Bruno: Head in Your Face

Who remembers Da Ali G show? The short-lived but eye-opening comedy series which came to the United States via HBO long after Sascha Baron Cohen originally conceived its three principal characters, Borat, Bruno and the titular Ali G, was particularly good at disarming, confusing and exposing human beings, cynically painting them as contradictory, hypocritical and bigoted creatures. It was the perfect show for those of us who viewed our fellow man in a cynical light--at least in the United States, anyway (I've never seen Baron Cohen's work across the pond)--showing us how dumb, misguided and ignorant the lot of us can be. Ali G frequently twisted his interviewees' words against them, or just outright made innocent funny with the more benevolent of his victims (such as when he asked "my man, Boutros, Boutros, BOUTROS Gali" why Disney World wasn't represented in the United Nations, reasoning that it has its own currency). Borat got unsuspecting people to show just how anti-Semitic they were, and Bruno pulled some healthy "Zoolander" schtick by slamming all things pretentious, using the fashion industry as his victim. Oh yeah, he also revealed how sadly homophobic we still are.

Well, maybe Baron Cohen is trying to tell me that I'm a huge homophobe (which I'm not), because I sure as hell cringed away from the screen when the surprising image of a flaccid, swinging penis popped up at random intervals during one sequence in his third character film, "Bruno".

If you've not seen "Bruno" then consider yourself foreskinned--I mean, forewarned: Johnson McSwing pops up on the screen at least three times within a one-minute span. Or something like it. I don't know, I didn't count, and it was too long already. Listen: The male flaccid member isn't a pretty thing ("Says you!" Bro, trust me, yours isn't either), and for all the possible subtext behind Baron Cohen's decision to throw it up on a huge ass movie screen, you and I both know he did it primarily for cock value. Shock value. Ahem.

Let's talk about this seriously for a second. While I readily admit that I'm uncomfortable with bare elephant trunk on the screen, this fact is not the issue. Rather, the motivation behind flapping the earthworm speaks for a lot of the "humor" present in "Bruno": "Hey, let's shock the shit out of the audience. It's going to be so outrageous!" Well, shock someone too hard and too many times with your tazer, and he or she might just fall unconscious and MISS ALL OF YOUR GODDAMN JOKES.

Many of the jokes in "Bruno" degrade to the sexual equivalent of potty humor. Oh, look--his partner is pleasuring him with an exercise bike designed to plunge a dildo into his bum. Hey check this out--he's getting whipped by a completely naked dominatrix. This is funny--he and his male assistant just had some earth-shattering sex, and now they're trapped in some overdone bondage suit. There are moments when Bruno's homosexuality creates the sort of quiet, awkward situations (asking a martial arts instructor how to defend against a dildo attack) that we've come to know, love and expect from Baron Cohen, but in most cases, he simply pushes way too hard. No pun intended.

What's most disappointing about this is the fact that, for all of its heinous and outrageous humor, "Borat" still packed enough satire into its story that exposed those of us not familiar with Da Ali G show to anti-Semitism, nonsensical jingoism, antiqiuated sexism and just the general stupidity that humanity has to offer. (Is there an "ism" for that?) "Bruno" sports a main character who might almost be as rich in opportunities for satire--as mentioned, Zoolander did a good job in ridiculing the fashion industry's pretense--and the exposure of America's homophobic tendencies. This is sadly scarce from much of the film's 82 minutes.

Through his familiar twisted yet intellectual methods, Baron Cohen does hit the nail on the head in rare instances. I thought I was in for a good show when Bruno quizzes a model on how difficult her life is, having to remember how to walk properly ("...left foot, then right foot..."). And, in the last pre-credits scene, he comes out as "Straight Dave" and lures thousands of America's homophobes into a UFC-style arena, to rousing cheers and adulation, only to make out passionately with his male assistant to Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On". (Have you ever seen a redneck cry? I highly recommend it.) Now, where was shit like this for the entire middle hour of the movie?!

