Glance at the cover of “The Lost Tribe” and you’ll note it bears a striking resemblance to “Predator.” That word is mentioned big and bold on the back cover. The creature in the film even sees in that pixelated Predator-Vision, albeit in black and white.
But I know “Predator,” and you, “Lost Tribe,” are no “Predator.”
Heck, you’re not even “Aliens vs. Predator: Requiem.”
A close-knit group of rich a-holes with Aussie accents and little redeeming qualities are shipwrecked “ or yacht-wrecked, to be more befitting of their self-absorbed wealth “ on a tropical island that doesn’t look like so bad a place to be cast away for a while, until they discover that They’re Not Alone.
Living on this island is a tribe “ spoiler alert: a lost one! “ of an ancient, missing-link-type origin. Pretentious archaeological name: La Triba Perdida. They swoop down from the trees all quick-like, grab an unsuspecting whitey, jump back up, and turn them into yuppie jerky. Crazy ol’ Lance Henriksen’s there, too, to give the film some name value and clenched teeth.
In the bravery department, it all comes down to one girl (foxy Emily Foxler) and her glow stick. You know she’s in it to win it, because she rubs mud all over her face, like she probably saw on “Rambo” one afternoon on TNT while painting her nails.
Dutch director Roel Rein