Tag: scifi

Three Dredds

September 9, 2025 / Zander

I’ve recently had the chance to see two movies I had never seen, Judge Dredd (Danny Cannon, 1995) and Dredd (Pete Travis, 2012). They are both adaptations of the comic strip Judge Dredd, but they differ significantly from each other.

Judge Dredd first appeared in 1977 in 2000 AD, a British weekly anthology comic, created by writer John Wagner and artist Carlos Ezquerra. The strip was a reaction against both American superhero excess and the bleak prospects of late-20th-century urban life. The setting, Mega-City One, was a sprawling dystopian metropolis stretching along the American eastern seaboard, plagued by crime, unemployment, and social decay.

Dredd himself was conceived as the ultimate law enforcer: judge, jury, and executioner rolled into one. He wore a militaristic uniform with oversized pauldrons, hid his face behind a helmet, and spoke in terse, authoritarian commands. The character was never meant to be a hero in the traditional sense. Instead, the comics satirized authoritarianism, policing, and state power. The world of Judge Dredd is one in which the law is absolute but also absurd, reflecting anxieties about fascism, militarization, and the erosion of civil liberties.

A key point is that Wagner and Ezquerra didn’t present Dredd as purely admirable or purely villainous. He was both protector and oppressor, embodying the contradictions of a society that sacrifices freedom for security. This ambivalence made the strip unique: readers could cheer for Dredd’s brutal efficiency one moment and recoil at his inhumanity the next.

The first significant attempt to bring the character to the screen was the 1995 film, Judge Dredd, directed by Danny Cannon and starring Sylvester Stallone. Hollywood, however, took significant liberties, as it often does. The movie largely abandoned the satirical edge of the comics in favor of a more conventional action hero flick.

Two controversial choices defined this adaptation. First, Stallone removed the helmet for much of the film, undermining one of the character’s essential traits. In the comics, Dredd’s facelessness symbolizes his role as an impersonal instrument of the law. By showing his face, the movie personalized him, trying to turn him into a sympathetic action hero. And then there’s the tone shift. Instead of a biting critique of authoritarian justice, the film leaned on big explosions and campy humor. Rob Schneider’s annoying comic-relief sidekick, created just for the movie, epitomized this tonal mismatch.

The socio-political undertones were diluted. The movie glossed over issues like corruption and cloning, instead favoring an individualistic narrative where Stallone’s Dredd proves his innocence and defeats his evil twin. Rather than questioning the legitimacy of a justice system where one man can sentence citizens on the spot, the film framed Dredd as a misunderstood hero whose authoritarian streak was simply misapplied by others.

This 1995 version attempted to graft the DNA of Judge Dredd onto the template of a mid-90s blockbuster, featuring big sets, one-liners, and uncritical thinking. The satire and ambiguity of the source material were sacrificed in favor of marketable heroics.

Seventeen years later, Pete Travis’s Dredd, with Karl Urban in the title role, corrected many of its predecessor’s missteps. Urban kept the helmet on throughout, preserving the character’s anonymity and symbolism. The tone was stripped down, brutal, and unflinching, definitely closer to the original grim satire.

The film centers on a single day in Mega-City One, with Dredd and rookie Judge Anderson (this character exists in the comics, but is far from being a rookie) trapped in a mega-block under siege by a drug lord, Ma-Ma. The plot is minimalist, almost claustrophobic, but it highlights key elements of the Dredd mythos.

It’s about the system, not the man. Dredd is not a maverick but an avatar of institutional justice. He doesn’t question the system, he enforces it ruthlessly. His humanity is glimpsed only in subtle ways, primarily through his mentorship of Anderson.

Violence is part of the routine. The film portrays violence with a grim realism. The saturation of slow-motion drug sequences contrasts with Dredd’s mechanical efficiency, underscoring the dehumanizing effects of both crime and policing.

There’s always socio-political commentary. While not overtly satirical, the film critiques a society where entire populations are warehoused in high-rise blocks, policed by authoritarian judges. Anderson’s psychic empathy provides a faint counterweight, reminding viewers that the Judges’ system is ultimately inhuman.

