Formerly Known As Cinema

Chris Hansen is not a happy camper. And who can blame him?

In a recent interview with “Entertainment Tonight” (who knew that show was still around?), he complained about the raw deal he got from “Primetime” director Lance Oppenheim and A24, who have made a marvelously bizarre — and thoroughly lurid — film inspired by the equally bizarre TV phenomenon “To Catch a Predator.”

Hansen, of course, was the “Dateline NBC” correspondent who became famous confronting men lured to houses by decoys posing as underage children, where hidden cameras recorded their humiliation and eventual encounters with law enforcement for an enormous television audience.

“I think it’s disappointing that a major film company would not have the common courtesy to at least tell you what they’re doing,” Hansen complained. “I was not asked to participate. It was inconsiderate.”

The ET host attempted to whip up some indignation. “Chris, you’re being very diplomatic. If it was me, I’d be hopping mad.”

Hansen nodded. “It’s obviously something lawyers are looking at.”

Then, after being asked whether a lawsuit might entitle him to a piece of the profits, Hansen declined to comment before plugging TruBlu, his true-crime streaming network, where he currently hosts another predator-sting series called “Takedown.”

It's a wonderfully disingenuous piece of television. The ET host treats the very existence of an unauthorized movie about a famous TV personality as a potential outrage, apparently oblivious to the irony of Hansen objecting to having his life turned into entertainment without his permission.

The whole exchange is so shamelessly theatrical that it could almost be a scene from “Primetime,” which A24 describes not as a conventional biopic but as a “fever dream” and “media collage” built around the different versions of Hansen that have existed in American culture.

“Fever dream” is a particularly apt description not only of “Primetime,” but of Oppenheim’s previous film, “Spermworld,” a documentary about fertility donors who bypass clinics and connect directly with prospective parents, often producing samples in public restrooms and handing over the material in mall parking lots. Both films are shot through a steamy haze that gives the images a slightly blurred quality. Lights are haloed, colors oversaturated, characters slick with sweat. Corners drift into darkness, giving everything a dreamlike sense of unreality.

And in “Primetime,” that aesthetic is doing more than setting a mood. By applying the same humid, vaguely pornographic visual language to a story about a television show built around sexual transgression, Oppenheim makes the entire media apparatus look sleazy. The predators, the producers, the audience — perhaps even those of us watching the movie — all seem caught in the same lurid haze.

Robert Pattinson has his best role since “Tenet,” mastering an almost robotic impersonation of Hansen that deliberately strips the character of conventional humanity. A collection of perfectly rendered gestures, pauses and dead-eyed stares, punctuated by the occasional burst of rage, the performance isn't so much an embodiment of Hansen as a person as it is a channeling of the idea of Hansen — a glorious composite of pure id, venality and cunning. The film clearly sees Hansen as the apex predator in this scenario. And with one exception, the entirety of his crew shares the same cold-blooded instincts.

Merritt Wever plays “Dateline” producer Andie Bender with a carnivorous gleam in her eye, chewing gum so ferociously it’s as if she’s savoring the marrow from a child’s femur. Her blasé indifference to the suffering of the men drawn into her web personifies the rot at the center of gotcha television: they aren't people, they're game pieces to be discarded once they've served their purpose. When an ABC executive tries to poach her for “What Would You Do?,” an inversion of “Predator’s” hidden-camera setup that could easily be called “To Catch a Good Samaritan,” Bender considers the offer. But not because she appreciates its uplifting message; she’s simply concerned that Hansen, distracted by a personal crisis, may be losing his edge. Once his killer instincts return, Bender is delighted to rejoin “To Catch a Predator’s” race to the bottom.

There are so many unpleasant characters, including Xavier, the founder of Perverted Justice (Matthew Maher, oozing reptilian sleaze), and Rockwall County police chief Cortland Gunn (Bokeem Woodbine, all righteous opportunism), that the film might implode into a black hole of pure nihilism without Skyler Gisondo as Dan Plum, a young actor chasing his SAG card who’s cast as a decoy. Watching him practice how to act like a 14-year-old is both creepy and very funny. Gisondo brings a sweet naïveté and openhearted charm to the role. Though proximity to Hansen eventually corrodes Dan’s moral compass, he remains the only person onscreen willing to ask what in the hell is actually going on.

Hansen’s answer provides the film’s thematic core as well as one of Pattinson’s finest moments. Comforting Dan, who’s having second thoughts about the show, Hansen explains that exposing wrongdoers in the public square is a time-tested tool of justice. “There used to be a pillory in every civilized town, but now there's a TV in every home.” Dan, who clearly idolizes Hansen, buys the argument and digs into his role, reassured that whatever moral gray areas they may be entering, they’re still on the side of good.

With all this potential for ickiness, it’s surprising just how funny “Primetime” is, though laughing felt somewhat wrong in a crowded movie theater. Oppenheim isn't aiming for realism or biographical accuracy, which is just as well. “Predators,” David Osit’s terrific 2025 documentary on the same subject already told that story.

By exaggerating the grimier elements and amping up the sleaze through performance and visuals, Oppenheim transcends the particulars of Hansen’s story, allowing something almost mythic to emerge. We’re no longer simply watching a man expose predators while turning their humiliation into entertainment. We’re watching a culture discover that public punishment can be enormously captivating, then construct a moral justification for enjoying it. The humor comes from how audaciously Oppenheim rubs our noses in that complicity.

Los Angeles Times critic Amy Nicholson was so disgusted by “Primetime” that she wrote it made her want to bleach her eyes. I understand the impulse. Taken at face value, the movie is almost unrelentingly repellent. But I don't think Oppenheim is asking us to do that. Pattinson’s alternately composed and unhinged performance signals that we've left the realm of realism. This is satire, or at the very least dark comedy, with Hansen transformed into something less like a man than a grotesque embodiment of our appetite for righteous humiliation.

Oppenheim holds up a distorted mirror to who we are now by showing us where some of our ugliest impulses began to flourish.

When the film was over, I had the impulse to leave during the credits because I didn't want to be seen exiting the theater when the lights came up. I had the distinct feeling I'd been caught watching something I shouldn't have.

So many movies are concerned with making us comfortable. It was refreshing to see one that actually got under my skin.

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