"Bruno" is simply a missed opportunity, and unfortunately, will probably lead people to think that all of Baron Cohen's material is nothing more than potty slop. Though if this is the best he can do with the Bruno character, maybe it's a good thing that he has to retire every character who stars in a feature film.

Transformers: Revenge Of Shitty Camerawork

Disclaimer: This is not a well-planned "review." I get paid to do those elsewhere. Rather, I saw this movie with the full intent of lambasting it because I was pretty sure I'd hate it. So I am, because I did.

The day before I saw "Transformers: Revenge Of The Fallen" with my friend Dave, I went out on a dinner date and, well, kinda let it slip that Michael Bay and I have issues. I more or less confessed that Mikey and I had an overly dramatic fistfight in a back alley--complete with wide panning shots and rotating camera shots around our heads--and, because she was both fantastic and hella pretty, I peacocked a little bit and told her that I handily won that fight.

The truth of the matter is, Michael Bay has won almost every single fight against me and my sensibilities. (Sorry I lied. I'll make it up to you.) In the war against my sanity, I've only come out on top twice, escaping Bad Boys and The Rock without any mental scarring. In fact, because I actually enjoyed those movies, I'd be willing to say that Bay inadvertently contributed positively to my sanity.

Then I saw Armaggeddon, and it became apparent that Bay's strategy would be to butcher me in the face with the same tactics over and over again. The slow-motion line shot, in which several principal actors walk slowly towards the camera in a horizontal line. The high-speed head orbit, in which the camera circles around one or two actors' heads--around and around and around. The overblown chin sweep, in which the camera starts under an actor's chin on one side of his body and swivels upwards around to the other side of his chin, primarily when said actor is stepping out of a car or getting up from a fall.

It's a very smart strategy, that being repetition of incessantly nauseating camera work. Immediately, Bay gained the upper hand with Armaggeddon and has been just fucking relentless ever since. He turned "Bad Boys II," the sequel of my first victory, into an overdrawn trip to goddamn Cuba that ended 45 minutes after it really should have. Then we took a trip to "The Island" which actually probably did nearly as much good as it did harm by exposing Scarlett Johansson as a complete fraud of an actress (babe, do you really think your husky voice is going to carry you to a SAG award, or even an Oscar?), and gave us the iconic shot of randomly-cast Djimon Hounsou--dressed in black--walking in the opposite direction of a whole bunch of white-clad pale-skinned celebrity clones. It was almost as poignant as when he shot that scene of Ewan McGregor and Scarlett sparring as if they were inside a game of Street Fighter... complete with freaking life bars and avatars on a screen behind them. (Just to be clear, I'm being sarcastic. I'm pretty sure that "The Island" is responsible for the accelerated growth of that big-ass pimple on McGregor's forehead.)

"I'm Michael Bay's fault!"

Nothing has destroyed my mind, however, as much as the two "Transformers" films Bay directed. "Transformers: Revenge Of The Fallen" is the worst offender of the two, clocking in at seven hours and eighty-nine fucking minutes. First there was the nausea. The camera spun around heads with reckless abandon--whenever Megatron was addressing someone outdoors, whenever two people were involved in heated conversation, even during as vapid a conversation as the one between Megan "Stripperface" Fox (I'll credit Dave's witty repartee for that one) and Shia TheBeef where they argue about who should say "I love you" first. Here's a hint, douchebags: I sure don't love you, and in fact I HATE BOTH OF YOU, so who fucking cares!?

Oh, I get the genius here. Bay and writers Kruger, Orci and Kurtzman are masters of metaphor and showed it with that aforementioned scene tactfully. By combining Bay's cock-slicing camera work with that "I love you" dialogue, clearly they want us to know that there is a fine line between love and nausea. (Only, James Earl Jones taught us that first, assholes.) They left in another metaphor for our youth to absorb--only it wasn't so much a metaphor as much as it was a blatant insult to black people all over. Mudflap and Skids, complete with buck teeth, full of hood jargon and fist pounds cuz they be wannabe thugz n' shit, rightfully criticized by Peter Travers in his review as "the most offensive bots in screen history," pretty much admit that they, uh, don't read much yo. Bril-fucking-liant! "Black people don't read!" Oh, we get the message loud and clear. Good job alienating like 50% of your captive audience.