Unlike the 1995 movie, Dredd doesn’t try to make its protagonist lovable. He is the law, nothing more, nothing less. The world here is bleak but consistent: when society collapses, authoritarianism fills the vacuum, but at the cost of individuality and compassion.

I found it interesting to compare specific details in the two adaptations, such as Dredd’s uniform and the depictions of Mega-City One. Stalone wears what appears to be a spandex or Lycra bodysuit, which is remarkably close to what we see in the comics. However, on screen, the costumes look theatrical, flashy, and even campy. Instead of intimidating authoritarian uniforms, they read like superhero cosplay. Urban wears leather and Kevlar-style armor, designed to resemble real-world riot gear combined with tactical SWAT outfits. They kept the helmet, badge, shoulder armor, and overall silhouette, but toned down the bright colors and cartoon exaggerations. Boots and gloves are black, the eagle is muted bronze instead of blaring gold, and the armor looks worn and functional. Not comic-accurate in color or extravagance, but they’re far more convincing in a live-action dystopia. We see the same contrast with the environment. The 1995 Mega-City One is highly futuristic, neon-lit, vertical, like Blade Runner on steroids. Numerous CGI cityscapes, flying vehicles, and giant billboards. It looks like an over-designed movie set rather than a chaotic, lived-in society. The 2012 Mega-City One is a grittier, more grounded interpretation. From afar, it appears as a sprawl of crumbling modern cities, with mega-blocks rising like concrete fortresses amid a sea of urban decay. On the ground, it resembles Detroit or Baltimore with added dystopian rot: graffiti, gang-ruled projects, bleak streets. This nails the tone of Mega-City One as a decayed, crime-ridden society on the brink of collapse.

In conclusion, the 1995 movie incorporates some authentic details (clone origin, Rico, Fargo, Mega-City One, Cursed Earth), but reshapes them into a Hollywood-friendly narrative: the wrongly accused hero, the evil twin, the wise mentor, and the comic-relief sidekick. The comics were far more satirical, cynical, and episodic, whereas the movie attempted to mold Dredd into the conventional blockbuster protagonist. The 2012 Dredd doesn’t try to adapt any single classic storyline, instead it condenses the world’s essence into a tight, brutal scenario. It’s more faithful in spirit than the 1995 film because it retains the helmet, the authoritarian tone, and the oppressive city, but it strips away the comic’s satirical absurdity in favor of realism.

The Lost World: One Book, Six Movies

December 17, 2024 / Zander

My latest movie marathon was all about The Lost World. First I read the original novel by Conan Doyle (yes, the same guy who created Sherlock Holmes) and then watched six adaptations for the screen.

At the end of the 19th century, Sir H. Rider Haggard was the king of stories about lost worlds, with books like The People of the Mist (about a lost tribe in Africa) and Heart of the World (about a lost Mayan city in Mexico). But the genre got it’s masterpiece in 1912, when Sir Arthur Conan Doyle unleashed The Lost World. Explorers venturing to mysterious, uncharted lands teeming with prehistoric creatures? That’s the stuff that launched a thousand jungle expeditions, both literal and fictional. But while the book was groundbreaking, it wasn’t without its wobbles, especially the racist overtones and imperialist assumptions. Still, it’s hard to overstate its impact. Without The Lost World, we might not have had Edgar Rice Burroughs’s The Land That Time Forgot, or King Kong, or even Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park.

The first crack at bringing Doyle’s tale to the silver screen, The Lost World (Harry O. Hoyt, 1925), was a silent masterpiece – and “masterpiece’ isn’t an exaggeration. Faithfulness to the novel? Decent enough. Professor Challenger and his team head to South America, find a plateau full of dinosaurs, and bring one back to London. Sure, liberties were taken (like adding a romance subplot), but the spirit was intact. The cinematography was beautiful for the time (I watched the tinted version restored in 2016), but the real star was the stop-motion wizardry of Willis O’Brien. Those dinosaurs were revolutionary, decades before CGI. O’Brien’s work on The Lost World paved the way for King Kong in 1933, which was like this movie’s rebellious teen cousin. Plot holes and pacing issues aside, the 1925 version remains a classic, with Challenger (played by Wallace Beery) as a brash, bearded and mustachioed force of nature.

