This is how Predator: Badlands begins.

A lone wolf type rides a futuristic speeder bike across a bleak, one might say desert-y, landscape. He’s dressed in battle armor with all sorts of gizmos and gadgets. On the “I come prepared for all possibilities” scale, it falls between Batman’s utility belt and Inspector Gadget’s entire body. As usual, Boba Fett did it better. 

He walks into a cave right out of House Hunters: Geonosis.1 Stalactites galore, chasm-front views, enough sand to drive Anakin Skywalker a little mad. 

There’s no dialogue. Not even subtitles. All mood. We don’t need no stinking words, a truth the writer in me grudgingly accepts. Some things you just innately understand. If the only open urinal is between two guys, you use a stall, or the sink. 

This guy is on the hunt, and he’s not looking for space bison.

He has a brief exchange with an unseen person in the cave, our first dialogue. It’s tense. Weapons bristle. One of them calls the other ‘brother.’ Family drama expressed via deadly combat is Star Wars 101. Though perhaps it’s a different sort of ‘brother.’ Maybe the hunter tracked Desmond Hume to a wasteland cave where he’s been riding a stationary bike while jamming to a “Mama” Cass Elliot record.2

It’s neither, unfortunately. I could use more Desmond Hume energy in my life. 

The unseen speaker is the hunter’s brother, for real. They chop it up, Star Wars style: they have an actual laser sword fight.

They don’t use lightsabers because of IP infringement. And also reasons of aesthetics; if a lightsaber is 90% light, 10% sword, the Badlands equivalent is the exact opposite. Swords edged in lasers. It’s ridiculous but also awesome, which is an encapsulation of the Badlands experience. 

Imagine a commercial selling these swords to bright-eyed Predators to-be; the tagline: when sharp isn’t sharp enough.