When "Transformers: Revenge Of The Bullshit" isn't assaulting our senses with miserable camerawork, empty dialogue or subtle racism or stereotyping, it somehow magically manages to steal imagery, moments and motifs from Terminator 3 (so how did the T-X make it into this movie!?), The Shawshank Redemption (throw the chess piece at the poster for the answer), Aliens Vs. Predator (though admittedly, that movie crawled out of Paul W.S. Anderson's ass, so who really cares), Flatliners (ghosts have been watching and will bring him back from death!), The Matrix ("I love you!"), and National Treasure (hey here's a cryptic riddle--let's decipher it!). I guess Bay and the writers bought that new-fangled iPhone 3GS (wow, "copy and paste"--finally available after years of incompetence). Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but that only works when the final product doesn't make me want to vomit in the popcorn bucket belonging to the nice gentleman sitting to my right. Fortunately for that gentleman, he was twice my size and looked like a boxer so I found it in my esophagus heart to hold it in.

I'll be fair here. There were scattered moments of enjoyment to be found. I could actually see what the fuck was going on when the big-ass robots were making big-ass explosions--well, at least half of the time. We all know that robots and explosions are awesome. Aaron Pierce and The Jesus made big appearances here (played by Glenn Morshower of "24" fame and the immortal John Turturro from "The Big Lebowski" respectively; listen, anything related to "24" and "The Big Lebowski" gets some kind of credit). EDIT: I forgot to mention: Soundwave. The fact that he was in the movie at all, with his creepy-ass voice, and the way they faithfully recreated his Communications Officer role as a sneaky satellite dude in space, was legitimately awesome. And, amidst the rubble of terrible slapstick jokes (robots and people tripping over each other, slamming into walls comically, et cetera--oh how funny; welcome to what Looney Toons did DECADES ago), there were some decent non-racist quips at opportune moments along with more than competent special effects. In fact, I'm willing to rent the DVD just to splice together the scenes that I liked, which by my estimation would take up about 20 minutes in total. But before you counter-attack my back-handed compliment, I know that this movie is insanely popular and brings in the mad $crilla. I get it I get it I get it. Travers called this out already, but it bears repeating for this reason alone: Not everything that's popular is actually good. (For Chrissakes, Dickelsack is an award-winning band. Figure that shit out.)

In the interests of full disclosure, the only reason I went to see "Transformers: Revenge of Ineptitude" is because of Travers' review, linked above. That critique is so masterfully brutal (no stars out of 5! Holy shit!) that I had to see what kind of a turd floated to the top of Bay's squat-hole. I was fully ready, willing and able to be pleasantly surprised, as I was with Iron Man, but ultimately the real entertainment value simply came from the several times during which I cringed, face-palmed, rolled my eyes, frowned, cradled my head in my hands, laughed blatantly at what were supposed to be sentimental moments, and counted out the many ways in which this movie could turn into a drinking game ("There's a head-orbiting camera shot! Drink!" or "That's another movie they ripped off! Drink!" or "Look how shitty this movie is! Drink!"). So, for all the emotional and psychological pain Michael Bay has caused me over his career, I'm beginning to recognize that with the enjoyment of ridiculing this "film" while I was in the theatre came an overwhelming sense of victory.

I win this round, bitch. Bring on Transformers 3.

Wanted - Check Your Brain at the Door

Well, well. Summer begins, and it looks like James McAvoy wants to get away from the heavy-handedness that was "The Last King of Scotland" and "Atonement". Just watch first ten minutes of "Wanted" -- and then the remaining 102 of them -- and it becomes obvious.