With The Lost World (Irwin Allen, 1960), we enter B-movie territory. This adaptation swaps out Doyle’s intelligent, scientifically minded tale for lizards with glued-on horns. Yes, instead of lovingly crafted stop-motion dinosaurs, we get iguanas and crocodiles dressed in drag to look vaguely prehistoric. It’s as ridiculous as it sounds. The plot diverges wildly too. Gone is the novel’s thought-provoking narrative about science versus nature. Instead, we get melodrama, generic villains, and some dubious jungle antics. On the upside, the cast is stacked: Michael Rennie (The Day the Earth Stood Still) as Lord Roxton, Claude Rains (Casablanca) as Professor Challenger, and Jill St. John (who would later be the Bond Girl in Diamonds Are Forever) adding some glamour. But the sheer campiness of the production makes this one for die-hard dinosaur completists only.

Another thirty years and we got not one but two new adaptations, The Lost World (Timothy Bond, 1992) and its sequel Return to the Lost World (Timothy Bond, 1992). This version took some odd liberties. Instead of Doyle’s South American plateau, we’re now in Africa. Why? Probably because someone found an African savanna more budget-friendly than a South American rainforest. Lord Roxton is swapped for a new female character, Jenny Nielson (Tamara Gorski), in what feels like a half-hearted attempt at modernization. The rest of the cast is not bad: John Rhys-Davies (from the Indiana Jones movies) as Professor Challenger, David Warner (Jack the Ripper in Time After Time) as Professor Summerlee, and Eric McCormack (before becoming famous for Will & Grace) as Edward Malone. The special effects? Quite weak, even for a tv production, and definitely nothing you’d brag about at a paleontology conference. The dinosaurs really look like puppets. While they tried to retain some of the novel’s spirit, both films felt more like Saturday matinee fillers than genuine adaptations.

The next version of The Lost World (Bob Keen, 1998) is even worse. Only loosely based on the original novel, the action now happens in Mongolia. And the story is so much changed that only two members of the expedition return to London. Patrick Bergin plays Professor Challenger, in what may be the worst movie of his career. Dinosaurs? Not many, and several years after Jurassic Park none of them look impressive. Characters? Forgettable. Is it worth watching? Only if you enjoy movies that feel like they were cobbled together over a long weekend to cash in on a trend.

A few years later we got a new tv adaptation, The Lost World (Stuart Orme, 2001), with the advantage of having 145 minutes to tell the story (it was first broadcast in two 75 minutes episodes). They followed the story fairly closely (and even returning to the original setting in South America), but added a few new elements. Besides the romantic subplot that every adaptation insisted in including, there was also a detour about a religious fanatic trying to keep the lost world a secret because it could support Darwin’s theory of evolution and weaken the creationist dogma. Bob Hoskins as Professor Challenger was a great choice, and James Fox as Professor Summerlee is also a good contribution. The CGI dinosaurs are fine, nothing to get very excited about but not embarrassingly bad. What this film lacks in spectacle, it tries to make up for in earnestness, and there’s something endearing about that.

Which adaptation reigns supreme? If we consider them in the context of their time, the 1925 silent film is the winner. It’s not just a great adaptation, it’s a landmark in cinematic history, with Willis O’Brien’s dinosaurs setting a high standard for generations. Best special effects dinosaurs? Again, the 1925 version. No iguana cosplay here, just pure artistry. Best Professor Challenger? Bob Hoskins in 2001 nails the character’s mix of gruffness and charm. Best Lord Roxton? Michael Rennie from the 1960 version is hard to beat, even if the movie itself is a dud. Edward Malone, however, is such a dull character that he is forgetabble in all versions.

