Austin Movies
![]() About the ratings Write your own review Back to main page By Chris Garcia American-Statesman Film Critic Posted: July 2, 2003 Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines" is a fine comedy. A blitzkrieg of mushrooming infernos, tormented flesh and the most stubborn Austrian accent since Billy Wilder's, the movie succeeds where that grim weeper "Hulk" failed; that is, it hardly takes itself seriously even as its own hulk, thick-necked, stiff-lipped Arnold Schwarzenegger, blasts havoc with missile launchers, machine guns and biceps the girth of a small cow. "Your levity is good," says our friendly Terminator with the exuberance of a crowbar. "It releases tension and the fear of death." And it releases "T3" from the burden of trying to outdo its predecessors, particularly 1991's "T2," which remains a milestone in digital effects and marks the midway point of creator James Cameron's trajectory from charming confidence to unseemly hubris. "T3" takes the high road, having fun with the franchise's dogeared catalog of pop touchstones, including the Terminator's signature leather duds and smoky sunglasses (which feed a good running joke) and clipped catchphrases ("Hasta la vista, baby," "I'll be bok"). Sure enough, he's bok. And the future governor of California looks terrifically fit and hale, sporting a basted-turkey tan and inexhaustible musculature. When his "cybernetic organism" -- a red-eyed metallic skeleton that can mimic the appearance of any human -- returns from the future, he's hatched from a giant mirrored disco ball, buck-naked, a murderous glare in his crimson pupils. He's come to protect the future leader of humans, 22-year-old John Connor, from an all-new advanced Terminator called the T-X, which is on a mission to assassinate Connor and abort his preordained glory. The T-X is played in tight red leather by Kirstanna Loken, who might have three lines and one and a half expressions, all featuring flared nostrils. In the post-apocalyptic future, machines are at war with humans, and the score is close. It's up to Connor (a feral, unshaven Nick Stahl, who replaces droopy Edward Furlong) to live long enough to marshal his species to victory. Tossed into the formula is Claire Danes, reliably bland, who plays a crucial role in the whole future-savior equation. Did we mention her character is a veterinarian? Give the movie credit for its economy of plot and exposition. Narratively "T3" is an after-dinner mint to the heartburn-inducing feasts of "Hulk" and "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle." It lays down fibers of story then starts blowing everything up. It's wonderful. There's a shallow, summery satisfaction seeing Arnold pull out his old tricks and repackage them in sporting deadpan. Blanked out by the sunglasses, he wears a mono-expression mask, a firm frown of perpetual disgust at his task. His splinters of dialogue come wrapped in drollery, even if it's just sort of funny, not riotous. ("Drop dead!" Danes tells him. "I am unable to comply," he grumbles.) Jonathan Mostow, who evinced a deft action hand in the submarine drama "U-571," orchestrates destruction masterfully and concocts a few inspired bits of sensory violence. A chase featuring firetrucks, police cars and a massive utility-crane truck is a stunner of choreographed devastation. Mostow also doesn't flinch at the grotesque. An arm punches through a man's chest, bones audibly crunch, someone gets his head ripped off. There's not much left in summer cinema to astonish anymore, and the most you can ask for is a solid visceral smacking around. "T3" delivers that and a little more. It's an action-comedy with an arrestingly grim conclusion -- a final surprise in a silly genre picture that knows when to snicker. | |||||||
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