"Wanted", from director Timur Bekmambetov, starts off by introducing you to Wesley Gibson, an "account manager" and the most vaginal of pussies getting walked on like a treadmill by everyone around him -- including his girlfriend. Here we see him desperately try to tolerate the birthday celebration of his whale-sized supervisor, listening to his internal monologue telling us about this monstrous event for this monstrous woman (which includes such descriptive gems as "anorexic"). Not much later thereafter, we're transported to a seemingly entirely different world where people can fly (well, not really, but close enough), gunmen can curveball bullets, and "The Matrix's" slow-mo is all the rage again. Oh yeah: It's also brain-burstingly bloody.

Back and forth "Wanted" goes, between cynical "I hate my life" comedy and over-the-top, stylistic gunplay as dear old Wesley is recruited into "The Fraternity" (of assassins) and eventually stops hating his life. Finding out "who he is," so to speak, Gibson now feels he has some sort of purpose in his life -- though of course, he has to come to grips with his new "occupation" as an assassin... you know, killing people and mean shit like that.

I'm going to skip over the "acting" in this movie, as it's entirely moot. The real stars of the show here, ignoring the randomly inserted sarcastic comedy for a minute, are the rampant, overdone but still enjoyable stunts and gimmicks. Watching Gibson fend off an oncoming bullet with one of his own never gets old, and Fox (played by a suddenly-super-skinny Angelina Jolie -- I mean Christ, I'm surprised her lips don't make her top-heavy) atop a speeding train car under doing a limboto fit under a low-hanging tunnel ceiling is pretty hot.

When I say overdone, though, I really mean it. You've absolutely got to make sure to check your brain at the entrance, grabbing that claim ticket before proceeding to drool into a cup. Watching an assassin shoot bullets around corners, or hang out of a speeding car where the front windshield used to be while firing behind the car at an assailant, is one thing. Seeing assassins complete a hundred-foot long jump out of a high-rise office into another building or sniping a target's forehead from miles away, in between moving train cars and through a fucking doughnut hole, is quite another.

The story does throw a common though still slightly surprising twist our way, and the mystique of this assassin's guild (as it were) along with its lore are pretty fun to sit through, but since we just have to get back to the crazy bullet-time action, the little things are fleshed-out only just enough for us to have the necessary "facts" for the plot. Those of you who might have wanted ten extra minutes to explore how "the loom of fate" works (yeah, brain at the door) or more about the The Fraternity's past, or just any lore or mythos you might want, will be out of luck. In terms of lots of backstory, the movie version of Assassin's Creed this is not. It certainly doesn't get any brownie points for throwing in a very brief discussion -- if you can even call it that -- on fate and destiny, on a totally superficial level without any meaningful expansion or impact. Though perhaps it's for the best -- no one wants to sit through another pace-destroying treatise on causality; one Merovingian was enough.

So yeah, "Wanted" gets hokey and stupid. However, it also packs every minute with either comedy, style, or intensity, and even all of the above. The performances are fine and never detract from the dumb fun, and rarely do any lines ever feel forced or contrived -- two things I can't say about horseshit like "The Fast And The Furious". If films like "300" make you giddy (though I should say that "300" is much, much better), you'll very likely have a good time with "Wanted". I certainly did.

(Bonus points for you if you enjoyed Bekmambetov's "Nightwatch"; you'll definitely see some stylistic similarities here. And if you end up enjoying "Wanted" but didn't see "Nightwatch" then mosey on down to your video store or web browser and queue up a copy of the latter.)

More Tangential and Unorganized Terminator Issues - The T-X is Shitty Fanfic

NOTE: This brog has been rated NSFW by the Blogitorial Board. There is no nudity -- only an animated GIF of a rather, er, bouncy cartoon lady. You'll see why it's there should you choose to read on.

The female Terminator -- the Terminatrix -- The T-X -- whatever the fuck you want to call her -- is shitty fanfic.

Now, I don't have a definition for what makes shitty fanfic. I think you pretty much just know it when you see it.