All the adaptations, whether faithful or not, wrestle with the clash between humanity and nature. Doyle’s novel asks whether we have the right to dominate nature, and that question lingers in every adaptation (even the ones with the lizards-in-costume nonsense). Each version also grapples with adventure and exploration, though often in ways that reflect the era of their production: awe in the 1920s, kitsch in the 1960s, and commercialism in the 1990s. At its heart, The Lost World remains a tale about discovery, danger, and our never-ending fascination with dinosaurs. Some adaptations soar, others stumble. But like the dinosaurs themselves, the story endures — an ancient, lumbering giant that refuses to go extinct.

Lost in Space: from Robinson Crusoe to the Stars

November 19, 2024 / Zander

I’ve recently bingewatched the many iterations of Lost in Space. The “castaway as hero” idea is surprisingly adaptable. It has been marooned on islands, stranded on planets, and even hurled across galaxies. As a concept, it all started with one resourceful guy: Robinson Crusoe and his tale of survival that kicked off a whole genre, sparked imitators and adaptations, and eventually landed an entire family Lost in Space.

In 1719, Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe hit the shelves, changing the literary world forever. Possibly inspired by the true story of Alexander Selkirk, a marooned Scottish sailor who survived alone on an island for over four years, Defoe created a character that wasn’t just about survival. He was about resilience, ingenuity, and conquering the wilderness. Crusoe embodied the everyman, facing an unknown world with only his wits and some salvaged tools from his shipwreck. Robinson Crusoe became a huge hit, inspiring readers with its themes of self-reliance and adventure. The novel’s success wasn’t just due to its gripping story but also to Defoe’s new, realistic style that made readers feel like they were living each harrowing day alongside Crusoe.

But let’s not forget that Crusoe, by our contemporary standards, was not such a good guy. All that resilience, self-reliance, and determination were supported by his contemporary belief in European superiority, a mindset that defined much of the colonial age. When his shipwreck occurs, he’s en route to buy slaves, demonstrating his view of other people as property. Later, his treatment of Friday, the native man he rescues on the island, also reflects this perspective. Instead of asking for his name, Crusoe just names him “Friday” and establishes himself as “Master”, reinforcing the hierarchy typical of colonial relationships. While Crusoe teaches Friday his language and customs, he doesn’t treat him as an equal. Instead, he sees himself as “civilizing” Friday, which reflects a distinctly European, colonial view of the world and its people. Despite this (or perhaps because of this), Robinson Crusoe resonated widely with readers, not just as a tale of survival, but as a story that expressed Europe’s growing fascination with exploration and domination.

With Robinson Crusoe‘s massive popularity, writers rushed to create similar tales of isolation and survival in hostile environments. Thus was born the “Robinsonade”, a genre that echoed Crusoe’s trials, only with new settings, characters, and scenarios. Robinsonades often share certain characteristics: a protagonist isolated in a hostile or unfamiliar environment and forced to rely on ingenuity to survive, themes of self-discovery, and the idea of re-civilizing oneself while taming the wild around them.

Some notable examples include The Coral Island (1858), by R.M. Ballantyne, where three boys are stranded on a Polynesian island, and Lord of the Flies (1954), by William Golding, which turns the Robinsonade on its head by showing kids devolving into savagery rather than embracing civility. Robinsonades captivated readers by making them ask “What would I do in that situation?”.

If Robinson Crusoe did his thing solo, The Swiss Family Robinson (1812), by Johann David Wyss, took a family of castaways and set them loose on an exotic island. Here, we get the full family adventure, complete with domestic disputes, moral lessons, and an endless supply of miraculously useful shipwrecked supplies. The story follows a pastor, his wife, and their children as they shipwreck on an uninhabited island. Together, they build a treehouse, tame wild animals, and create a self-sustaining mini-society, all while keeping a spirit of togetherness and moral fortitude. Even as a kid, I found that book extremely boring. But in its time the novel became one of the most popular Robinsonades, particularly for children. It made the idea of surviving as a family team seem achievable and even fun, despite the occasionally outlandish plot devices.

