Terminator Zero: Another Franchise rebooted?

Terminator Zero offers a compelling reimagining of the iconic Terminator universe through an anime-inspired aesthetic, blending futuristic despair with philosophical musings on technology and humanity. As a contemporary entry in the franchise, it explores the interplay between technology and human fate, focusing on temporal paradoxes, technology, identity and free will.

The series is set in an apocalyptic 2022, presenting a future dominated by Skynet’s cyborg tyranny. Malcolm Lee, a data scientist whose work aims to preempt Judgment Day through the creation of an advanced AI, becomes a pivotal figure. Simultaneously, Eiko, a warrior from the future, journeys back to 1997 to thwart Skynet’s plans, weaving together a narrative that spans space-time. This duality in storytelling reflects a deeper philosophical inquiry into the nature of space-time, causality, and the cyclical nature of human struggle against technological determinism.

Visually, Terminator Zero stands as a testament to the evolution of anime’s capacity to depict intricate, dystopian landscapes. The series draws inspiration from the rich traditions of cyberpunk and speculative fiction, merging influences from classic visual styles while charting a distinct course of its own. The raw intensity of its action sequences, characterized by graphic depictions of violence, underscores the franchise’s exploration of humanity’s fragility in the face of relentless technological forces. This approach resonates with historical shifts in art and cinema, where advancements in technology have enabled more profound and unsettling portrayals of conflict and destruction.

This visual strategy illuminates the intricate relationship between technology and representation, echoing significant changes that have shaped artistic narratives over time, particularly concerning depictions of turmoil. As technology evolves, artists and filmmakers leverage these innovations to delve into the complexities of human experience during crises. Such resonances not only amplify the emotional weight of their narratives but also stimulate critical engagement with the ethical implications of these portrayals. The unsettling nature of these representations challenges audiences to confront often-hidden realities of violence and suffering, ultimately redefining our understanding of artistic expression and the very nature of conflict in contemporary society. Through this lens, we witness a transformative dialogue between media, memory, and the visceral impact of visual storytelling.

A compelling example of this dynamic interplay between technology and the portrayal of conflict is evident in the work of contemporary artist and filmmaker Hito Steyerl. In her piece How Not to Be Seen: A Fucking Didactic Educational .MOV File (2013), Steyerl employs digital media to interrogate issues of visibility and invisibility within the realms of warfare and surveillance. By blending satirical humor with stark imagery, she reveals the paradox of being seen in a world overwhelmed by visual data while simultaneously critiquing the militarization of technology and the commodification of conflict. Utilizing advanced visual techniques, such as CGI and immersive video environments, Steyerl not only underscores the disturbing realities of modern warfare but also encourages viewers to reflect on their complicity in the spectacle of violence. Her work exemplifies how technological advancements in visual media facilitate profound and unsettling explorations of societal issues, compelling audiences to reconsider their relationship with the images that dominate contemporary discourse.

However, this Terminator series’ narrative unfolds with a certain rigidity. Malcolm’s philosophical exchanges with Kokoro delve into the ethical implications of AI and humanity’s place in the cosmos, yet these dialogues occasionally veer into the abstract, distancing themselves from the visceral urgency of the story. This dynamic reflects a broader discourse in media theory about the balance between intellectual depth and emotional engagement in visual storytelling. The philosophical underpinnings of Malcolm’s and Kokoro’s debates, while intellectually stimulating, sometimes overshadow the narrative’s emotional core.

Eiko’s role as the protector of the past introduces a fresh perspective in Terminator Zero, yet her storyline struggles to integrate seamlessly with Malcolm’s narrative. The collision of these distinct arcs, while visually striking, ultimately lacks the narrative cohesion needed to fully engage the audience. This disjunction underscores a recurring challenge in reimagining established franchises: balancing the essence of the original while incorporating novel elements without sacrificing narrative coherence.

Despite these challenges, Terminator Zero succeeds in re-contextualizing the franchise within a new medium and aesthetic framework. The series presents a visually arresting and thematically rich exploration of familiar motifs, drawing on the iconic themes of the franchise while infusing them with contemporary relevance. However, it remains somewhat constrained by its adherence to formulaic visual storytelling and a tendency towards emotional detachment. In its ambitious attempt to merge philosophical inquiry with futuristic action, the series offers an intriguing, albeit imperfect, reflection on the enduring tension between humanity and technology begun years ago in the future. This complex interplay invites audiences to ponder deeper questions about the implications of technological “advancement” while grappling with the emotional stakes of its characters’ journeys.