For the uninitiated: Fanfic is short for "fan fiction". Fan fiction usually constitutes a hardcore fan of something, usually an intellectual property (I can't imagine someone writing a fanfic about Shaquille O'Neal -- though maybe STEEL or KAZAAM ["Fun!" lauds one critic] qualifies as shitty fanfic), taking that fandom and applying it to a work of fiction that s/he can proudly call his own. Liberties are expected to be taken. Get a Star Wars fan with a really sick -- sorry, fantastic -- imagination and he'll probably write something insane -- incredible I mean -- like Luke Skywalker learning to fly like superman and then engaging in meticulously choreographed coitus with 42 virgin female Jedi students.

Oh, I'm sorry, horny shitty fanfic writer of Star Wars: Long Luke -- I meant Padawan. Forgive my ignorance of the appropriate terminology.

Shitty is the adjective variant of the word "shit", which is generally used as a negative term (most commonly utilizing one of its definitions as feces -- or manure, or poop, or uh-oh-a-lil-accident, or smear if you prefer -- as a metaphor or simile: "Smells like shit" or "That's complete, smelly horse shit") to describe something that is not to your liking.

Therefore, shitty fanfic is fan fiction that smells, tastes, feels, or looks like complete shit. The fan completely embellishes or exaggerates or goes into excessively obnoxious detail about the subject matter, adding stuff that s/he thinks is "omfg so aesome it pwns!!!111" when i reality it's completely gratuitous. I'm willing to bet it also fulfills his/her horniest desires (see the Long Luke example from three para's ago).

Now, I like Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines. I was highly entertained by it. It had irreparable flaws, yes, such as JOHNCONNORSAYINGHEWAS13WHENT2HAPPENED, but I still enjoyed myself. I enjoyed myself despite the fact that -- say it with me, all three of you reading -- the T-X was shitty fanfic. But it was. Nothing against Kristanna Loken, or the concept of a female Terminator (works quite nicely in Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles). It's just the... the gratuitous nature of her goddamn powers and abilities that causes disc 4 in my spine to herniate out of sheer frustration.

You know what made the T-1000 scary, besides the fact that most of Terminator 2: Judgment Day was shot at night? That motherfucker closed in on you and shoved a goddamn spike in your eye. His arms turned into barbaric pointed tips. If you blew his head open, it splayed apart in a chrome mess and then somehow repaired itself. It didn't look like a robot -- it looked like a monster.

Now, flash-forward to Terminator 3. Are we supposed to be scared of the fact that the T-X has Killer Titties from the Future? I don't mean that she was hot -- I'm talking about the scene where she gets pulled over by the cop early in the movie, she sees a lingerie ad (pronounced "linn-grrr-eee" because I'm not French; I do what I want) and then -- in order to win the cop over -- inflates her mammaries.

o_O

G'eh???

What the hell is this?

What next, Terminator: Mai?

You know what she said next? "I like your gun." Which means she probably took it from him, and then killed him. So why bother with the push-push-push-up? Did she need to give the guy a woodpecker before ending him? Did she have an un-Terminator-esque moment of compassion and say, "It's okay baby, you'll die (sorta) happy"? I mean, let's be real. I can almost picture the sweaty, freckled, balding guy with the high, whiny nasal voice thinking, "Oh that's hot..." as the words fall on the page:

Hot TERMINATOR X BABE, who we'll call TERMINATRIX because it sounds like Dominatrix and that really grows my gland, goes from a D-cup to an I-M-The-Alpha-And-Omega-cup.

TERMINATRIX

(seductively) I like your gun.

The POLICE OFFICER and TERMINATRIX look each other in the eyes, then rip off each others' clothing for a steamy, passionate session of man-machine lovemaking right there in the street. TERMINATRIX generates artificial sweat that glistens over her breasts in the moonlight as POLICE OFFICER'S love handles wobble sloppily in the dark. After climax, TERMINATRIX snaps POLICE OFFICER'S neck and takes his gun, then sings ABBA with a chorus line of T-800'S and the TOP-HAT ALIEN that burst out of that dude's chest in the end of SPACEBALLS.

(I'm pretty sure that last part didn't make it in the script.)

