If he were dead, Edward Furlong would be turning in his grave*

Eric and I saw the new Terminator movie Sunday night after eating dinner at the food court at the mall.

(Writing that sentence makes me wonder if my current existence is not the hip, alternative, urban lifestyle that I imagine it to be. Does it matter that it's a really nice food court?)

I don't want to ruin the movie for anyone but: it was horrible. Laughably horrible. So so so bad. Seriously.

I mean, why was Christian Bale doing his ridiculous Batman voice for most of the movie? And who really expects us to believe that any human is going to be able to hold his own even for a moment in hand to hand combat with a terminator? And why does none of the plot or timeline make any sense with the other Terminator movies? And has Helena Bonham Carter always had such a big butt?

Clearly, the movie raised a lot of questions for me.

The stirring syncopated percussion of the theme endured, however, and I think the highlight of the evening for me was watching a dorky middle aged guy in the row in front of us do a jerky dance with his shoulders as the credits rolled. He really got into it! And I thank him for it.


*Since he's not, I'm not sure what he's doing. Probably nothing very interesting.