Inspired by The Swiss Family Robinson, creator Irwin Allen brought a twist on the Robinsonade to the small screen with Lost in Space in the 1960s: here, the Robinson family is lost again, but in space. Set in the distant future of 1997 (which seemed much more futuristic in 1965, when the series was launched), the series follows the Robinson family as they embark on a mission to colonize a distant planet to escape Earth’s overpopulation. Their ship, the Jupiter 2, is sabotaged by the scheming Dr. Zachary Smith, who accidentally strands himself along with the Robinsons in an uncharted galaxy.

This version of Lost in Space brought us classic, campy 1960s scifi: clunky robots, cardboardy sets, and the iconic catchphrase “Danger, Will Robinson”. Dr. Smith, who began as a sinister villain, quickly morphed into a clumsy comedic character, stealing every scene with his cowardly antics. Though entertaining at times, the original Lost in Space made no effort to be realistic and relied too much on slapstick humor and “monster of the week” episodes. It was fine for its time, but it often lacked depth or continuity. However, it did spark imaginations and set the stage for the scifi family adventures to come.

In 1998 we got Lost in Space, the big-screen adaptation meant to reintroduce the Robinsons to a new generation. Starring Gary Oldman as a creepier Dr. Smith and a whole lot of CGI, this movie went full throttle with its special effects. The story largely stayed the same: the Robinson family, Dr. Smith’s betrayal, and the quest to return home. While the film had some cool moments, it also had a bit of an identity crisis. It was tonally inconsistent, wavering between scifi action and family drama, and it often got lost in its own convoluted plot twists. Despite the star-studded cast (William Hurt, Matt LeBlanc, Mimi Rogers, Heather Graham, and good old eerie Oldman), it fell flat with audiences, who were left scratching their heads over some confusing story choices (especially that poorly conceived time travel bit). It didn’t exactly do justice to the Robinsons’ legacy, unless you enjoy that kind of late-90s blockbuster energy. And that alien monkey is an unforgivably stupid idea.

And then came the 2018 Netflix reboot of Lost in Space. Finally, a version that explored the original concept with some depth and creativity. The Robinsons were once again stranded in a hostile galaxy, but this time with a serious upgrade in production, storytelling, and character depth. This series put the focus back on family dynamics, making each Robinson a fleshed-out character with distinct strengths, flaws, and personal arcs.

This Lost in Space skillfully blended high-stakes drama with visually stunning scifi worlds, bringing a modern spin to the Robinsonade. But what makes it really work is the reinvention of the main characters

John Robinson (Toby Stephens) is now a career military man. He begins the series as a somewhat distant father and husband. His years away on duty strained his relationship with his family, particularly Maureen, and left him struggling to connect with his children. However, throughout their perilous journey, John evolves into a steadfast protector and a more emotionally available father, proving his devotion to his family through acts of heroism and sacrifice. His practical mindset and combat skills are crucial in ensuring the family’s survival.

Maureen Robinson (Molly Parker), very differently from the previous versions, is now the brains behind the Robinsons’ mission to colonize space. She is a brilliant scientist, fiercely determined, resourceful, and willing to make tough decisions to ensure her family’s survival. Maureen’s love for her children is her main drive, though her single-minded focus sometimes causes friction, particularly when her ambition leads her to make morally ambiguous choices. She’s a powerful portrayal of a mother and leader in equal measure.

The Robinson sisters, who had very little agency in their previous iterations, now are strong figures with their own character arcs. Judy (Taylor Russell), the eldest, is now Maureen’s daughter from a previous relationship, adding an interesting dynamic to the family structure. A young doctor with nerves of steel, she is a natural leader and role model for her siblings. Her mixed-race heritage is a refreshing update to the character and adds a modern dimension to the family’s story. Penny (Mina Sundwall), the middle child, provides much of the series’ humor and heart. She’s sarcastic, creative, and sometimes impulsive, balancing the serious stakes of the story with her lighthearted quips and teenage perspective. She’s also, in a way, the narrator of the story.

