Of
all
the
things
in
this
world
I
enjoy
the
most,
one
of
my
most
preferred
are
furious,
violent
robots
punching
things
until
they
explode.
It
should
come
as
little
surprise,
then,
that
my
boyfriend
and
I
just
went
out
to
see
the
latest
installation
of
the
<i>Terminator</i>
epic.
One
would
assume,
given
my
predilections,
that
this
film
would
delight
me
more
than
most.
And
it
did,
I
won't
lie.
I
would
offer
it
a
full
five
servos
up
(robot
equivalent
of
thumbs,
y'see)
were
I
in
any
position
to
critique.
However,
there
are
two
complaints
I
have.
First
of
all,
I
would
have
chosen
a
different
name.
I'm
not
much
for
melodramatic,
vaguely
theological
allusions
in
postapocalyptic
action
movies.
Never
mind
that
John
Connor
is
sort
of
a
Christ
figure
or
whatever,
that's
plenty
apparent
without
channeling
the
idea
of
a
saviour
or
salvation
in
the
title.
If
it
were
up
to
me,
I'd
have
called
it
<i>Nuclear
Robot
IV:
The
Doomening</i>.
Or,
alternatively,
<i>The
Punching
Part
IV:
Robots
in
an
Existential
Crisis</i>.
Second
of
all,
and
this
is
most
discomforting
to
me,
the
movie
actually
made
me
anxious.
Sure,
I'd
go
see
it
again,
but
sh*t,
man...
I've
been
stressed
out
all
evening
because
of
the
relentless
bleakness
of
the
robot-fire
tundra.
It
just
didn't
end!
Not
a
modicum
of
comic
relief,
unless
you
consider
Arnold
Schwarzeneggar
himself
hilarious.
Oh,
well.
Robots
are
as
robots
do,
and
they're
really
f*cking
intense.
