Action pro John McTiernan crafts an over the top sci-fi action fest with Predator, starring a perpetually sweaty (or are they just baby oiled up?) Arnold and Carl Weathers as commandos charged with taking a team into the jungle to rescue a diplomat who went off course. Eff the “plot” that writers John and James Thomas exploit to get these macho soldiers into the jungle, what really matters is the stealthy alien they find hunting them down there. The predator in question takes ninja badassness to the next level, stalking Arnold and his crew like a killing machine. Armed with a cloaking device and a general bad attitude, this E.T. has it made in the shade until a mud caked Austrian- I mean American soldier (superb accent, Mr. S. You sound like you were born here) beats him at his own game, fucking folks up. From a mini-gun toting Jesse Ventura, to a whispery, dry shaving Bill Duke, Predator is a classic example of ultra-outrageous, in no way realistic, heyday action flicks that cashed in on the coked up bloodlust of the 80s yuppie crowd and crotch rock tough guys, until McTiernan dropped the hammer of Die Hard on the world, forever changing the face of action. We have seen many imitators, but only one can be as fun as Predator.