Hypothetical question: It’s the year 1996, and alien beings, cleverly disguised as humans, are destroying the earth for their own selfish needs. Who you gonna call? No, not Rowdy Roddy Piper; he sacrificed himself a few years back (that’s a They Live reference, BTW). Also, 1996 Will Smith is busy saving the world from other alien overlords (Independence Day), and 1996 Jack Nicholson has his hands full with yet another xenomorphic conflict (Mars Attacks!).

Who else you got? If you’ve guessed “Pudgy Charlie Sheen” … congratulations?

The Arrival, the third alien invasion movie of 1996, made little impact upon its release. It wielded neither the star wattage nor big budget of its higher-profile kin, and its special effects are best described as “eh, pretty good, all things considered.” But, much like spiritual soulmate They Live, its subtext makes it increasingly relevant, even if it’s too long and has all the visual élan of an episode of T.J. Hooker.

David Twohy (the Riddick trilogy) was a neophyte director here, and it shows; his lackluster pacing drags The Arrival out way longer than it needs to be. His writing is stronger, full of smart people sounding smart while doing smart things (and a few dumb things, because tension), and by layering in themes of climate change and environmental devastation, he (like John Carpenter with — again — They Live) transforms a slight B movie into something more topical and thought-provoking.

Sadly, most of the actors can barely muster interest, with only the passionate climatologist played by Lindsay Crouse (House of Games) making a true impression (so, obviously, she dies). Ron Silver (Timecop) is comatose as the baddie, Teri Polo (the Meet the Parents trilogy) is blandness personified as Girlfriend Character, and Sheen only rouses at the finale as his put-upon astronomer becomes more and more unhinged.

Sheen is also leagues away from the ripped and shredded physique he showed off in Hot Shots! Part Deux, which actually works in the movie’s favor. Be honest: Aren’t we all tired of movie scientists who also resemble GQ catalog models? Sheen’s corporeal puffiness adds a level of verisimilitude to The Arrival that his sleepy performance sadly cannot match. —Corey Redekop

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Never seen a John Carpenter film? Haven’t found the time for Mad Max? 28 Days Later looks too scary? Well, has Neil Marshall got a deal for you! All these films, plus many, many more, all mashed into one easily digestible package! How can you lose? Order now and you’ll also receive a set of steak knives at no cost to you!

Doomsday certainly wears its influences with pride. An intentionally ridiculous amalgam of almost every high-octane B movie of the past hundred years or so, it’s not so much a coherent vision of a dystopian future as it is a “best of (fill in genre of your choice here)” YouTube video. However, considering the oeuvre of writer/director Neil Marshall (Dog Soldiers), it is well-directed ridiculous mayhem, which is pretty much a summation of any classic B movie anyway.

Beginning as a 28 Days-type thriller, Doomsday rapidly shifts into Escape from New York gear, as major asskicker Maj. Sinclair (Underworld: Rise of the Lycans’ Rhona Mitra, frequently eyepatched à la Snake Plissken) is sent into the virus-scorched wasteland of Scotland to search for a possible cure before London tears itself apart. There, she encounters both Road Warrior-type cannibals and an Arthurian feudal system of government ruled by insane scientist Malcolm McDowell (A Clockwork Orange), because who else?

Also, Bob Hoskins (Who Framed Roger Rabbit) is hanging around for some reason, and soldier Adrian Lester (Primary Colors) plays heroic second fiddle in what will now and forever be referred to as “the Michael Biehn role.” So, yeah, he dies.

And then there’s a car chase that leaves me exhausted and hungry for more. When is Mad Max: Fury Road coming out again?

Again, it’s all nonsense (and frankly not up to the rest of Marshall’s output, including The Descent, although his talent for gore remains intact), but goddamned if it isn’t fun nonsense, even if half the time you’re playing the “what’s being referenced now?” game. And Mitra’s qualities as kicker of ass should be much more in demand. In a genre saturated with bone-thin heroines who appear too frail to lift a sandwich (let alone a gun), her musculature is a rare thing indeed. She might not be a physical match for Haywire’s Gina Carano, but I’d put her up against the likes of Kate Beckinsale, Angelina Jolie, and Zoe Saldana any day. I leave it to you to daydream about that. —Corey Redekop

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Here’s my personal theory as to why Predator has stuck around after so many similar movies have disappeared from the public consciousness, and it’s not the alien (although that is a vital component).

It’s that Arnold Schwarzenegger [SPOILER ALERT FOR THOSE THREE PEOPLE WHO HAVEN’T SEEN IT!] loses the climactic fight.

Think about it: We’ve got a more-or-less traditional action scenario: the Austrian Oak (named “Dutch,” because duh) leads a Black Ops troop into Central America on a rescue mission. There, an alien hunter quickly decimates this ragtag troop of former wrestlers, football players and porn stars until we get to the customary final bout of mano-a-extraterrestrialmano.

Customarily, pretty much every Arnie film comes down to a show of brute force — i.e. Commando, Conan, Raw Deal, Eraser, Jingle All the Way, et al. — because how could anyone hope to defeat a man whose biceps are bigger than the average American’s thigh? Yet here, we find Mount Brawny outmatched. He’s forced to outthink his crab-faced opponent through an adoption of new tactics rather than come at him muscles a-blazin’, and even then he loses. It’s only through a mixture of luck and intelligence that Schwarzenegger ultimately manages to triumph.

Beyond that, Predator would still only be a rare acceptance of action-hero mortality if it weren’t for the now-famous alien, a charismatic creation that is practically the xenomorphic embodiment of Schwarzenegger himself. Director John McTiernan (Die Hard) wisely keeps it hidden behind an invisible shield to heighten the tension, and keeps the action and wisecracks flowing smoothly. Frankly, he’s a far better director than the material deserves and keeps the B-movie festivities from falling to, say, Dwight H. Little (Marked for Death) levels of averageness.

Even more than that, McTiernan deserves some mention for achieving the nigh-impossible: making Jesse Ventura watchable. Although Ventura tries his damnedest to stop him. —Corey Redekop

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