Film Dunce is a weekly series in which one of our writers finally succumbs to the lure of a movie that has long been a big part of our culture that they have never seen. Seen through fresh eyes, we evaluate, enjoy and sometimes get bored by these titans of mental real estate.
Last summer, I sat through all 154 inane, incoherent minutes of Michael Bay’s blockbuster Transformers: Dark of the Moon. As the stale Autobots and ear-shattering battle sounds relentlessly raced through my pounding head, I remembered why I don’t watch Hollywood action movies very often. Of course, it’s unfair to disparage a whole genre based upon one particularly idiotic picture. I usually gravitate towards smaller-budget films, ones that paint their stories on a smaller canvas and focus on, you know, characters and themes and things that have some resemblance to real life. There are plenty of decidedly asinine films that label themselves as “indie,” though. Still, most of the time I’d rather support filmmakers who work admirably with limited materials, even if there’s a chance they will fail in their valiant effort to create meaningful art.
It’s not surprising, then, that my Netflix queue is dominated by the likes of Happy-Go-Lucky, Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives and Fish Tank. I am acutely aware that my time on planet Earth is limited. Why would I spend my days enduring mindless action when there’s a chance, as Hallmark greeting card-like as it may sound, that what I watch could actually make me a better human being? I guess this admittedly self-righteous pomposity, whatever the motivation, is partly to blame for the fact that The Terminator has remained unwatched in my queue for so long. There it is, sandwiched right between Farewell My Concubine and The Wind That Shakes the Barley; a bag of Cheetos, if you will, amongst a table of organically-produced, environmentally-responsible food.
As I reluctantly clicked on the “watch” button over The Terminator, I realized how little I knew about James Cameron’s culturally ubiquitous 1984 film. I mean, it was released the same year as I was born. I knew the plot had something to do with cyborg assassins. Even my 18-year-old students recognize the catchphrase “{I’ll be back}” and laugh in familiarity when the former political leader of California is referred to as the “Governator.” Clearly, if I had any claim to care about popular culture or films at all, I would have to eventually catch up with this movie.
I’m happy to report that I found a lot to admire in The Terminator. It’s not Annie Hall, but it sure as hell isn’t Transformers either. The central plot device involves of a cyborg (Arnold Schwarzenegger) sent from the future to assassinate Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton), whose unborn son will become a leader in a resistance movement against a team of artificial intelligence machines who try to exterminate the human race. Along with the Terminator, a man named Kyle Reese (Michael Biehn) is sent to protect Connor, so that humanity will be preserved in the future. I was struck immediately by how simple The Terminator’s plot is, especially compared with many contemporary action films. This plainness is to the film’s credit, for it gives both the audience and the characters breathing room. One of my biggest complaints against a lot of action movies is that the filmmakers are so busy wowing us with smoke and mirrors that we don’t get time to really empathize with the people we see on the screen. The stakes for Connor and Reese are basic enough that we feel for them when they find themselves in nightclub attacks, car chases and fights in factories. An existential threat is at the heart of this picture, and I felt the impending danger of annihilation in each frame.
Watching this film, I was reminded that, despite my pretentious art house leanings, I can get as worked up over a finely crafted action sequence as the next hot-blooded moviegoer. In fact, some of my favorite moments from the canon of cinematic “classics” are in fact fast-paced, movement-filled scenes. My heart pounds during the crop duster sequence of Alfred Hitchcock’s North by Northwest and the helicopter attack scene of Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now. I don’t hate all action sequences. I hate action scenes that defy all sense of logic, are edited in such a rapid style that I can’t follow the progression or are so plagued by CGI that there is no semblance of reality. Fortunately, Cameron brings a sense of momentum and an awareness of setting to The Terminator’s best sequences. During a key car chase, we feel that the movements we see onscreen could actually occur in real life. The editing style is balanced so that we feel the fast pace of the action yet are not overwhelmed by an onslaught of impressionistic images and sounds.
Don’t get me wrong, Cameron’s film is by no means perfect. The love story between Connor and Reese feels a bit formulaic, and some of the dialogue is notably unnatural. If I have a takeaway from my experience with The Terminator, though, it’s that all action movies are not created equal. To generalize about any genre is fallacious, and I know that action films can be believable, fun and intelligent all at the same time. As I was doing some background research on Cameron’s film, I noted that The Terminator was made on a relatively small budget. This fact doesn’t really surprise me, not because the film’s visuals looked meager or underdeveloped, but because the picture retained a spirit of authenticity that is often the product of filmmakers being creative with what they have. Cameron left me with the desire to see Terminator 2: Judgment Day to find out what happens next in the series’ mythology. Coming from me, that’s a decent compliment.
