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There's something truly remarkable about the way the Terminator franchise has evolved. From a small-budget horror film in 1984, to an epic sequel in 1991, to a clever about-face in 2003, each installment has expanded the series' mythology and meaning. Each film has outsmarted the ones before it, returning one philosophical or paradoxical volley after another with increasing elegance. Each film, that is, except this last one.
Set in the year 2018, Terminator Salvation (directed by "McG") takes place after Judgment Day -- the day that the machines mankind has built for themselves (known collectively as Skynet) become self-aware and turn on their creators, who they view as a threat to their existence. Humanity, unprepared for such an uprising, has been nearly wiped out and exists in scattered pockets around the world, clinging to survival. John Connor (Christian Bale), far from being the predicted savior of all mankind, finds himself somewhat lower in what's left of the military command structure, as those above him doubt his destiny.
The film is made somewhat more interesting by the inclusion of Marcus Wright (Sam Worthington), a death-row inmate who signs his body over to science in 2003, and wakes up post-apocalypse with some upgrades that should be readily apparent to any reader. His character is a rough sketch, at best, but he has more screen time, depth, and development than any one else -- even Connor. Wright conveniently runs into Kyle Reese (Anton Yelchin), who fans of the series know to be, thanks to time travel, John Connor's father. And if you're able to wrap your head around that fact, congratulations: you're already one step ahead of the movie.
Terminator Salvation is, ironically, the kind of sequel a machine would make. It knows that people must run from the machines and that things must, if at all possible, explode, but it does not know why. It knows that it must touch on themes of humanity and causation, but it does not know where its questions lead. It knows to use the names, iconography, and famous lines of the previous films, but it does not know how to imbue them with a soul.
The levity and personal relationships of the rest of the Terminator franchise are nowhere to be found here. The film is far too busy throwing different varieties of death at its characters to give them much time to develop, or even speak for that matter. There are at least two more characters than are necessary, and the resulting glut limits each of them to one defining characteristic or arc; depth is a deleted scene.
The upshot is that the action sequences are largely superior to those in Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, and at least within a stone's throw of Terminator 2: Judgment Day. The exotic assortment of machines threaten the characters in every environment, and the fight-flee-repeat formula unfolds in dramatic ways. Sound is used to tremendous effect here, and it manages to generate a sense of solidness and weight.
The performances are largely forgettable, but no one's given much to work with. Bale's John Connor, however, is especially mundane, suddenly devoid of all the personality he'd shown in the last two films.
One of the film's most noticeable departures from the series is the relative absence of time travel. Though the characters being attacked or protected figure into the timeline prominently, and are significant for that very reason, no actual time travel takes place. Nor does much discussion of the logical pretzels that the previous films pondered so intensely. In their place, Terminator Salvation opts to ignore the third film's recast message, and simply regurgitates a rough version of the second's. Some of its musings are at least a decade late: the question of where the line is drawn between man and machine is extremely well-tread, and was addressed in far more emotionally resonant ways in Terminator 2. Terminator Salvation has nothing new to say about this difficult question, but it nonetheless hangs the emotional punch of its entire story on it.
Despite all of these problems, the first two-thirds of the film are very entertaining, and the franchise has enough built-in intrigue that any development commands attention. But any momentum the film has established comes to a screeching halt in the third act, with the discovery of Skynet's helpful Exposition Machine. This machine has apparently been programmed to bring everyone up to date and explain the film's Big Twist. It has no reason to say any of the things it does -- let alone to a character who still has the potential to interfere with their plans -- but it does it all the same. It's one of several examples of the massive disconnect between the breadth of Skynet's initial planning and scheming, and their lack of same when it matters most. It simply doesn't hold together.
The film's primary failing is its failure to explore the humanity and purpose underneath the excitement. The joy of this franchise has always been watching the characters wrestle with the paradoxes before them, and the unfathomable responsibilities placed on them; its questions and answers lingered long after the credits rolled. Terminator Salvation understands how to command our attention in the moment, and not a second longer.
Set in the year 2018, Terminator Salvation (directed by "McG") takes place after Judgment Day -- the day that the machines mankind has built for themselves (known collectively as Skynet) become self-aware and turn on their creators, who they view as a threat to their existence. Humanity, unprepared for such an uprising, has been nearly wiped out and exists in scattered pockets around the world, clinging to survival. John Connor (Christian Bale), far from being the predicted savior of all mankind, finds himself somewhat lower in what's left of the military command structure, as those above him doubt his destiny.
The film is made somewhat more interesting by the inclusion of Marcus Wright (Sam Worthington), a death-row inmate who signs his body over to science in 2003, and wakes up post-apocalypse with some upgrades that should be readily apparent to any reader. His character is a rough sketch, at best, but he has more screen time, depth, and development than any one else -- even Connor. Wright conveniently runs into Kyle Reese (Anton Yelchin), who fans of the series know to be, thanks to time travel, John Connor's father. And if you're able to wrap your head around that fact, congratulations: you're already one step ahead of the movie.
Terminator Salvation is, ironically, the kind of sequel a machine would make. It knows that people must run from the machines and that things must, if at all possible, explode, but it does not know why. It knows that it must touch on themes of humanity and causation, but it does not know where its questions lead. It knows to use the names, iconography, and famous lines of the previous films, but it does not know how to imbue them with a soul.
The levity and personal relationships of the rest of the Terminator franchise are nowhere to be found here. The film is far too busy throwing different varieties of death at its characters to give them much time to develop, or even speak for that matter. There are at least two more characters than are necessary, and the resulting glut limits each of them to one defining characteristic or arc; depth is a deleted scene.
The upshot is that the action sequences are largely superior to those in Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, and at least within a stone's throw of Terminator 2: Judgment Day. The exotic assortment of machines threaten the characters in every environment, and the fight-flee-repeat formula unfolds in dramatic ways. Sound is used to tremendous effect here, and it manages to generate a sense of solidness and weight.
The performances are largely forgettable, but no one's given much to work with. Bale's John Connor, however, is especially mundane, suddenly devoid of all the personality he'd shown in the last two films.
One of the film's most noticeable departures from the series is the relative absence of time travel. Though the characters being attacked or protected figure into the timeline prominently, and are significant for that very reason, no actual time travel takes place. Nor does much discussion of the logical pretzels that the previous films pondered so intensely. In their place, Terminator Salvation opts to ignore the third film's recast message, and simply regurgitates a rough version of the second's. Some of its musings are at least a decade late: the question of where the line is drawn between man and machine is extremely well-tread, and was addressed in far more emotionally resonant ways in Terminator 2. Terminator Salvation has nothing new to say about this difficult question, but it nonetheless hangs the emotional punch of its entire story on it.
Despite all of these problems, the first two-thirds of the film are very entertaining, and the franchise has enough built-in intrigue that any development commands attention. But any momentum the film has established comes to a screeching halt in the third act, with the discovery of Skynet's helpful Exposition Machine. This machine has apparently been programmed to bring everyone up to date and explain the film's Big Twist. It has no reason to say any of the things it does -- let alone to a character who still has the potential to interfere with their plans -- but it does it all the same. It's one of several examples of the massive disconnect between the breadth of Skynet's initial planning and scheming, and their lack of same when it matters most. It simply doesn't hold together.
The film's primary failing is its failure to explore the humanity and purpose underneath the excitement. The joy of this franchise has always been watching the characters wrestle with the paradoxes before them, and the unfathomable responsibilities placed on them; its questions and answers lingered long after the credits rolled. Terminator Salvation understands how to command our attention in the moment, and not a second longer.