ElMaruecan82

Before Chaplin became The Tramp, before he was one of the most recognized faces in the world, there was Kid Auto Races at Venice (1914). On the surface, it's a simple comedic short-a man in a derby hat disrupting a children's car race, getting in the way of the camera, and being shoved aside repeatedly. But in reality, it's so much more.

What makes this film extraordinary is the way Chaplin interacts with the camera. At just 25 years old, he already understands something most performers of the silent era hadn't quite grasped: the camera isn't just there to capture a story-it's a character in itself. Chaplin doesn't just perform; he plays with the frame, testing its limits, pushing himself forward, demanding attention. Despite the crowd, despite the race happening in the background, he commands the lens. There's something strikingly modern in this-his cheeky look at me attitude feels almost contemporary, as if he's pioneering a form of media self-awareness decades ahead of its time.

But the film's significance doesn't stop there. Beyond Chaplin's antics, Kid Auto Races at Venice is an accidental time capsule. It captures not just the emergence of a legend, but the world before it knew him. The audience in the background-ordinary people, spectators of a small event, unaware that they are part of history-adds another layer to its importance. Some even hide their faces, an almost comical irony given that they are sharing the frame with someone who would soon become one of the most famous men on Earth. If only they had known.

What was meant to be a simple comedy short has become an invaluable piece of history, a film that immortalizes both its star and the unsuspecting people around him. It's the birth of an icon, and more than a century later, it remains just as fascinating, both for its humor and for the unique window it offers into a moment that no one at the time realized was monumental.

No one has put it better than Roger Ebert: "Predator" is essentially a crossover of "Aliens" and "Rambo." While this comparison was a point of criticism for some, like Gene Siskel, it also highlights how the film blends genres in intriguing ways, subverting expectations and delivering something unique.

I first encountered "Predator" when I was 11. At the sight of a skinned, charred corpse and the disappearance of the comic relief character (Shane Black as Hawkins), whose glasses were ominously left behind, I realized this was not your typical action movie-though, let's face it, you could see his death coming from a mile away. Feeling unsettled, I wisely chose to stop watching and went to bed. At that age, I was used to big, action-packed films, but even then, I sensed the underlying horror that would haunt my nights. Revisiting the film decades later, I'm glad I avoided it back then. The horror is more suggested than shown (except for the climactic reveal of the Predator), but it's still unnervingly effective. The Predator itself, with its grotesque design reminiscent of John Carpenter's "The Thing," feels like both a reward and a punishment for sticking it out.

At its core, "Predator" is a "Commando" mission gone wrong. The opening scenes introduce a team of macho, muscular soldiers epitomizing American military badassery, free from the psychological scars of "Rambo." The iconic chopper ride set to Little Richard's "Long Tall Sally" feels like an over-the-top ode to the American action hero. Each team member is a walking stereotype: Arnold Schwarzenegger's Dutch, the cigar-chomping leader with the unshaven stubble; Carl Weathers' Dillon, the bureaucrat with a hidden agenda; Jesse Ventura's Blain, the cool dude spitting tobacco; Bill Duke's Mac, the stoic yet emotional soldier; and Sonny Landham's Billy, the silent tracker. Even within this caricature, McTiernan knows what he's doing-playing up these tropes just enough to pull the rug out from under us later.

The mission kicks off with an assault on a rebel camp, where flamethrowers blaze, bodies explode, and bullets rain like a Fourth of July fireworks show. It's pure action cheese-almost parody-complete with action-hero one-liners and mayhem so excessive you almost expect the Wilhelm scream to make an appearance. But then the tone shifts, and the story gets darker. Mysterious deaths start piling up, and we get glimpses of an invisible predator stalking the team. The squad, once cocky and invincible, devolves into terrified prey. Bill Duke's Mac stands out as he unravels, driven by grief and vengeance for his friend. Carl Weathers' Dillon also gets a compelling arc, playing against type as a morally ambiguous character who redeems himself in the end.

Schwarzenegger's Dutch transforms too. Stripped of his team, his guns, and his bravado, he turns to raw survival instincts, relying on brains and grit rather than brute force. That shift, along with the hauntingly beautiful jungle setting (shot to rival the aesthetic of "The Mission"), elevates "Predator" beyond your standard action flick. It's not just bullets and biceps-there's a real sense of tension and fear.

The film doesn't delve much into philosophy either, as it goes as far as ending with a mano a mano fight between Dutch and the Predator. Sure, Dutch could've just blown it up, but that would break the genre's rules. Maybe by then, he had earned the Predator's respect-or maybe the filmmakers just knew that audiences would eat up a good old-fashioned one-on-one showdown. Either way, it's a visceral and satisfying finale.

The Predator (played by Kevin Peter Hall) is a standout villain. The decision to reveal its full appearance in the climax pays off, but even before that, its yellow blood and cloaking ability were enough to make it terrifying. The opening shot of the alien spacecraft, on the other hand, feels unnecessary-we didn't need it to grasp the creature's otherworldly menace. What makes the Predator so compelling is how it flips the script, turning the ultimate hunters into hunted prey, reducing them to their most primal instincts.

The inclusion of Anna (Elpidia Carrillo), the only civilian, adds an interesting dynamic. She's not just there for decoration-she becomes a critical link to the Predator's rules of engagement, serving as a reminder of the mission's human stakes. When Dutch bellows, "Get to the chopper!" in his thick Austrian accent, it's not just an order; it's a desperate plea for survival.

Ultimately, "Predator" is both a love letter and a farewell to the classic 1980s action hero. McTiernan would go on to reinvent the genre with "Die Hard," featuring Bruce Willis as the everyman hero, reluctant to embrace his role. But here, we get one last hurrah for the larger-than-life macho man, stripped of his invincibility and reduced to raw humanity. It's the perfect mix of action, horror, and survival-an unapologetic thrill ride that's earned its place as a genre classic.