Prey feels like a deep exhale for a franchise that’s been holding its breath for way too long. After years of overcomplication, lore overload, and tonal confusion, Prey does something refreshingly radical. It simplifies. It strips the concept back to its bones and remembers why Predator worked in the first place. A skilled hunter. A hostile environment. A deadly game of observation, patience, and survival. That clarity alone makes Prey feel like a minor miracle.
Set centuries before the original film, Prey follows a young Comanche woman determined to prove herself as a capable hunter. This shift in perspective immediately reframes the franchise in a way that feels purposeful rather than gimmicky. The setting isn’t just aesthetic window dressing. It fundamentally changes how the story functions. There are no automatic weapons, no satellite tech, no endless explosions. Survival here depends on awareness, ingenuity, and adaptability, which aligns perfectly with what makes the Predator threatening.
Silence Does the Heavy Lifting
One of the most striking things about Prey is how comfortable it is with quiet. This movie understands that tension isn’t built through noise, but through anticipation. Long stretches play out with minimal dialogue, allowing the environment to speak for itself. The plains, forests, and rivers feel vast and indifferent, places where danger could emerge at any moment.
That restraint pays off massively when the Predator finally reveals itself. Instead of dumping exposition or rushing into spectacle, the film introduces the creature gradually, through distorted movement, strange sounds, and subtle shifts in perspective. The Predator feels alien again. Mysterious. Dangerous. Not a walking lore encyclopedia.
A Protagonist Who Earns Every Victory
Amber Midthunder delivers a performance that anchors the entire film. Her character isn’t written as instantly exceptional or unrealistically dominant. She struggles. She fails. She learns. That progression is key to why Prey works so well. Watching her adapt to both the environment and the Predator’s tactics feels organic and earned.
What makes her compelling isn’t brute strength or bravado. It’s observation. She notices patterns others overlook. She uses intelligence and creativity rather than force, which makes the eventual confrontations far more satisfying. This is Predator as a thinking person’s survival story, not just a test of firepower.
The Predator Feels Dangerous Again
The creature design in Prey deserves real credit. This version of the Predator feels raw and unfamiliar, less polished, more brutal. Its technology is advanced but imperfect, which creates genuine unpredictability in combat. The film makes a smart choice by showing that the Predator isn’t infallible. It can be injured. It can miscalculate. That vulnerability doesn’t weaken the threat, it strengthens it.
Every encounter feels purposeful. There’s a clear sense of escalation as both hunter and hunted learn from each other. The action is cleanly staged, easy to follow, and brutal without feeling gratuitous. Prey never confuses chaos for intensity, which is something the franchise has struggled with before.
Respecting the Past Without Being Trapped by It
What’s most impressive about Prey is how it honors the original Predator without leaning on nostalgia as a crutch. There are visual and thematic echoes, but they’re subtle and meaningful. The film isn’t interested in winking at the audience or setting up sequels. It’s focused on telling a complete story, and that confidence shows.
At the same time, Prey brings a fresh cultural perspective that adds real texture to the narrative. The Comanche setting isn’t treated as a novelty. It’s integral to the story’s worldview, shaping how characters approach danger, honor, and survival. That authenticity gives the film emotional weight that most franchise entries never bother aiming for.
Back to Basics, Finally
Prey succeeds because it understands restraint. It knows when to pull back, when to linger, and when to strike. It trusts its audience to engage without constant explanation or forced humor. And most importantly, it remembers that Predator works best as a survival thriller, not a lore-heavy sci-fi circus.
I really liked Prey. It’s not flawless, but it’s confident, focused, and deeply satisfying in a way this franchise hasn’t been in decades. It proves that Predator doesn’t need bigger monsters or louder action. It just needs a smart story, a strong lead, and the patience to let tension breathe. That earns it a solid 4 out of 5, and a well-deserved place among the franchise’s best.