So. Yeah. It’s been a while.
When I started The Long Shot, my aim was to write once a week so that every Monday morning, you’d wake up to a newsletter in your inbox — probably buried in your promotions tab where you’d never see it, click it, or read it, but I digress. For the first 26 weeks of The Long Shot’s existence, I met that goal.
And then law school happened.
I’ll save you the details of what I’ve been up to for the 16 months since my last newsletter, but the short version is that law school is (spoiler alert) time consuming and I decided to prioritize working on my science fiction/fantasy book (now complete and in the process of querying, which is its own unique version of hell) in my few pockets of free time instead of, you know, exploring some of the mountains in my new backyard or actually making friends. I’ve been wanting to return to this space for a while now — I can’t tell you how many times I’ve started a post only to abandon it — especially since movies made their return to theaters, and today I will.
But first, a quick update is necessary. I’d rather skip over all this boring crap and go straight to today’s movie take, but it’s necessary for one reason. There are some of you that have been here since Week 1 (Birds of Prey hive let’s gooooooo) and there are others who signed up during my hiatus (I don’t really understand how I got to 200 subscribers, but I’m thankful nonetheless). For both ends of the spectrum, I feel like it’s necessary to explain what my plans are for this space moving forward.
Will I be writing every week? Probably not. Law school is still hard. And querying my book is maybe even harder than writing it was.
Will I be writing more often? Probably. But to make that happen, the format of The Long Shot will be changing. Instead of sprawling, meandering, aimless essays that nobody reads to completion, I’ll be sending out much shorter blogs with specific purposes and functions. Think of it like The Long Shot finally getting an editor. I’m sure, on occasion, I’ll go long again for the few of you who do desire 5,000 words on Arrival, but in the meantime, this new shorter format is the only way I can ensure The Long Shot survives, which I need to happen to 1) satisfy my creative itch and 2) so that y’all will buy my book when it’s finally published in, say, the year 2049, at which point I’m sure everybody will be reading actual books instead of hanging in the metaverse.
As always, thanks for being here. Thanks for reading. And thanks for buying my book 28 years from now.
I want to talk about that image because 1) it absolutely rules, 2) Predator meant a lot to me as a kid whose parents let him watch it at way too young of an age, and 3) it signals that maybe, finally, hopefully, the folks in charge of the Predator franchise know what they’re doing.
That image is from Prey, the upcoming Predator installment from director Dan Trachtenberg, who you probably know from the excellent 10 Cloverfield Lane. Prey is set for release in the summer of 2022, it’ll stream on Hulu, it stars Amber Midthunder, and its synopsis goes something like this: 300 years ago, a skilled Comanche Nation warrior protects her tribe from a highly-evolved alien predator. That’s all we know about the movie. We don’t even know if it’ll open in theaters (yes please) or if it’ll somehow connect back to the original film (god no). And yet, I’m already ready to declare Predator is back, baby.
That one image alone distills entirely what the Predator franchise was originally about, back before it was conceived as a (cash-grab) franchise, and what it needs to be moving forward, if it can survive as a franchise.
The original Predator worked for a number of reasons (Arnold Schwarzenegger’s biceps, Carl Weathers’ biceps, blasting Long Tall Sally in a chopper), but the concept ruled above all else: Commandos hunted in the jungle by an advanced alien predator that looks like one ugly … you know the rest. That was it. That was the entire movie.
We seldom saw the Predator. The Predator kept to the trees, used camouflage, and slowly and methodically picked off the commandos, only revealing itself for a final showdown with Arnold. The story was simple (there’s a reason I was able to follow it as a 7-year-old kid), it abided by the classic monster movie rule (seldom show the monster) that movies, now armed to the teeth with incredible technology, neglect to follow, and it was unfathomably fun.
Compare that approach to the most recent installment in the Predator franchise: Shane Black’s The Predator (2018), which involved scientists, laboratories, climate change (which is real and important, but you know, not really belonging in a Predator movie), and the weaponization of autism. Now, here’s where I admit that I lifted all of that from the Wikipedia plot summary, because there was no way in heck I was going to sully my view of Predator by watching it. And if I — the person who saw Rogue One 12 times in theaters and thinks Lucy In The Sky is a masterpiece — won’t even give a movie a chance, you know something is wrong.
There should never be a scientist in a Predator movie. There should never be a laboratory in a Predator movie. Nobody should be studying the genetic makeup of a Predator. A Predator should never be trying to execute some larger plan against all of humanity. Predator should be about a Predator hunting a group of people, who have no idea what the heck a Predator is until they encounter it, but rise to fight back with inferior weaponry and technology. That’s it. That’s your movie. That’s the Predator franchise. Predators hunting humans for sport.
The only Predator spinoff that kinda worked was Predators. It should come as no surprise that the plotline was simple: a group of mercenaries get hunted by Predators. No scientists. No DNA analysis. Just killers and Predators in a jungle.
For all of its flaws, Predator 2 had the right idea: Instead of a remote jungle, drop the Predator into the heart of modern civilization. The movie is mostly whatever, but the subway sequence is great. Why? Because it’s the Predator fighting cops on the subway during rush hour.
From here on out, this is what Predator should be aspiring to be. We already know that Predators have been coming to Earth for thousands of years. So, drop the Predator into Ancient Rome and pit it against legionaries. Put the Predator in Medieval France and let it battle knights. Release the Predator into the Revolutionary War. Allow the Predator to stalk soldiers in the trenches of World War I. Give me the Predator in Ancient Egypt, hunting Pharaohs. Show me the Predator in the wild west. Make a Predator pirate movie. And so on.
(If you’re wondering where I draw the line, it’s at a Jurassic Park crossover. The world doesn’t need Dinosaurs vs. Predator.)
No DNA. No secret plans. No scientists studying the Predator. No Marvel-y connections with the original movie. Just Predators hunting humans in cool historical settings.
So, about Prey.
Is there a Predator? Yep.
Is the Predator concealed by the shadows? So far, so good.
Cool historical setting? Hell yeah.
Am I excited for Prey? In the words of Little Richard …
Oh baby.
Yes baby.
Wooooooooooooooooooo baby.