‘Predators’ Review: When Television Plays Cop, Judge and Jury

In the vast and unruly universe of television built around real-life cases—be they newsmagazines, documentaries, true-crime series, reality shows or whatever new label the industry invents—police-based programs have long been the safest bet for ratings. Many of them descend directly from COPS, the late-’80s hit that followed officers on duty. The case at the center of this documentary stems from To Catch a Predator, a segment on NBC’s Dateline that aired between 2004 and 2007. After its massive success, it spun off as a standalone show. Its stated purpose: to help stop pedophiles.

David Osit uses the history of To Catch a Predator to ask whether a TV show should be allowed to act as law enforcement, whether what audiences see is as “real” as it seems (after all, anything that doesn’t fit the narrative can be edited out), and, most importantly, whether these shows ever intended to understand and genuinely address the issues they exposed—or if they were simply exploiting them for entertainment. The question remains open. Even though the show was cancelled years ago, its formula stuck, and variations of it are still running today.

The first section of Predators recounts how the program operated. For several days, producers and authorities would set up online and phone stings designed to catch adults trying to have sex with minors. Actors—grown-ups who looked and sounded young—would lure them to a house. Once the men showed up, host Chris Hansen would confront them, and moments later the police would arrest them outside. It created a gripping, unmistakable tension that only heightened when Hansen stepped into frame and caught them in flagrante. But then comes the real issue: what happens after that? Is any of this legal? Can a TV show claim the right to act as judge and jury? Where do we draw the line when entertainment becomes indistinguishable from justice? The documentary dives into the scandal that ultimately shut the show down.

The film then moves through two additional chapters. The second focuses on the copycat shows now thriving on YouTube—amateur vigilante groups and self-styled detectives running their own sting operations, hoping for their share of likes, clicks, and monetizable outrage. Osit and his team follow one of these groups through their shaky, ethically questionable attempts to “catch a predator,” then sit down with Hansen himself. Decades later, he’s still reinventing the format, now in a cultural climate far more tolerant of this brand of televised vigilantism.

With a director who himself survived childhood abuse, Predators navigates a terrain that’s equal parts uncomfortable and unexpectedly funny, as various characters stumble through awkward, often bizarre situations. Osit fixates on the gray zones: efforts that may begin with good intentions but quickly slide into territory where self-interest overtakes any notion of social responsibility. On the one hand, he offers a more complex, less sensationalized look at these troubled individuals. On the other, he interrogates the concept of “justice by hand”—and whether it ultimately undermines the very goals these shows claim to champion.

Osit interviews people who worked on the original program, paying special attention to the actors who pretended to be minors and put themselves at risk by welcoming these men into a home and engaging in minutes of uncomfortable banter before cameras burst out and changed their lives forever. Through old footage, testimonies and the tracking of modern imitators, Predators dares to ask whether the format—or the edit—was ever fair to the men it exposed.

The documentary also highlights another major issue: entrapment. In many cases, the way evidence is gathered in these stings could be ruled illegal, potentially setting offenders free. Throughout the film, Osit keeps widening the questions without offering easy answers, because this is a realm where the legal, the personal, the intimate and the social blend in messy, unresolved ways. In the end, Predators advocates for something that’s rare in this genre: empathy, respect for institutions, and the belief that if we could truly listen to others—even those whose actions horrify us—the world might be a more responsible, and maybe even kinder, place.