Will Robinson (Maxwell Jenkins), boy genius, is in the center of the narrative, not so much for his personality but because of his link with the Robot. He can be an annoying character at times, especially when he combines an idealistic moral compass with the very naive and inexperieced decision making process of a child.

The Robot (Brian Steele) was completely reinvented for this series, from his looks to his origins. Now he is an alien machine with a mysterious past. Initially terrifying, he transforms into Will’s loyal guardian after an early act of compassion. The Robot’s arc explores themes of redemption and free will, as he struggles to reconcile his violent past with his new role as a family ally. His bond with Will is one of the show’s emotional pillars, offering moments of warmth and tension alike. And yes, the Robot says “Danger, Will Robinson”.

Someone decided that Don West (Ignacio Serricchio) should be the comedic character in the group, and he was demoted from the dashing pilot and adventurer of the original series to a bumbling roguish mechanic. I think he was supposed to be the lovable scoundrel with a heart of gold, but no character carrying a pet chicken can be taken seriously.

And finally, Dr. Smith (Parker Posey), the most interesting reinvention for this version of Lost in Space. Unlike the campy villain of the original series, this Dr. Smith is a cunning and dangerous sociopath, willing to exploit anyone to survive. Her backstory reveals a troubled and desperate individual who uses deception as her primary weapon. Despite her villainous tendencies, her complexity makes her a fascinating character, the kind you love to hate but can’t entirely dismiss. Her unpredictability keeps everyone on edge.

Where the original series was largely episodic, the 2018 reboot gave us a more serialized story that built real suspense and stakes, making each escape and confrontation feel genuinely perilous. The modern Lost in Space didn’t just update the effects, it also enriched the emotional layers and themes.

Six Terminators

September 24, 2024 / Zander

How many Terminator movies can you watch in a single day? Well, if you are a geek like me and happens to be stranded at home feeling a bit sick, you can watch all of them. At the time of this writing, there are only six Terminator movies out there, so I was able to fit the whole 722 minutes (that’s a bit over twelve hours) into my totally not busy schedule for the day.

The Terminator (James Cameron, 1984) started everything. A near-unstoppable cyborg assassin (Arnold Schwarzenegger), is sent from a future dominated by machines, to kill Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton), the mother of the future leader of the human resistance, while a guerrilla fighter (Michael Biehn) also travels back to protect her. We had seen time travel before, like for example in Time After Time (1979). We had seen computers declaring war on humanity, like in Colossus: The Forbin Project (1970). We had even seen determined killer androids, like in Westworld (1973). But all those elements combined into a cohesive story and presented in a gritty narrative made The Terminator an instant science fiction classic. The Terminator itself became an iconic figure, representing the cold, unfeeling nature of machines contrasted with the resilience and ingenuity of humans.

The Terminator does more than just tell a standalone story. It lays the groundwork for a complex mythology that would be expanded (and eventually ignored) in the subsequent films. The concept of Skynet, the self-aware AI that decides humanity is a threat, and the nuclear apocalypse known as Judgment Day, are pivotal in defining the thematic core of the series.

Like many time travel movies, it invites some questions regarding the logic of causes and consequences, and the possibility of paradoxes. If the Terminator succeeds in killing Sarah Connor, John Connor will not be born and will not become the leader of the resistence, and there will be no reason to send a Terminator back in time. Then, with no Terminator traveling to the past, who killed Sara Connor? Also, ironically, if Kyle Reese is not sent to stop the Terminator, he won’t father John Connor, which means it’s the Skynet mission to prevent John Connor’s existence what makes his existence possible.

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (James Cameron, 1991) picks up years after the events of the first film. A more advanced Terminator, the liquid-metal T-1000 (Robert Patrick), is sent back from the future by Skynet to kill John Connor (Edward Furlong), the future leader of the human resistance. He is supposed to be 10 years old, but he looks like a 14-year-old juvenile delinquent. To protect John, the resistance reprograms another Terminator, a T-800 (Arnold Schwarzenegger), and sends it back in time. The film explores Sarah Connor’s (Linda Hamilton) struggle to prevent Skynet’s creation and stop Judgment Day, the apocalyptic event in which Skynet becomes self-aware and triggers a nuclear holocaust.

