Narratives typically include that pesky thing called resolution. It’s part of why procedurals like Law & Order have remained so popular across the history of television. Human beings like to watch stories that resolve themselves before the credits roll. Life doesn’t always present us with the easiest narratives.

The 1975 film Picnic at Hanging Rock tells the story of several girls at an Australian boarding school who went missing on Valentine’s Day in 1900, along with one of their teachers. The all-girls school is run by the overbearing Mrs. Appleyard (Rachel Roberts), who takes a special dislike of Sara (Margaret Nelson), an introverted orphan. Sara is close to Miranda (Anne-Louise Lambert), the leader of the girls who decide to climb the Hanging Rock.

Buckling under the weight of the oppressive school, Miranda and her friends seek liberation at Hanging Rock. After seemingly falling into a trance, Miranda, Marion (Jane Vallis), and Irma (Karen Robson) ascend further up the rock. Their friend Edith (Christine Schuler) watches their disappearance, though it’s unclear exactly what she witnessed. The students return to their school at night, without Miranda, Marion, Irma, or Miss McCraw (Vivean Gray), one of their teachers.

Much of the narrative takes place in the aftermath of the girls’ disappearance. Edith and Irma, who was found the next day with no memory of what happened, are frequently interrogated by their teachers and the authorities, while their fellow students treat them with apprehension. Further isolated, Sara mourns the loss of her friends without the comforts of clarity regarding their disappearance.

Director Peter Weir’s great triumph comes from his firm grasp of the atmosphere, a harrowingly powerful experience. Few films capture the agony of an unsolved mystery with such grace and beauty. Narratives are supposed to provide a sense of closure. Weir instead explores the vacuum that’s left when such answers cannot be provided.

The girls disappear about thirty minutes into the nearly 115-minute feature. The audience spends much more time with people like Sara, as well as Michael (Dominic Guard) and Albert (John Jarratt), two boys who saw the girls shortly before the disappearance. Without a lot of time to bond with Miranda or Marion, the audience is forced to care about them through the lens of those they left behind.

Music plays a vital role in crafting the atmosphere of the film. Gheorge Zamfir delivers an eerily powerful performance on the panpipes, while composer Bruce Smeaton provides a score that illustrates the sense of longing that the characters feel for their missing companions. The music often works in tandem with the cinematography to give nature an outstretched importance in the narrative, the untamed wilderness a character in its own right.

In some ways, it feels wrong to refer to Picnic at Hanging Rock as a slow burn. This is not a film in any rush toward a particular destination. Weir lets his audience know right from the beginning that nobody knows what happened, giving this fictional narrative the weight of a true crime cold case. The audience is only there to observe the absence of closure. There’s not much burn to be found.

There are points where the film hits some pacing snags. Michael is a compelling secondary character, but the story leaves a lot on the table with regard to his friend Albert, Sara’s brother. Like the audience, Michael is approaching his sense of loss from a distance, but at times it feels like Weir is focusing on him in the absence of a more compelling narrative strand.

As Sara, Margaret Nelson is forced to carry much of the film’s weight, a lonely, isolated girl, who found companionship, only to lose it for reasons beyond human comprehension. That’s the thing about loss. Even in everyday life, loss doesn’t always come with an explanation.

Weir makes a powerful case for the irrelevance of narrative closure. Life rarely works itself into a neat three-act structure. Sense and structure help us stay sane through the chaos of everyday life. Nobody at Hanging Rock had that luxury. You don’t always get closure. Fifty years later, it’s still quite moving to spend time in Weir’s world, receiving a necessary lesson on how to live with uncertainty, lest we allow it to take over our very existence. Sometimes, you just have to learn to let the mystery be.

Academic research is often described as carving a new niche between two thoroughly explored subjects. Outside of medicine, the sciences, and a few other fields, people who arrive to grad school looking to break ground in the wild west are frequently met with disappointment, instead expected to cater to the norm. Conformity takes a lot of fun out of the whole adventure.

Hollywood functions in much the same way, especially toward its long-running franchises. Filmmakers are not supposed to reinvent the wheel so much as give their audiences a slightly fresh perspective on the wheel they already know and love. Director Dan Trachtenberg found that sweet spot with 2022’s Prey, a delightfully unique perspective on the Predator franchise, quite a feat for the seventh entry in the series (counting the two Alien vs. Predator films).

After directing the animated feature Predator: Killer of Killers, which was released this past June, Trachtenberg returns for his third go-around with Predator: Badlands, a film that flips the original concept. Once the big bad, the titular Yautja are now the protagonists.

Badlands follows Dek (Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi), the runt of his clan. Weakness is not exactly tolerated among predators, but Dek’s older brother Kwei (Mike Homik) shows some rare mercy toward his sibling, angering their father Njohrr (Reuben de Jong). After Kwei refuses his father’s orders to kill Dek, Njohrr executes him instead. Desperate to prove he belongs in his clan, Dek travels to the “death planet” Genna to kill the fearsome Kalisk.

Once on the inhospitable planet, Dek meets Thia (Elle Fanning), an android from the Weyland-Yutani corporation (who make all the synthetics in the Alien franchise), who’s missing her bottom half. Thia also misses her sister Tessa (also Fanning), the leader of the synth team dispatched to Genna, also hunting the Kalisk. Despite his species’ inclination for solitude, Dek teams up with the non-person to hunt his prey, dreaming of revenge against his father.

Trachtenberg frequently demonstrates his deep comprehension of the franchise. Clocking in at 107-minutes, the narrative moves briskly through its paint-by-numbers plot. The pacing is quite strong, if not a little formulaic.

 Schuster-Koloamatangi walks a fine line with Dek quite well. Badlands is the first Predator film to earn a PG-13 rating. The lack of gore and extreme violence does come with some unnecessary cutesy antics, but Dek is a relatable protagonist. The film doesn’t go for full Terminator 2 cartoonish antics for its villain-turned-lead.

Fanning is the real core of the film, carving a niche for Thia that’s quite different from the synths who have come before in previous Alien films. Found family is predictably a major theme of the narrative. Badlands has zero human characters, though the film can’t really help but filter its musings on identity through a distinctly human lens.

It’s hard not to be won over by Fanning’s relentless sense of earnestness. The film isn’t afraid to wear its emotions on its sleeve. Much like its synths, there is a perpetual sense of artificialness to the narrative’s sense of heart. Trachtenberg is moving too quickly to give his work much of a chance to breathe.

The action work is quite strong, particularly in the first two acts. Trachtenberg blends practical effects and CGI quite well. Things come a little undone in the third act. Everything is a bit too predictable. The final action sequences lack any real sense of suspense.

The film’s big issue is that Dek and Thia are both about 80% of fully fleshed out characters. They’re easy to bond with, not necessarily because of the work of the film, but because we’ve seen these types of characters before. Both actors put forth fine work, but the whole experience is a little too cookie-cutter.

Trachtenberg delivers a solid popcorn film, entertaining work that falls well short of what we know he’s capable of. One might have hoped he’d swing a little harder for the fences after the treat that was Prey. Instead, we’re left with something perfectly content to be aggressively fine. The lazy third act is essentially a metaphor for the whole film: just good enough.

Nobody necessarily expects greatness from a franchise eight films in. Prey delivered that, when no one expected it. As a series, Predator hasn’t exactly hit the high watermarks of its companion franchise, Alien, whose first two installments were directed by Ridley Scott and James Cameron at the top of their games.

 Badlands is a fun time. It’s an extremely competent film, an accolade that shouldn’t feel like an insult for a narrative that never once tried for greatness. The bar could have been raised after Prey. One can’t help but wonder why it wasn’t.