{Rather vague spoilers abound. Do not read if you are a rasa-man, etc.}

What is it with these portentious, nonsense (as opposed to no-nonsense) blockbusters. X2 led the way with a baffling kind of moral incoherence; that movie basically force-fed fetishized violence while proudly spouting “it is Wrong to treat Others Differently in an Aggressive Fashion!” Okay then. And then we got The Matrix Reloaded, whose solipsism said more about the ways of its audience than its ideas. And Hulk, a movie made by a comic-obsessed Bergman with a penchant for Freudianism based on dismantling the male id.

The new Terminator movie is marked by self-seriousness too, but it feels less affirmative about that seriousness than those other movies, and its logic feels considerably less confused as a result. Its best scenes are, literally and figuratively, explosive; its worst are those that explicate somber ruminations on fate and destruction.

Early images, such as the Terminatrix being formed in a window, have a compelling, sexual plasticity to them, a purity of creation and death that beats pretty much anything the screenwriters can come up with for Nick Stahl to say. Like Hulk, there is a sequence involving an explosion followed by silence, but it isn’t supposed to be psychologically representative of anything. It’s more abstract, and more interesting.

The movie also has an interesting obsession with technological and sexual ideals. In the beginning, Arnold and the Terminatrix’s confidence seem measured by their ability to fit in with gender roles (Arnold steps on the sunglasses he finds; Terminatrix shows a subtle satisfaction when her body changes). There were times when I was reminded of Two-Lane Blacktop, in that a girl’s body is transformed into the driving force of destruction, the inescapable modernity in this film supplanting the lifestyle-compulsiveness of that one. Here, of course, it’s literalized.

It is gradually revealed that Danes has a chance of fitting Stahl’s ideal, but in ways that elude him in the present; this interacts nicely with the direct “modern” sexuality that the Terminatrix compels others with. And since the only difference between Arnold and the Terminatrix is obsoletion, the only humanity in their scenes with each other is the will to defeat the grasp of time and influence. Arnold can gain influence at the push of a button; Nick is desperate to know what his will be.

Don’t get me wrong. The film is not without maudlin bullshit. The scenes in which Nick recalls the death of his mother is borderline unwatchable. But there is enough to contradict the logic (having little time to mourn and mull over the past is rather Sucky) of that scene to make it work for me: Arnold tells Nick anger is more useful than despair (I guess my reaction is, yes, temporarily), which creates more complexities among the film’s circuitry of controlling emotions and technological forces throughout times. And the seriousness has some thematic self-consciousness to it. When Nick and Claire are happily reassured by a memory, Arnold says “levity relieves fear of death,” etc. Indeed, but how, if you’re a robot fer chrissakes?

And the ending was, surprise surprise, coherent, in its way. In the face of ideological failure, Arnold becomes an element of pure destruction. Destruction fucks itself over and becomes self-destructive. The movie doesn’t believe in following commands, but at least it believes in survival. On the basis of this and the grievously underrated It’s All About Love, the year is doing pretty good with bittersweet sci-fi messes with Ms. Danes. I wouldn’t mind another, etc.

7.2.03

baaab