Terminator Salvatio…Almost

Man, not since Will Smith’s ego shafted IRobot by piquing the studio’s interest in its investment, have I been so disappointed by a film that would have, could have, should have and almost was, fucking awesome!

Are the dimwits who sign the checque books so retarded, that in 2009, they still think people want or need a sob filled happy ending – in a fucking movie about the end of the world, for christ’s sake????

There was an opportunity here to complete the story arc back to T1, offering buckets of closure with a magnificent and well acted twist (in the form of Sam Worthington) and they opt to drag the whole  shebang out into another ‘franchise sequel’ – T5 with ‘heart’ strings. As if there weren’t enough threads to weave a sequel, or perhaps trilogy, from t2!!!!!

This film is outstanding for 1hour and 58 minutes and craps out so totally and utterly in what can only be (one hopes) a rancid, audience approved studio ending that you want to walk out, except you can’t because the fucking thing is over

“Dear Coke-Addled Studio Executive.
The whole emotional attachment we have with the film is based on the understanding that this is where it touches back to T1 – i.e. the original story arc is completed, as in, that this is the moment where John Connor sends Kyle Reece back in time to start the bloody thing in the first place – a fact we sorely needed reminding of after the abomination that was T3.

Were you so fucking high, or busy having your balls licked or enthralled by the walk-out surveys of your selected test-audiences that you couldn’t see that your happy heart-swapping, sorry, warming ending, negates the entire film?

A note here on script writing:

When you have really good actors and the script already allows them to portray the intricacies of the philosophically blurry relationship between humans and machines YOU DON’T NEED TO RAM IT DOWN OUR FUCKING THROATS. The most retarded viewer will get it, even if they can’t express themselves on a form.

It’s Not Art…

…if you call it art. Subsequently, you are not an artist if you call yourself an artist. You are however more than likely a bit of a tosser and have your hand firmly on it.

‘Artist’ is a title like ‘Doctor’ or ‘Engineer’ and titles are conferred by other people, thus only other people can decide if your creation is, as Zoidberg would put it, ‘an art’.

Painter; Writer, Seamster, Creator of Work: only other people have the capacity to say whether or not your work is that of an artist.

A reasonably good sign is if someone tries to buy it from you. A somewhat less reliable indicator is if they try to hang it on their walls. But the most surefire way to know that you are an artist is if other people start calling you one – preferably lots of them.

It is at this stage that you have an important choice to make, because if you personally adopt the title then you are essentially putting your hand on it, in a way very similar to the one mentioned earlier in the piece.