The depiction of the characters one decade after the first movie is convincing. With the knowledge of what’s going to happen, Sarah Connor becomes a self-reliant paranoid survivalist. And her son, growing up from foster home to foster home, is a precocious proto-nihilist rebel. But what makes the sequel memorable is the return of the Terminator now as a heroic figure, this time sent back to protect John Connor.

In Terminator 2 we get a more detailed explanation of how Skynet was created. A company called Cyberdyne Systems reverse-engineered future technology found in the remnants of the dismantled Terminator from the first movie, and used it build Skynet. Sarah Connor is determined to prevent that by destroying the Terminator parts. No future technology, no Skynet, no Judgement Day. But if she succeeds in stopping that future from happening, who sent the Terminators in the first and second movies? And if she fails and Skynet is created, that’s a classic closed loop time travel paradox: Skynet exists because of the technology that only exists due to its own future existence, being at the same time the cause and the consequence.

The new model of Terminator is visually striking but also raises some questions. First, we know that the time travel machine only allows for live tissue to go through. Kyle Reese was human and the T-800 model was fully covered in live human tissue. But if the T-1000 model is all liquid metal, how was it able to travel? Second, while the T-800 has a power source (and even an alternative battery), the T-1000 doesn’t (it’s all liquid metal). Quite a lot of energy is spent running after the protagonists, changing shapes, or even taking a walk, but that mass of mimetic polyalloy is not receiving energy from anywhere. It just spends it, never acquires any. That’s never explained.

Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (Jonathan Mostow, 2003) is much weaker than the previous two movies. Nick Stahl as a young adult John Connor is very unconvincing. He has a passive or reactive role, lacking decisiveness and leadership qualities. That’s not someone capable of organizing a weekend camping trip, much less of leading the human resistance against the machines. And we are missing Sarah Connor in this movie, because she apparently has died.

The new Terminator model, the T-X (Kristanna Loken), is too powerful to be credible. It can do everything the T-1000 could do, plus it can create machines with moving parts, sophisticated electronic devices, remote controls vehicles, and even has an internal mini-lab for DNA testing. Power source? T-800 says she’s driven by a plasma reactor. It looks more like magic. Claire Danes as Kate Brewster, future wife and fellow resistance fighter of John Connor, is a nice addition. But the few good moments here are actually provided by Arnold Schwarzenegger as a new (and funny) good Terminator.

Terminator 3 negates the plot achievements of Terminator 2. Sarah and John believed that by destroying Cyberdyne Systems and the T-800’s arm and chip they had averted the creation of Skynet. But here we learn that Skynet’s development seems inevitable, regardless of Cyberdyne’s destruction. And the proof that Skynet is alive and well in the future is that it keeps sending Terminators to hunt John Connor and his associates.

Terminator Salvation (McG, 2009) is the first film in the series to take place completely in the post-apocalyptical world that follows Judgement Day. After unborn John Connor, child John Connor, and youngster John Connor, it’s logical this time we get adult John Connor. Christian Bale is very good in the role. Anton Yelchin as young Kyle Reese is also a good surprise. Bryce Dallas Howard replaces Claire Danes as Kate Brewster, now Kate Connor. Sam Worthington is Marcus Wright, a human-terminator hybrid experiment. Schwarzenegger, governor of California at the time, allowed his CGI image to be used so the original T-800 could be in the story. Overall, the movie feels like a big improvement after the weak Terminator 3.

Time travel is just hinted here, and only because we already know about the Kyle Reese versus T-800 battles from the first movie. It focuses instead on the ongoing clash between humanity and Skynet, emphasizing war, survival, and moral ambiguity. It’s possibly the darker film in the series. One of the more compelling aspects of Terminator Salvation is Marcus Wright’s journey. Marcus, who is revealed to be a cyborg, grapples with questions of identity, free will, and what it means to be human. His internal conflict drives much of the emotional weight of the film, adding some complexity to a narrative that otherwise focuses heavily on action. It’s unclear, however, why human-machine hybrids aren’t used more widely by Skynet, and why Marcus is the only one we’ve seen.

