Primetime Review

The film has no qualms about its culprits’ misdeeds, but it makes sure to frame Hansen and, well, almost everyone involved with the show as some kind of seducer too, whether through its visual framing or its cast’s creepy physicality. A magnetic Merritt Wever plays Hansen’s fictitious producer Andie Bender, whose polite tone disguises exploitative commands, while Matthew Maher portrays the real Xavier Von Erk, the keyboard warrior enthusiastically ensnaring potential perps. Rounding out the sting crew are the experienced, conscientious adult decoy Del (Phoebe Bridgers), a self-professed activist who has the bait-and-switch process of welcoming child predators down pat, and nubile newcomer Dan Plum (Skyler Gisondo) — based loosely on Dan Schrack — a wannabe actor out to prove himself and join the Screen Actors Guild.

Gisondo is the movie’s naïve heart and soul. While initially unaware of the job he agrees to, Dan is eager to please his bosses, especially the imposing Hansen, with whom he forms a perverse father-son dynamic. All Dan wants is approval, but Hansen’s attention is always elsewhere, either on trying to up his TV ratings, or on retaining the illusion of domestic bliss with his wife and sons, while he’s either out philandering — a later development in Hansen’s life brought forward for the movie — or worse, making money off garish spectacle.

The real Hansen hasn’t seen the film at the time of this writing, though this hasn’t stopped him from threatening legal action. Regardless, it’s hard to imagine he’d be pleased with Pattinson’s portrayal — but unfortunately, he might be alone in his displeasure. The Batman star has never been better or more explosive, delivering a jester-like performance as a man envious of other news hosts’ success — and by proxy, of the era of war-as-entertainment. Pattinson smuggles, beneath the character’s wholesome poise, a petulant, paranoid man with a distinctly rehearsed quality. That he nails Hansen’s voice is a fantastic party trick, but this is, quite fittingly, the only truly Hansen-esque thing about him. He’s Chris Hansen in name and occupation; in spirit, he’s an impish embodiment of Hollywood id at the turn of the century, a TV landscape defined by façade, and the willingness to step on anyone to get ahead.

Driven enough to believe his own hype, Hansen commands the movie’s breakneck unfurling as the sickly centerpiece of several rapid montages and a palette that’s both oversaturated and has too much contrast for comfort. Its sensory re-creation of cheap, mid-2000s video recordings makes it especially eerie, as though Primetime were a version of a events we were never meant to see — made all the more haunting by Hansen’s strange segues into fictitious Indian folklore, meant to build himself up as some spiritual savior.

The dialogue and its double meanings are incredibly on-the-nose — what Hansen says, versus what he means deep down, is a disconnect apparent to everyone but him — resulting in some jaw-dropping hilarity. While there’s certainly a wider discussion to be had about the show’s methods and its modern legacy, this conversation is already underway courtesy of the aforementioned Esquire piece, as well as David Osit’s 2025 documentary Predators, an intimate retrospective on the series.