"There's something deeply hypocritical about a film that first establishes that its guerrillas are the evil variety by having one of them cold-bloodedly execute a hostage, then gives its squad of "expendables" free rein to cold-bloodedly murder all of them minutes later. It's the Reagan era all over: tobacco-chewing, tough-talking, US of A military triumphalism on one hand and self-pitying, bugle-salute sentimentalism on the other (when Bill Duke – giving the one thing in Predator that could actually be termed a performance – goes all misty-eyed over his microwaved buddy Ventura). Most of the big 80s action directors displayed some ambivalence towards the mildly fascistic butt-kicking mores of their chosen form: James Cameron developed his My Little Pony eco side; Paul Verhoeven sharpened his satire. But the full mess and insincerity and dumb contradictions are there unapologetically in Predator, a piece of preening post-Vietnam powder-puff for the US ego."