Predator: Killer of Killers is Rated R by the Motion Picture Rating (MPA) for strong bloody violence, some gore and language.

Review: Predator: Killer of Killers

There’s something almost poetic about how the Predator franchise keeps reinventing itself — a cinematic chameleon mirroring the very creature at its core. It began in 1987 as a glorified monster movie starring Arnold Schwarzenegger in peak testosterone form. What followed over the decades was a mix of diminishing returns, occasional brilliance, and the kind of pop culture legacy that refuses to fade. But with 2022’s Prey, director Dan Trachtenberg breathed new life into the franchise — a lean, elegant reimagining that transported the intergalactic hunter into Comanche territory and reminded audiences of what made Predator terrifying and cool in the first place.

Now, Trachtenberg returns not with one, but two new Predator projects — the first to drop being Predator: Killer of Killers, a Hulu-bound animated anthology film that marks the franchise’s most radical departure to date. And yet, despite the format shift, the spirit of the hunt remains intact.

A Predator Through Time

Framed as a three-part anthology, Killer of Killers unfolds across radically different historical periods — Viking-era Scandinavia (841 A.D.), feudal Japan (1629), and World War II (1941). Each segment drops us into a tense, grounded narrative before unleashing a new Predator into the fray. It’s a clever conceit — one born, according to Trachtenberg, from his desire to expand on the thematic door opened by Prey: What happens when a Predator hunts in other time periods? What new kinds of warriors would rise to meet the challenge?

The answer, it turns out, is a strikingly varied and visually rich journey through battlefields we’ve never seen in this franchise. That alone is worth celebrating.

Trachtenberg co-directs with Josh Wassung, a first-time feature filmmaker whose background in previs storytelling at The Third Floor (a staple in major Hollywood blockbusters) gives the project its most unique quality: this is Predator through the lens of pure imagination. Unshackled from the limits of live-action, the team embraces animation not just as a visual flourish, but as a world-building tool — and for the most part, it works.

Segment One: Vikings vs. Predator

The first tale is perhaps the most straightforward — a hulking Predator arrives in 9th-century Scandinavia to face off against a battle-hardened Viking clan. This segment delivers what longtime fans may come for: primal brutality, thunderous clashes, and enough arterial spray to keep the R rating well earned. But while the action is solid and the creature design is impressively grotesque — this is one of the largest, most physically intimidating Predators in the canon — the narrative itself is thin.

The characters are archetypes, not people: the grieving father, the vengeful warrior, the loyal brother. There’s an earnest attempt to anchor the segment in Norse mythology and cultural resonance, but it plays more like a hyper-stylized short film than a complete story. It’s entertaining, yes, but mostly in a visceral, video game boss-fight kind of way. It sets the tone, but doesn’t quite elevate it.

Segment Two: The Sword

The second story, titled “The Sword,” is the undisputed highlight of the film — and arguably one of the most artful things this franchise has ever produced. Set in feudal Japan, the segment centers on a conflict between samurai and ninja clans that is interrupted — and ultimately consumed — by the arrival of a Predator.

What makes “The Sword” so compelling isn’t just the setting, though the visual palette of mist-draped forests and crumbling dojos is undeniably gorgeous. It’s the decision — a risky one — to tell the story almost entirely without dialogue. Inspired by silent cinema and Japanese visual storytelling traditions, this sequence leans entirely on camera movement, choreography, and expression. And it works. In fact, it sings.

It’s a showcase not just for the animation team, who rise to the challenge of conveying complex emotional beats without a single line of exposition, but also for Trachtenberg’s direction. The influence of Kurosawa is evident here — the long pauses, the clash of steel, the slow build of tension. It’s the kind of sequence that rewards patience, and when the violence comes, it’s swift, stylized, and unforgettable. This is Predator as art film, and it’s thrilling to see the series take that risk.

Segment Three: The Predator is the Plane

The final story is the film’s most conceptually daring. Set during World War II, it follows an American pilot whose squadron is being mysteriously picked off in the skies over Europe. The twist? The Predator never leaves his ship. Here, the ship is the hunter.