Once Upon A Time in Arconia: OMG OMITB is back!

Only Murders in the Building effectively challenges contemporary TV comedy’s typical reliance on high-concept plotting and star power over genuine humour. At first glance, the show—featuring Steve Martin, Martin Short, and Selena Gomez as a trio of true-crime podcasters—might seem like a formulaic exercise in blending media satire with intricate mysteries and emotional themes. The presence of high-profile guest stars like Meryl Streep and Tina Fey could further suggest that the show’s success is due to prioritizing star appeal over substantive comedic content. It could, but doesn’t. I laughed out loud several times, although I will admit that I did binge the last few episodes from season three right before the premiere.

The fourth season of Only Murders in the Building exemplifies this success by shifting its focus to Hollywood. This new setting could have risked repeating the pitfalls of the previous Broadway-themed season, which was criticized for its insular focus and excessive reliance on theatrical references. However, the show reinvents itself by integrating Hollywood elements into the familiar environment of the Arconia apartment complex. This approach maintains the show’s core appeal while exploring new narrative territories.

The transition to Hollywood is not just a change of scenery but a clever thematic evolution. In the first episode of the fourth season, the show incorporates visual references to Sergio Leone’s 1968 Western, Once Upon a Time in the West. This homage is particularly notable in how it reflects the plot’s exploration of Hollywood’s allure and its impact on the characters. The episode mirrors Leone’s use of widescreen cinematography and meticulous framing to enhance dramatic tension, effectively translating Leone’s epic Western scale into the urban landscape of the Arconia.

This visual reference is more than an aesthetic choice; it serves a thematic purpose. The directorial choice to include sweeping, cinematic shots aligns with Leone’s style, emphasizing the grandeur of the landscape to evoke a sense of mythic scale. In Only Murders, this technique underscores the characters’ journey into Hollywood, providing a stark contrast to their usual cozy New York setting. This cinematic approach highlights the clash between the old-world charm of the Arconia and the glitzy, exploitative nature of Hollywood, deepening the narrative’s engagement with themes of authenticity versus spectacle.

However, to fully appreciate the show’s evolution, it’s crucial to understand its roots. Three seasons in, the Only Murders universe is so populated and its plot so labyrinthine that providing a brief précis is nearly impossible. In season one, three neighbors and true-crime enthusiasts—washed-up TV actor Charles (an uptight and egotistically frustrated Martin), washed-up theater director Oliver (Short, delivering a flamboyantly sweaty performance), and millennial Mabel (an utterly deadpan Gomez, in one of TV’s most compellingly strange performances)—started a podcast about a suspicious death in their fancy apartment complex. Subsequent seasons have expanded this universe, with season two focusing on the murder of the building’s board president Bunny, and season three centering on Ben Glenroy (Paul Rudd), the obnoxious star of Oliver’s Broadway flop Death Rattle. I got it wrong each season.

Which brings us to season four. At the end of season three, Sazz Pataki (Jane Lynch), the phlegmatic stunt double of TV detective Charles, was shot through an apartment window. Before the trio can start their investigation, Hollywood beckons.

The trip is a comic feast, particularly during the meeting with unhinged producer Bev Melon (Molly Shannon), who describes her desperate quest for the trio’s life rights with a memorable line: When I see a hot piece of adaptable IP getting circled by a bunch of horny rival studios, I go in hard and I always finish first. This dialogue, both contemporary and comedic, is complemented by vintage slapstick from Martin, as Charles attempts to negotiate a fee while struggling with a piece of paper across a supersized conference table. Martin Short holding his legs? Hilarious.

The season also introduces new characters, including Zach Galifianakis as Oliver, Eugene Levy as Charles, and Eva Longoria (a comic revelation) as very straight-faced Mabel. The plot’s unfolding involves a lot—most of which would spoil if you haven’t seen it—but it quickly becomes apparent that solving Sazz’s murder requires sifting through the myriad loose ends left by the podcast and the TV show itself. All those notes on the table at Sazz’s apartment, yes, the one from Mulholland Drive must mean something? Right? or more red herrings? Something about twins? And then the new Hollywood directors are twins.

This clever, long-game plotting makes Only Murders genuinely gripping as a murder mystery and will drive me crazy with conspiracy theories for the next while. It’s a testament to how well-crafted storytelling and character development can elevate a show beyond its genre constraints.