It might be just as offensive to my intelligence, if not moreso, as the "I call 9mm" line. Except you get no happy picture of elated conference-room denizens -- and I'd rather not look on images.google for the keywords "obese, pervert, fan fiction author".

Whoa, look. I killed two birds with one stone. Now I don't have to explain why the nickname "Terminatrix" IS ALSO SHITTY FANFIC.

Wait, though; it gets better. She can like, dude, oh my god, control other machines! That's SO FREAKING AWESOME COOL AND IT MAKES HER DEADLYER AND SO SCARYER!!

This needle with the little remote control robots is TOTALLY TUBULAR. Shitty fat fanfic writer says, "I bet she uses it in OTHER ways too! lol amirite amirite w00t"

You know, in intense movies, usually it's some sort of monster that telephatically commands like -- I don't know, killer bees or something -- to come after you. It's taking mother nature and turning it against you; taking something very close to home and making it incredibly scary. This shit? I mean, sure, maybe there's something scary about a four police vehicles chasing after you with no driver. All I can think of when I imagine that is Burnout Paradise or Transformers, more than meets the eye, "Autobots, TRANSFORM!" *khee kheh khaw khoh*. I mean, really -- that's most of what it came down to: sending a police car after John Connor. Later on, yes, she reprograms Skynet prototypes. Big whoop. That still doesn't make her scary.

To further add to the "let's throw everything, the kitchen sink, the dog, the kitchen sink's dog, and the kitchen sink's dog's kennel into this Terminator broad and she'll be like the most bestest awesomest cool robot from the future to kill stuff!!! Radical!"

"A killer robot with EVERYTHING you ever dreamt of. How radical?" "So radical."

I mean, look! She has guns built-in! Her arm can change into a PLASMA CANNON!!!!!!! Oh and then, and then like, and then dude a FLAME THROWER.

omg way cool d00d


P. Diddy allegedly told someone to back off or, "I'll shoot flames out ya ass." That makes this cool.

The original Terminator probably intimidated a few folks, yeah, because it was an unstoppable man with an eerie metal skeleton underneath. I mean a skeleton folks -- taking our human structure and making it foreign and cold and mechanic. The T-X's endoskeleton just looks like a robot. That's it. It doesn't make you think of a creature the way the T-1000 does, or a single-minded tank that needs nothing but its own indestructibility the way the old T-800's do. The T-X just has so many toys that it's like, ok, why bother going in for the kill? I can just shit a land mine out of my ass and be done with it. What horrifying beast ever did that? Ok, so the T-X screams a shrill, animalistic scream near the end of the movie as it claws its way to grab the escaping Connor, but that pales in comparison to the gruesomeness of this:



or this:


or this:


Whoops! How'd you get in there, Claire Danes? (Sorry Claire, but you just didn't look good in Terminator 3. Or is that Tom Cruise standing in for you in that scene?)

Unsorted and Tangential Terminator Issues

I love the Terminator series. In fact, I think it's awesome. Boo me if you want -- you know I'm right. There are, however, some beeves (yes, I've chosen the V plural instead of writing "beefs" -- leave me alone) I have with it -- and it's not the concept but rather how much the creators FUK UP the timelines of the series. As my friend Dave and I discussed one night over dinner at the ESPNZone where the Knicks were on television getting summarily pounded by whatever flotsam and jetsam was floating by, it's founded on a completely ridiculous notion. We all knew that -- the stupid predestination paradox that makes it possible for some dude (John Connor) to somehow be older than his dad (Kyle Reese).

But that's the item of suspension of disbelief we're supposed to accept if we're to enjoy the movie. I mean, it's about freaking walking, sentient robots in a man meat suit. That's already ridiculous enough for anyone who's not willing to enjoy a nice, unrealistic sci-fi movie, to walk out of the theatre. So let's throw that out.

Following are a list of things that I demand explained or amended by the Vice President of Fiction, and so help me God if he can't do it, the President of Fiction sure as hell better be able to. This is haphazard. Scattered. Unorganized. Growing. So you maybe can come back in a month and a half when I've actually chronologically ordered this pile of shit.

