Prey stalks its victims by offering a suspense-free horror flick that seems more idyllic than terrifying. Y’know, when I temporarily go insane or witness a traumatic incident, I openly discuss my feelings with a therapist or spend the day watching films involving eternal happiness. Had I been referred to a behavioural rehabilitation programme that sends its clients to a supposedly uninhabited island for three days for the purpose of “finding myself”, with only your survival instincts equipped, well I’d probably be a much different person than I am now. These are psychologically disturbed characters, granted the freedom of an entire island, to do whatever the heck they want. Build a campsite, create some intricate traps, slaughter the local wildlife and even murder each other. The insurance costs must’ve been catastrophic!
Khalfoun conceives a ridiculously contrived premise and, essentially, serves it to the demonic beast entity thing that prowls the luscious jungles of the island. What is a horror film without suspense? What is a psychological thriller without character development? What is a film without entertainment? Khalfoun irrefutably understands no element into adequate filmmaking. None! Cheap mundane jump scares that were predictable right down to the very second. More plot holes than a washed up sponge from the nearby capsized boat. Enough foreshadowing to plunge the island into everlasting darkness. Aside from Miller who atleast attempted to bypass the shoddy script he was given, the acting was weaker than a coconut branch surviving a monsoon. Expositional flashbacks, that resembled advertisements for a “hot rod” vehicle, clumsily spliced into the main narrative through inexplicably basic editing.
However, what truly makes Prey a bloodthirsty piece of life drainage, are the details. We are to believe that a young girl and her mother, have lived on the island for over a decade. That’s fine and all, but when she looks fresher than a speared fish, something’s not right. Eyebrows plucked, makeup on point, hair pristinely straight as she conditions using TRESemmé. You sure she didn’t reside in a salon for a decade? Not to mention Toby transforms into Bear Grylls in a matter of days. Where the hell did that come from!?
Khalfoun attempts to fool audiences by leading viewers down the path of imagination. Inferring that the protagonist is in fact fabricating all this nonsense. The five minute self-conversational scene explicitly hypothesised that his lunacy was profound. Yet whilst that would’ve been clichéd and typically dull, that scenario would’ve fared better than the one devised by Khalfoun. Cult rituals. Voodoo shenanigans. Cave full of multi-coloured paintings. All culminating into an ending that made me want to squish some numbing berries onto the disc and serve it to the beast itself. What was that? Seriously! I loathe endings that make the whole ordeal pointless. Detest them. Especially when there was a perfectly available boat in the middle of the film! Where did the rescue raft go that was beached by the programme manager? The CGI demonic swine could obviously swim, considering that atrocious conclusion.
Urgh. No more. Atleast Robbins’ cinematography made the idyllic island endurable. Prey exercises all of the worst traits found in uninspired low-budget horrors, and doesn’t even attempt to hide from its predatory allurement, consequently cementing this as one of the worst of the year.