“We have destroyed your world!” said the Terminator.
“Ohhhhh, goooood for you. And how was it? I hope it was f**king good, because it’s useless now, isn’t it?”
The Terminator – like most machines who aren’t relatives or employees of Christian Bale – was so stunned, the skull-shaped grin was wiped off its spit-shine polished face. “Aren’t saviors supposed to be more even-tempered?” the T-600 anxiously asked, shooting a glance for support towards director McG.
“I want you off the f**king set you prick!”
And so rages the war against the machines – and the war against whoever is holding back the Xanax.
Wait, which prick was Christian talking to? This is Hollywood, which would be called Prickwood if only the term wasn’t redundant. We have pricks who park other pricks’ cars and fetch other pricks’ drinks and shop other pricks’ doctors to triple up on every prick’s prescription meds. Prickwood r us, right down to the engineer who’s recording this pricky outburst so he can leak it to that prick Perez Hilton so all his fan-pricks can enjoy a momentary sense of su-prick-eriority before collapsing back into the soupy, disappointing muck of their prick-filled lives.
What led the notoriously combustible Christian Bale to this role? “Who could pass up an artistic collaboration between Common and Jane Alexander and the bar brawl they’re likely to inspire?” said Bale. “My next film features Lady Gaga and Ernest Borgnine and either club moves or Red Buttons stories – ideally both.”
“Send in the Transformer-sized Terminators,” said Skynet central, “and if you can find a flesh-covered Terminator who has lasted more than 45 minutes without losing the left side of his face, give him some kind of prize.”
Bale is a leader of the resistance fighters, who are mostly resistant to ugliness, facial blemishes, a few extra pounds, roomy flight suits, and old age.
You can spot danger wherever you see glowing red eyes and the bottles of hooch which produce them. No wonder Christian Bale is alarmed! “The giant Transformer-sized Terminator has a cannon for a head – which makes him really hard to identify at an ATM!”
But what’s this: A new bio-Terminator who believes he’s human, thus making him the only cast member who can be so sure.
“Evasive maneuvers!” shouts Christian, as if the unlikely John Connor maturation pathway from Edward Furlong to Nick Stahl to Christian Bale wasn’t evasive enough.
Suddenly, here comes Arnold Schwarzenegger, or at least a cartoon rendering of Arnold Schwarzenegger, who’s all ah-da-da-dah, like this in the background.
“It’s the Manga-nator!” shouts a member of the resistance. “The Hanna-Barbera-nator!” said another. “The animated twin brother of Danny DeVito-nator,” said Brice Dallas Howard, the only member of the cast who remembers any cinematic history older than Batman Begins.
Christian Bale must free captive humans, including one young boy with an Afro more expansive than the scope of human history itself. That’s to block a future where a character gives his body to science much like Katie Holmes gave her body to Scientology.
Terminator Salvation isn’t half bad, but even the good half is better suited to a battle with the machines than to a battle at the box office with Ben Stiller in a museum.