Please Don’t Let Terminator Genisys Suck
My normal movie article schtick is to review a film without having seen it, usually taking a crap on the production from a safe distance. But not today. Today, I am here to beseech the movie gods with a humble request: Please don’t let Terminator Genisys suck.
I adore the Terminator film franchise (which, like everyone else, means I loved the first two films and have kinda ignored everything afterward). The Terminator was one of the first R-rated films I was allowed to see. (I spent the better part of my childhood thinking all sex involved a lot of hand grabbing and piano music thanks to this scene-start at 3:43). Terminator 2 was my first R-rated theater experience, a movie I had been whipped into a frenzy for via MTV‘s five-times-a-day airings of Guns N’ Roses “You Could Be Mine”. These were films that, if you could properly recollect them on the playground, you were one of the cool kids. And if you couldn’t, well, go back to your mother’s teat and Beauty and the Beast, sissy.
After those two films (which marked the end of director James Cameron’s involvement), the wheels began to fall off the franchise. Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines was a pleasant-if-forgettable experience (if you think that’s praise, imagine how you’d feel if a woman you just slept with characterized your performance that way). The most important thing The Sarah Connor Chronicles did was make me realize I’ll probably have sex with robots as soon as they perfect the technology. And I’ve suppressed the memory of Terminator Salvation like it was a Catholic priest that had its wicked way with me.
Which brings us to the Wednesday release of Terminator Genisys. After the last two Terminator flicks, I have purposely avoided watching previews for the film and am trying to keep my distance from any reviews. I’m going to go see it in theaters because I have some warped notion after a childhood spent idolizing him that Arnold Schwarzenegger needs my support and I must help the movie get to number one at the box office. You know, win one for the Gipper, if the Gipper had a thick Teutonic accent and impregnated his Latina maid. Is it going to stink? Who knows. But I’ll be there. Hoping for a miracle. And, if it’s good…maybe I’ll be back. (You have my permission to send a cyborg to murder me for that one.)