Terminator Genisys (Alan Taylor, 2015), the fifth movie in the series, makes some unexpected choices. It ambitiously revisits and reinterprets the franchise’s mythology, especially the first two iconic films, while disregarding the later sequels. By doing that, it basically reboots the series by offering an alternate timeline that alters key events from the original films.

The movie opens with familiar territory: the year is 2029, and the human resistance, led by John Connor (Jason Clarke), is on the verge of defeating Skynet. Skynet’s last-ditch effort is to send a Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger) back to 1984 to kill Sarah Connor (Emilia Clarke) before she can give birth to John. In response, John sends Kyle Reese (Jai Courtney) back in time to protect her. However, when Reese arrives in 1984, he finds that the timeline has been altered: Sarah Connor is already a skilled fighter and is protected by an aging T-800, affectionately called Pops (also played by Schwarzenegger). This sets off a series of events involving alternate timelines, new villains, and the discovery that John Connor himself has been turned into a machine by Skynet.

Surprisingly, there are many things that work very well here. The opening sequence is a direct homage to The Terminator, with shot-for-shot recreations of iconic scenes, such as the arrival of the T-800 at the Griffith Observatory. The movie taps into nostalgia by revisiting familiar moments and offering new spins on key events, like Sarah Connor’s first encounter with the T-800. Schwarzenegger returning as the T-800 brings a new twist, as he is now playing an older version of the character, the Pops Terminator, with a blend of action prowess and humor. His interactions with Emilia Clarke’s Sarah Connor (a good choice for the role) provide some of the film’s more heartfelt and comedic moments, especially in the dynamic of their surrogate father-daughter relationship.

The new takes on established characters (for example, Sarah Connor is no longer the vulnerable, unsuspecting woman from the first film, but instead she has been raised by the T-800 and is fully aware of her role in shaping humanity’s future) and the idea of a fractured timeline (events from the original films have been altered) bring a much needed freshness to the series.

The new logic of time travel, however, raises new problems. For example, if the timeline has been altered, why does Skynet send the original T-800 back to 1984 when the Sarah Connor of that timeline is already prepared for him? The film never adequately explains why Skynet and the resistance continue to send agents back in time despite the timeline having already changed. If Skynet is aware that the timeline has been altered, why does it still use strategies from the original timeline?

Despite what some people may consider cheating (ignoring the events of Terminator 3 and Terminator Salvation) and despite the plot holes (how many movies about time travel avoid those?), Terminator Genisys can be quite entertaining.

Terminator: Dark Fate (Tim Miller, 2019) feels like a bad joke. After the alternative view offered by the previous movie, this one goes with “forget everything not made by James Cameron and let’s pretend this is the third installment of the franchise”. Not surprisingly, Cameron is the producer and one of the story creators. The film begins with a shocking and controversial twist: John Connor, the leader of the future human resistance, is killed by a rogue T-800 Terminator shortly after the events of Terminator 2. That reduces the importance of the character’s story arc, which was central to the original films. Killing him off in the opening scene not only feels disrespectful to the character but also undermines the emotional investment fans had in his journey. The whole “John Connor must live because he will lead the human resistance against the machines” becomes irrelevant. Why would they do that? It feels like a bad decision fueled by the desire to pander to a woke audience: let’s kill the white male hero and replace him with a hispanic female protagonist. I like stories with strong female leads, but not when that requires disrespecting the legacy of an established plot line.

In conclusion, and in very simple terms: The Terminator (1984), Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), Terminator Salvation (2009), Terminator Genisys (2015), all good. Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (2003), Terminator: Dark Fate (2019), not good. But I’m sure sooner or later there will be more Terminator movies. Like Schwarzenegger would say, “I’ll be back”.