Here we are. Another blockbuster season of sequels, remakes, reimaginings and unwarranted dreck. Whilst my learned colleague over there might be wincing in discomfort, I AM IN MY ELEMENT.
How good was Jurassic World? Didn’t see that coming, did we? Damn straight. Biggest opening weekend ever, too. That is not to be sniffed at. Especially when you consider that the original, whilst excellent, is rarely championed as one of the greats. Nice to see it’s got some staying power, at least.
Speaking of which, this month we have more evidence of the indefatigable nature of modern cinema in the shape of Terminator: Genisys. Dreadful title notwithstanding, what fresh hell is this?
Arnie’s had a shaky time of it since his return from Governating (the only things REALLY worth your time are Sabotage and Escape Plan, FYI), so to see him showing up as an aged T-800 begs a multitude of questions. But then you catch the trailer and see him squaring up against the 80s version of himself! Then, get this, right, Khaleesi out of Game of Thrones rocks up, telling Reese (played by spite-faced meatball Jai Courtney) to come with her if he wants to live, and THEN ohmygod John Connor comes back as some pimp Terminator from a different future?!?!
Hollywood. Apart from forgetting the art of the trailer, what is this all about? An open-minded approach would be to assume some clever(ish) attempt at retconning one’s way into a whole new demographic, in much the way the 2009 Star Trek movie did. Same toys, different sandpit, if you will. Now, there’s nothing wrong with injecting new life into something that may have gone a bit stale, and following Terminator Salvation, there was a chance to do that. I can’t be alone in wanting to see a bit more of the bleak, post-apoclyptic adventures of Christian Bale going utterly mental whilst killing robots and stuff. Sounds awesome. But no. You don’t get to choose, cinemagoers. You get what you’re given. Consume it. You have little choice.
Seems apt to paraphrase the original Kyle Reese here, so listen, and understand. The film studios are out there. They can’t be bargained with. They can’t be reasoned with. They don’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And they absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead. Or, at the very least, until you stop going to watch this shit.
See you at the hot dog stand, yeah?
By James McVeigh
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