Fox declined to screen “Alien vs. Predator” for critics, but that was not enough to deter our intrepid critic, who was eager to have his say on what is sure to be the date movie of the summer. The following review was based on information from the film’s Web site and trailer, as filtered through the writer’s exceedingly amused imagination.

Alien fights Predator in “Alien vs. Predator,” arguably the most audaciously high-concept action spectacular since “Kramer vs. Kramer.” Directed by Paul W.S. Anderson (“Resident Evil”), the movie stars several dozen men in rubber suits, Lance Henriksen – who played Bishop in 1986’s “Aliens” – as billionaire industrialist Charles Bishop Weyland, and a handful of multi-culti semi-hotties as the People Who Run Down Hallways.

The hallways (dimly lit and susceptible to unmotivated strobe effects) branch off a pyramid buried 2,000 feet beneath the surface of Antarctica. This eclectic artifact, a mix of Aztec, Egyptian, Cambodian, and 20th Century Fox architectural motifs, has been located by one of Weyland’s high-powered satellites, which roam the heavens searching for huge opening-weekend grosses.

After assembling a team of scientist-adventurers, Weyland bores into the ice on a mad quest for this elusive treasure. “Whoever built this pyramid believed in ritual sacrifice!” gasps one of the PWRDH in amazement. After poking a couple of large gooey eggs with a stick and ogling the craftsmanship on a monumental temple frieze (man-sized, fish-faced sculptures ornamented with shoulder-mounted laser bazookas and intergalactic ninja darts), the PWRDH are separated when the walls suddenly reconfigure themselves. They have triggered a booby-trap known to the ancient people of the pyramid as The Labyrinth of Screenplay Formulae.

What’s more, they have unleashed a millennia-old conflict between a race of snarling, dental-care deprived reptilian nasties and a battalion of heavily armed, tongue clucking space guerillas. Let the mayhem begin!

In the most thrilling of their vicious encounters (perhaps), the Alien grabs a handful of CGI baby Aliens and chucks them at the face plate of Predator. After back-flipping to safety in Matrix-mo, he un sheathes a electrified three-prong spear and impales the Alien against a massive stone wall covered in hieroglyphs. But just as Predator tosses his head back in click-clucking satisfaction, another Alien uncurls itself from the Aztec rafters and mashes through Predator’s armored skull with its icky-drooly mini-mouth.

As he crumples to the floor, however, Predator arms his self-destruct mechanism, which promptly shreds the Alien (and a PWRDH onlooker) to pieces. The splayed acid-blood instantly disintegrates the temple’s Cambodian thatched-bamboo canopy.

Obviously the best franchise smackdown ever, “Alien vs. Predator” is most interesting for its subversive gender commentary and (unconscious?) post-colonial critique. Mr. Anderson has not overlooked the metaphorical resonance of the original Predator as a crypto-Viet Cong figure, nor the Aliens as trenchant parody of reproductive systems. Moreover, through the calculated dissonance of his suggestive, synthetic images (given a dank, metallic sheen by cinematographer David Johnson), Mr. Anderson connects to subliminal geopolitical jitters.

Pulp fiction of rare verve and intellect, “Alien vs. Predator” poses necessary questions. Who are the real Aliens? What does it mean to be a Predator? The tagline puts it best: “Whoever wins, we lose.” Think about it.