It’s a fascinating inversion. Where previous Predators engaged in up-close, physical combat, this one wages an aerial war — unseen, calculated, and terrifying. The dogfighting sequences are tense and visually inventive, but the story itself struggles to land. Without a compelling protagonist to anchor us emotionally, the segment feels more like an extended set piece than a fully realized narrative. There’s potential here — echoes of Dunkirk and even War of the Worlds — but it ultimately plays more like a cool idea than a satisfying short film.

One of the film’s most successful choices is its commitment to distinctive animation. Instead of chasing hyperrealism, Killer of Killers opts for a painterly, semi-abstract style that heightens the mythic tone of each segment. Each era gets its own visual texture — the rough-hewn, earthy tones of the Viking age; the crisp, shadow-drenched elegance of feudal Japan; the smoky, industrial greys of WWII skies.

This is where Wassung’s background truly shines. His team at The Third Floor, long used to helping directors visualize their films before the cameras roll, bring a director’s sense of movement and space to the animation. Action scenes are cleanly staged, camera angles are dynamic but readable, and the flow from beat to beat is almost musical.

There are limitations, of course. The character animation can be stiff at times, and facial expressions occasionally flatten emotional nuance. But the film rarely lets those constraints undermine its storytelling ambition.

Creature Design and World-Building

Special praise must go to Alec Gillis, the veteran creature designer who collaborated on each new Predator. For longtime fans of the series, the allure of fresh designs is real — and Killer of Killers delivers.

Each Predator reflects its environment: the Viking-era beast is massive and armored like a war god; the samurai-hunting Predator is leaner, more agile, his armor echoing elements of Japanese war gear. And then there’s the most striking of the bunch — the bald, dreadless Predator who pilots the WWII ship. This one was a longtime passion of Gillis, who had always envisioned a Predator without the iconic dreadlocks — and while the absence might seem odd at first, it works in context. He’s not a ground-level killer. He’s a tactician, and the design reflects that cold, clinical detachment.

High Recommended:

Predator: Killer of Killers 2025 Parents Guide

Violence & Gore: The violence isn’t just constant — it’s graphic, creative, and often lingering. Heads roll, limbs are severed, bodies are impaled in slow motion. In one segment set during the Viking era, a Predator uses a giant blade to cleave warriors like firewood. In another, a samurai is sliced in half mid-air. And then there’s the WWII chapter, where aerial carnage rains down on helpless soldiers, sometimes with a sickening crunch of bone or a burst of fire that doesn’t shy away from showing what happens after the explosion.

While the animation buffers the realism somewhat, it doesn’t make it any less intense. If anything, the stylized visuals heighten the spectacle in a way that feels more operatic than gratuitous — but again, that’s a fine line, and it won’t feel tasteful to everyone.

Language: There’s a smattering of strong language, though it’s not the focus. A few f-bombs here and there, but it never dips into Quentin Tarantino territory. Honestly, the violence overshadows the dialogue so thoroughly that you barely notice the language.

Sexual Content: None to speak of, thankfully. This isn’t that kind of R-rated movie. The focus is entirely on combat, survival, and carnage. If you’re concerned about sexual themes or nudity, this film stays completely clear of that terrain.

Final Thoughts: A Franchise Grows Up

What Predator: Killer of Killers ultimately represents is a turning point — not just for this franchise, but for legacy IPs in general. Instead of lazily recycling the past, Trachtenberg and his collaborators have asked a smarter question: What else can this idea be? The answer, as it turns out, is a lot more than we imagined.

Not every segment is equally strong. Not every risk pays off. But in an era of formulaic franchise extensions, Killer of Killers dares to surprise — and more importantly, it respects its audience enough to take those creative swings.

As for Predator: Badlands, which Trachtenberg teased but declined to discuss in detail — if it carries forward even half the ambition on display here, fans are in for something special.

Verdict:
A visually bold and thematically ambitious anthology that redefines what a Predator film can be. While uneven in parts, its creativity and willingness to take risks make it a must-watch for franchise devotees and animation fans alike.