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When I first heard that we’d be watching the Predator Badlands block screening at SM Lanang Premiere, I’ll be honest — my inner twelve-year-old just screamed.
Loudly.
We got the notice about a week before the event, which, for most people, might just be enough time to plan an outfit or clear a schedule.
But for me, that meant something else entirely: it was time to go back to the jungle.
Because I didn’t just watch the old Predator movies growing up — I lived in them.
Reacquainting Myself with the Hunt
So, in the days leading up to the screening, I dove headfirst into nostalgia.
One by one, I revisited the classics — from the 1987 original with Arnold’s iconic “Get to the choppa!” line, to Predator 2’s chaotic city hunt, and even Predators (the one with Adrien Brody in full survival-mode glory).
Then I threw in Alien vs. Predator for good measure, because how can you not?
The xenomorphs and yautja are like cousins who only meet up for violent family reunions.
I even pulled out my old comic collection — those dark, beautifully drawn Aliens vs. Predator crossovers that expanded the mythos.
The stories reminded me that the yautja weren’t just monsters; they were warriors with codes, rituals, and a sense of honor that felt almost… ancient.
That’s when it hit me — the yautja are basically space samurai.
Think about it. The samurai of old Japan lived by bushidō — a code of honor that valued courage, loyalty, and mastery of the sword.
The yautja, meanwhile, live by their own unspoken creed of the hunt: only worthy prey deserves the kill, dishonorable acts are forbidden, and trophies aren’t just for show — they’re proof of personal mastery.
Both warrior cultures believe in balance between skill and spirit. Both thrive on discipline, ritual, and respect for a worthy opponent.
Even the yautja armor and masks feel vaguely reminiscent of samurai gear, with that same intimidating elegance — a look that says, I could destroy you, but only if you earn it.
That’s what separates the yautja from mindless killers.
They’re predators, yes, but not savages.
In a strange way, they embody a form of ancient nobility wrapped in alien skin.
The Day of the Screening
By the time the day arrived, I was ready.
I knew the lore, the weapons, the tribes.
I could tell a combi-stick from a wrist-blade by sound alone.
I was, in every sense, prepared for the hunt.
SM Lanang Premiere has that clean, high-end atmosphere — polished floors, dim lighting, and that pre-movie energy that buzzes just beneath the chatter of the crowd. It felt electric, like everyone there shared the same secret.
At the entrance, the staff handed us forms to sign — a release form and a confidentiality clause.
That instantly told me this wasn’t your regular screening. Predator Badlands was still under wraps, and they were making sure no leaks slipped out before the official release. It gave the whole thing a covert vibe, like we were part of a classified operation.
Then came the surprise: we were given promotional posters —glossy, beautifully printed ones.
The kind you’d want to frame. I took mine carefully, half afraid to bend it, half thrilled to even hold it.
The tickets looked premium too — not the usual flimsy kind, but collector-quality prints with that bold Predator Badlands logo that practically glowed under the cinema lights.
Before the movie started, they held a quick mini-game.
Two members from the DBS group won prizes when they answered some trivia questions.
The prizes?
Shirts and Funko Pop figures.
And then there were the cosplayers.
Two of them, dressed in full gear — one resembling Dek the Yautja runt with armor that looked very uncomfortable and a spot on THIA lookalike.
They posed for photos, interacted with the crowd, and did little skits that made the wait before the movie fun instead of tedious. It felt like stepping inside the movie’s universe before it even started.
Lights Down. Silence. The Hunt Begins.
When the house lights dimmed and that deep bass rumble rolled across the theater, the entire place went still. You could feel it — the anticipation, the shared breath before the storm.
Watching Predator Badlands on a huge screen, surrounded by fans who love the franchise as much as I do, was something else.
Every familiar sound — the clicking of the yautja mask, the hiss of their plasma caster — hit like a wave of childhood memories. It’s wild how a sound can pull you straight back to being a kid hiding behind a couch while watching a bootleg VHS.
The movie itself felt like a love letter to the originals while pushing the story somewhere new. Without spoiling anything, I’ll say this: it honors the Predator spirit — the lone hunter, the code, the relentless pursuit of perfection.
Growing Up with Predators
This franchise has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. When other kids were memorizing Disney songs, I was memorizing the layout of a jungle ambush.
The Predator wasn’t just a monster — it was a test. A symbol of survival, discipline, and the thrill of the chase.
Over the years, it evolved alongside me.
Every new installment added another layer to the mythology — new gear, new tribes, new interpretations.
But the core always stayed the same: the hunt is sacred. And that’s something that resonates deeply, especially now that I’m older and see how much that code mirrors our own pursuit of excellence in whatever we do.
The Spirit of the Hunt
After the credits rolled, people stayed in their seats, talking excitedly, comparing notes, speculating on what’s next. I sat there quietly for a moment, just soaking it in.
Watching Predator Badlands wasn’t just another movie night. It was a return to something primal — a piece of my own story as a fan.
And maybe that’s what makes this franchise so special. Beneath the gore and action, it’s about respect. The respect between hunter and prey, between warrior and opponent, between man and the unknown.
The yautja, in their own strange way, remind us that power without honor is meaningless. And in that sense, they’re not that different from the old samurai who walked the earth centuries ago — bound by a code, guided by ritual, and forever chasing perfection.
Walking out of SM Lanang Premiere that night, poster in hand, I couldn’t help but smile. The whole experience — the secrecy, the camaraderie, the nostalgia — felt like a perfect storm.
Movies like Predator Badlands aren’t just entertainment; they’re time machines. They pull you back to a younger version of yourself, the one who still believes in monsters, heroes, and codes of honor.
I had found a new soundtrack I was excited to listen to, a new spirit animal that embodies who I fantasize to be deep inside and my head is filled with questions about synths and what their potential could be for humankind.
And for one night, sitting there among fans and cosplayers, under the glow of that cinematic jungle, I felt like a kid again — ready for the hunt, heart pounding, eyes wide open.
