in the world did Alice orchestrate this entire trip? 

That last question is key but also where Let Them All Talk goes awry. The answer is…well? It’s probably one thing but it plays out as another thing and that other thing is so conventional that it sucks all the air out of the film’s ending. This fresh take on familiar fare suddenly turns into familiar fare. For such a simple premise, this had a swearing, yogurt-cleaning me genuinely intrigued, but then seemed to dip its script into a bowl of cliches to clean up all of the glorious messiness it had set up. 

And those cliches rendered the film instantaneously inert. At one point during the final scenes, characters sit down and debate what they should next do. The question couldn’t help but sound meta-textual even though it was rhetorical: now you do what the characters do in every one of these movies. 

What’s the penalty for a film like Let Them All Talk that squanders everything in the last fifteen minutes? I really enjoyed the setting on the massive cruise liner, Streep was solid as the enigmatic Alice who can’t face her friends but wants them nearby, and I grinned many times throughout the dalliances between Hedges’ and Chan’s characters. I don’t dislike this genre that, even when it condescends, leaves me with a bit more perspective on the privilege of relative youth. But the ending undoes my good cheer and my willingness to laud this as something greater than its genre’s middling staples. 

This a good movie, except for the parts that are trite and terrible. This is a bad movie, except for the parts that feel fresh and populated by characters with depth interacting in an immaculate setting. I wouldn’t have thought this film would land here in such a mediocre place, but I guess I didn’t thing yogurt from a small cup could leap ten vertical feet either.

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