‘Predators’ review: To catch a conscience | Sundance 2025

Directed by David Osit, Predators takes aim at the moral legacy of “To Catch a Predator” and our obsession with justice as entertainment.

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Predators is an unrelenting confrontation with our collective voyeurism, forcing us to reckon with the troubling question: what compels us to watch the absolute worst moments of people’s lives as a reality TV show? David Osit’s documentary turns the spotlight onto the cultural phenomenon of To Catch a Predator and its myriad offshoot copycats, probing not only the predators and vigilantes who populate these programs but also the audiences that fuel their popularity. It’s an unsettling dissection of humanity’s capacity for both cruelty and empathy, where the lines between justice and exploitation blur until they’re nearly indistinguishable.

The first turning point of the doc is the infamous Texas case, where a targeted assistant district attorney took his own life rather than face the cameras of Dateline NBC. This tragic event, woven into the show’s lurid history, sets the tone for a documentary that refuses to flinch. Osit unpacks the spectacle of shame that To Catch a Predator perfected, contrasting the raw humiliation of its subjects with the polished production values that framed their arrests as prime-time entertainment. The archival footage—raw, unedited, and often painful—presents a stark contrast to the sanitized broadcasts, revealing a show that was as much about feeding the public’s appetite for moral superiority as it was about exposing wrongdoing.

But Osit doesn’t stop at examining the original program. Predators explores the internet’s democratization of this type of content, where vigilante “hunters” have taken up the mantle years after the NBC show ended, armed with little more than smartphones and YouTube channels. One standout moment shows a self-styled predator hunter, Skeet, gleefully narrating his own sting operation. The scene is at once absurd and deeply uncomfortable, a microcosm of how social media has truly warped the incentive structure and judgement of these online influencers posing as crusaders.

Osit’s choice to include his own personal reflections—grappling with his complicity as both a viewer and a filmmaker—adds a layer of introspection that elevates the documentary beyond simple critique. Even when tackling an especially egregious case where the sting truly stung by destroying the life of an 18-year-old.

One of the film’s most striking insights comes through its exploration of the so-called “Goldilocks Number,” a dubious statistic about the prevalence of online predators that was repeatedly cited by To Catch a Predator. Osit traces its origins through decades of moral panics, from Satanic cults to child abductions, exposing how fear has been weaponized to justify the existence of these programs. The parallels drawn between past and present are chilling, as the film illustrates how such narratives continue to flourish in the meme-driven economy of modern, sensationalized media.

Rarely does a documentary force its audience to think and feel this much and at the same time. It’s a masterclass in having you second guess and triple guess every emotion or stray devil’s advocate thought you might have about what you’re watching. I mean, they are criminals. Terrible people. Getting them off the street and away from kids is obviously a good thing. But as even one of these hard-line internet vigilantes reflects once the walls come down…they wonder why they still feel any empathy for the person they just gleefully destroyed.

Because ultimately, even Chris Hansen himself acknowledges that these shows don’t really exist to solve the underlying problems. Or to prevent these situations at all. “Help me understand” is a buzzword, not a genuine plea from someone claiming to be taking this on as a journalist.

So in that way, Predators is a sobering reminder that no one’s hands are clean—not the hunters, not the predators, and certainly not the viewers. It’s essential viewing for anyone willing to step back and question the cultural machinery that turns human suffering into a money-making enterprise that skirts public service in the name of righteous indignation, however justified you might think it. In a world where we are all both hunters and prey, Predators asks us to consider whether the act of watching is itself a form of surrender.

Predators had its world premiere at the Sundance 2025 Film Festival. Find more of our Sundance 2025 coverage here.