Alien vs Predator: Requiem

Suffering from what seem to be the two afflictions of pop-culture – the sequel and the crossover – Aliens vs Predator: Requiem (or AVPR for the initiated) has a lot of baggage. At least three brilliant ancestors and a slew of questionable sequels is enough to make this a study in exploitation. Strangely enough, this is where it finds its strength.

More small-town horror than tundra sci-fi spectacular, it automatically sets itself apart from its surprisingly worthy predecessor. As the cunning predator’s ship falls prey to hordes of facehugging foetuses and crashlands on earth, all the usual stereotypes apply. Stock teenagers, the small-town diner clientele, and a redemptive hero type (who looks disconcertingly like The Hoff) end up in the crossfire of what is, essentially, a slaughterfest between our two extraterrestrial extremists and any faceless individual that wanders into the scene.

The characters aside (which is how you’ll basically feel for the whole film), AVPR’s biggest strength is its old-school commitment to a bloody good show. Dispensing with hideous Golden Compass-style CGI, it’s a rollicking good example of the beauty that a man in a monster suit can bring. Gore runs down the screen, as it should, and there’s no shying away from the real biz of war. Pregnant women, small children, and (gasp!) newborns, all fall prey to the parasitic beasties, and rather than be offensive, it truly highlights the need for more guts (pun unintended) in what is becoming a scarily boring and fake genre.

AVPR is hardly perfect. The dialogue swings between gung-ho and sentimental – almost unredeemable is a particular clunker in the last scene – but it’s got what horror’s been missing. Tits, gore, irony, believable monsters, and some awesome old-school carnage.

See it for a bloody good time. Let’s face it: this Christmas, it’s either that or The Golden Compass.