***********

John Connor was NOT thirteen. (Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, or, Arnold's Botox)

Dear T3 Director Jonathan Mostow:

Hi! My name is Chupporito. When I was 11 years old, I saw Terminator 2: Judgment Day. Never mind that it was a rated R movie, and never mind that this is probably the first time you realized that it's spelled "judgment" and not "judgement". "Judgement" is not a real word. Anyway, on with the show. I saw Terminator 2. I loved it. I remember it like the back of my left hand, which I remember quite well because it's got a nasty burn scar from when I stuck it in a subway car door and then yanked it out for fear of getting dragged along with the train.

You know what I remember clearly about it? Allow me to turn fanboy and put on my nerd glasses. John Connor was ten years old in that movie. Yep -- ten.

So, riddle me this, Darlene: Why does (the well-cast) Nick Stahl recite a line indicating that he was thirteen years old when the T-1000 went after his scrawny ass (also when Robert Patrick's movie career began and ended; okay, that was harsh, I actually do like him, but HE WAS IN THE GODDAMN MARINE)? I mean, did you allow your writers to go up to Jim Cameron and Billy Wisher and say to them, "Hey, can I just kind of unload some feces on what you've already written in your fantastic, revolutionary blockbuster and just CHANGE the age of your Messiah just, you know, because?"

"lolz I am ruin ur timelien now, kk?"

Only Living Tissue Can Go Through Time Travel, w00t (Terminator 2: Judgment Day)

So in the first Terminator, starring Michael Bean and Arnold Swasherbuckle (I know how to spell their names, I do what I want), Beanie's character Kyle Reese says that he couldn't bring weapons back because only living tissue could pass through the time displacement machine. So, Skynet says, "Fuk u, I put my robit in teh meat bag and give him hair and eys." Fair enough -- the original terminator, encased in homo sapien beef, is allowed through.

But if the T-1000 is a "mimetic polyalloy" of liquid metal, where's the beef?

"Fuck you asshole. I mean, uh... ..moo. I am so full of milk."

I mean, maybe Skynet wrapped Robert Patrick in a big meatball and sent him on through. Wait, a meatball is dead. Mkay, maybe they build a living tissue castle around him and when he touched down in Los Angeles he turned into liquid metal form and seeped out the asshole? Point is, Jim, you made a great movie, but failed to explain that. Do you know how much my sister traumatized me with the fact that your movie did not make logistical sense as compared to the original? Do you know how poorly I tried to defend my favorite movie against her female wits?

Ok, over-dramatic, yes. Bite my ass. Point is: Metal can't go through. Explain yourself.

Summer Glau Cannot Pull Off an Arnold (Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles)

Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles is a fun show. It's not perfect. It's not 24. It doesn't have Kiefer Sutherland in it. But it does have (shitty fanfic writers, get your notepads out -- your perverted, disgusting dream has come true) a female terminator. No, not a ridiculous shitty fanfic terminator like in Terminator 3 (if I say shitty fanfic three times in this piece you all owe me drinks -- oh wait, I win) with GUNS IN HER ARMS OMGLOLZ TAHTS SCURRY. No, a mostly plain bag-of-meat-plus-robot-skeleton model. In effect, she is the female Arnold in the series.

Now, Summer Glau as the terminator named Cameron Phillips ain't bad. Despite the headline of this item, the following is not really her fault but rather the fault of the writers. But here we go. Now, I know in keeping with the spirit of stuff like, "I'll be back," "Hasta la vista, baby," "No problemo," and all of that, the writers probably wanted to write in some Arnold camp. So what do they come up with?

John Connor (running towards the passenger door of a car): "I call shotgun."
Cameron Phillips: "I call nine millimeter."

o_O

Uh. What?

"omfg we like so totally nailed it were AWSOME writers!"

I cried a little inside when I heard that line in the commercial for that episode, and then I absolutely bawled when I saw it in the episode itself. Come to think of it, I don't even think Arnold could have pulled that off.

There's more -- oh yes -- there's more to come.