If the first Predator was a lean, mean jungle nightmare, Predator 2 is what happens when someone says, “What if we gave the Predator a summer internship in Los Angeles?” Directed by Stephen Hopkins, this 1990 sequel swaps Arnold Schwarzenegger’s muscles for Danny Glover’s scowls, the Central American jungle for a sweaty, neon-soaked L.A., and the tight suspense of the original for… Gary Busey yelling at things.
It’s less a continuation of the franchise and more like a bizarre spin-off where the Predator decides to hunt drug dealers because the scriptwriters ran out of ideas after three beers and a bag of Cheetos.
From Jungle Survival to Urban Blight
The brilliance of the first film was its simplicity: soldiers in a jungle, hunted one by one by a creature that’s smarter and stronger than them. It was primal, tense, and terrifying. Predator 2, on the other hand, throws that formula out the window and replaces it with the Los Angeles gang wars of the late ’90s—because apparently nothing says horror like watching Jamaican drug lords chant voodoo slogans in the middle of a penthouse while wearing shoulder pads.
Instead of raw suspense, we get a bloated action-thriller stitched together with stereotypes. Colombians with machine guns! Jamaicans with dreadlocks and machetes! Police captains screaming “You’re off the case!” like they’re in a bad cop show! The Predator almost feels like a guest star on an episode of Miami Vice, except less stylish.
Danny Glover vs. Gravity (and Aliens)
Danny Glover is Lieutenant Harrigan, our protagonist. He’s sweaty, cranky, and looks like a man who lost a bet and had to headline this movie. Glover spends most of the runtime gasping for breath, shouting at his bosses, and glaring at the sky. Supposedly, he’s the cop who can take on the Predator, but most of his fights look like he’s about to throw his back out rather than save the city.
The movie tries to convince us that Harrigan has the grit to face off against the ultimate alien hunter. In reality, the only thing scarier than the Predator is the idea of Danny Glover sprinting in 100-degree heat while wearing a trench coat.
The Predator: Still Cool, But Wasting His Time
The Predator itself remains one of cinema’s great monsters, but here he’s reduced to skulking around back alleys, stabbing drug dealers, and fighting sweaty cops. It’s like watching a lion forced to hunt squirrels in a strip mall parking lot. Sure, it’s still technically dangerous, but it’s not impressive.
He has new toys—spear tips, smart discs, a ship with trophies—but most of the tension is lost because the movie treats him like a slasher villain instead of a cunning intergalactic hunter. By the time he’s patching himself up in a stranger’s bathroom, he feels less like a terrifying alien and more like a rude houseguest.
Gary Busey and the Science of Yelling
Enter Gary Busey as Special Agent Peter Keyes, a man whose job is to scream exposition at Danny Glover while looking perpetually confused about his own paycheck. Keyes is supposedly the head of a covert government task force trying to capture the Predator, but he comes across more like your eccentric uncle who insists the CIA controls the weather.
Busey’s big moment involves trying to freeze the Predator in a slaughterhouse with high-tech lights and guns, only to get sliced in half for his trouble. It’s hard to feel bad for him; the Predator basically did the audience a favor.
Supporting Cast: Meat for the Grinder
Rubén Blades as Danny Archuleta? Dead halfway through. María Conchita Alonso as Detective Cantrell? Reduced to screaming and being spared only because the Predator realizes she’s pregnant. Bill Paxton as Detective Lambert? Oh, he dies too—though not before delivering his usual brand of jittery, manic energy. At least Paxton goes out with some flair, giving the Predator a subway full of victims before losing his head.
The rest of the supporting cast is so forgettable that you half-expect the credits to list them as “Victim #4” and “Guy with Gun.”
Action Without Tension
The action scenes are loud, chaotic, and about as suspenseful as a fireworks show. Shootouts between cops and drug lords go on forever, with the Predator occasionally popping in like a substitute teacher checking attendance. There’s no build-up, no creeping dread—just nonstop noise.
The subway sequence, often praised as the film’s highlight, is essentially the Predator slicing through commuters while Danny Glover tries not to faint. By the end, you’re almost rooting for the Predator just to thin out the cast.
The Ending: Flintlock Pistols and Shrugs
After Harrigan somehow defeats the Predator with its own frisbee-sized death disc, he stumbles into the creature’s ship and finds himself surrounded by more Predators. Instead of killing him, their elder gives him an antique flintlock pistol from 1715, as if to say, “Congrats, you survived this mess of a sequel. Here’s a participation trophy.”
The gesture is meant to tease the idea of Predators hunting on Earth for centuries, but it feels more like the filmmakers desperately throwing fan service at the wall.
Heat Wave, Plot Hole, and Cult Status
The film leans hard into its setting: a heat wave in Los Angeles. Everyone is drenched in sweat, presumably to disguise how much the script is sweating too. Logic is abandoned at nearly every turn. Why is the Predator obsessed with drug dealers? Why does it stalk Danny Glover like he’s the most interesting target in L.A.? And why does the government’s top-secret Predator task force consist of Gary Busey and five guys in aluminum foil suits?
Despite all this—or perhaps because of it—Predator 2 has achieved cult status. Fans defend its urban setting, its campy violence, and the sheer novelty of seeing a Predator on a subway train. But make no mistake: this is the cinematic equivalent of reheating last night’s steak dinner and pretending it tastes as good as when it was fresh.
Final Thoughts: A Predator Without a Cause
Predator 2 is what happens when you take a perfect monster and drop it into a movie that doesn’t know what to do with him. The result is a sweaty, bloated action flick that mistakes volume for suspense and Gary Busey for a plot device. Danny Glover does his best, but he’s no Arnold, and watching him duel an alien feels more like a midlife crisis than a showdown.
The Predator still looks cool, the kills are bloody enough, and there are moments of fun camp. But overall, this sequel feels less like a worthy continuation and more like a VHS tape you find in the bargain bin, covered in dust and regret.
