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Uhhh ... so, did they even have writers for this? Maybe I'm picky, but I like a little dialog with my movies. And, as far as slasher films go, just a sliver of character development will suffice.
Unfortunately, The Prey provides neitherand if you think I'm being hyperbolic, you'll just have to see it for yourself. Scene after scene, we just get actors standing around, looking forlorn and awkward, abandoned by any sense of a script. Outside of calling out each other's names when they get separated in the woods (natch), the only instances where these people say something substantive is when one character explains the constellation Orion (clearly plagiarized from Funk & Wagnalls; scintillating slasher fare, no?) and another rehashes an old campfire tale that doesn't even have anything to do with the plot (wait, what IS the plot?) At other times, The Prey actually has the gall to film its characters with the boom mic just far away enough so that we can't exactly hear what they're saying. So we get entire scenes wherein the actors are murmuring! Deliberately! Seriously, I've seen more dialog in a silent film. It's as if the filmmakers sat down at a bar somewhere in Rancho Cucamonga in the heyday of the '80s slasher craze and one looked at the other and said, "Hey, I gotta really sweet idea for a gory decapitation gag. Let's somehow pad an entire feature around it." And ... well, they did.
To be fair, The Prey probably had some sort of writer on board. I mean, somebody had to jot down the scene sequence and label the dailies. However, I am fully convinced that this film did not have an editor of any kind whatsoever. There are glaring pauses, boring tableaux, and zero sense of pacing throughout. The filmmakers don't have anything else in the "script" to film, so they fill out the running time with exhaustive taxonomies of the flora and fauna that inhabit the forest in which our wild and crazy teens are getting sliced and diced. These critters are all filmed in straightforward, noontime daylight in a completely reserved fashion and with no attempt at atmospheric photography. If it feels like a science film, that's because it is. I'm pretty sure this is all nature show stock footageall that's missing is a stuffy narration from some National Geographic alderman.
More exciting footage that was graciously spared from the cutting room floor: a scene in which two men discuss cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches, and another scene wherein a supporting character strums away on a banjo for what feels like an entire minute-and-a- half! A minute-and-a-half! That's a lot of banjoing to commit to celluloid to begin with, let alone insert into the final cut of the film! Way to go, guys! Brevity and concision are the real victims of this slaughterfest.
Admittedly, the film picks up quite a bit of steam (comparatively) in the last 25 minutes, into which much of the carnage is condensed and where a rip-off of Béla Bartók's "Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta" cuts in. Vaudeville great Jackie Coogan makes a fun appearance as a tubby, bumbly park ranger (this was his last role, if you can believe it). And there are some nice gory moments, including a splattery neck tearing and the aforementioned decapitation. The make-up used for the killer (Carel Struycken, aka "Lurch" from the Addams Family movies) is also quite effective, and makes him look like a strange hybrid of young Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger. Plus, if you love wacky, straight-outta-left-field endings, you need to check out how they wrap this puppy up. You'll do a spit take, I promise.
Usually, I love films that are on this level of ineptitude, but the first three-quarters of The Prey are just so interminably boring that they pretty much spoil the rest. Overall, this is a largely pallid and tedious affair, and, while it ain't all bad, it should really only be seen by debilitated slasher completists. Why do we do this to ourselves, anyway?


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