Dan Trachtenberg’s Prey does something remarkable: it strips the Predator franchise back to its primal essence while injecting it with new vitality. Set in the Northern Great Plains of 1719, this prequel trades high-tech weaponry for tomahawks and trading post rifles, pitting the iconic extraterrestrial hunter against Comanche warriors in a brutal game of survival. The result is the series’ leanest, meanest entry since the 1987 original and arguably its most thematically rich.

Amber Midthunder is a revelation as Naru, a young warrior determined to prove herself to her tribe. Her performance is all quiet intensity and razor-sharp instinct; she doesn’t need grandiose speeches to command the screen. The film smartly inverts the franchise’s muscle-bound bravado here, brains and adaptability trump brute strength. Naru’s clashes with the Predator (a sleeker, more feral redesign) are thrilling precisely because they feel uneven, desperate. Every encounter is a puzzle, not just a bloodbath.

Cinematographer Jeff Cutter immerses us in the untamed wilderness, where golden grasslands and dense forests become both battleground and ally. The action sequences are kinetic but coherent, favoring tension over chaos a rarity in modern blockbusters. Sarah Schachner’s score melds tribal percussion with eerie synth, bridging eras without feeling gimmicky.

Prey isn’t flawless. Some supporting characters are thinly sketched, and the Predator’s CGI occasionally falters. But these quibbles fade beside the film’s strengths: its respect for Comanche culture (the full Comanche dub is a must-watch), its feminist subtext woven organically into the narrative, and its refusal to overexplain its villain. This Predator isn’t a trophy hunter it’s a force of nature.

By the time Naru locks eyes with her foe in the film’s breathtaking final showdown, Prey achieves something rare: it makes you feel like you’re seeing the hunt for the very first time.