THE TERMINATOR (1984)
A cyborg from the future seeks to eliminate a woman destined to bear the saviour of humanity.

A cyborg from the future seeks to eliminate a woman destined to bear the saviour of humanity.
War is approaching in the dark, not-too-distant future. The world there is a cold, merciless place. The human body is woefully incapable of standing up in a fight against this new, horrifying enemy: cybernetic organisms, artificial flesh layered over a skeleton of infrangible titanium, designed to deceive and destroy human beings. Even when these machines have unimaginable punishment inflicted on their hardware, they simply keep coming: a corpse of steel rises out of a fire, a metallic phoenix emerging from the ashes of the old world.
For Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton), this all seems like a rather far-fetched idea. But little does she know that she’s just lived her last days as a normal person. On 12 May 1984, two agents are sent back in time: The Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger) has been tasked with assassinating Sarah before her son, John, is born, while Kyle Reese (Michael Biehn) is her human protector, a revolutionary who’s sworn an oath to die defending her. With a foe as ruthless and determined as a T-800 cyborg, it’s a promise he may just have to keep…
What was originally supposed to be a standard B-movie action flick turned out to be a genre-defining masterpiece. An independent film unlike many others, The Terminator amalgamates grandiose ideas into small-budget set pieces, combining unnerving, philosophical horror with high-octane action. Besides launching the careers of two cinematic legends (not to mention a franchise which now sports more duds than delights), The Terminator is still a genuinely unsettling watch, even after countless childhood viewings.
The reason why this film continues to inspire dread is because visions of the future in James Cameron’s 1984 classic occasionally feel terrifyingly prescient. Whether it’s depictions of an omnipresent A.I. horde or the mechanisation of labour present in Sarah’s contemporary society, technological angst pervades the entirety of The Terminator. Starkly contrasting the resplendent colour and buoyant hairdos of 1980s fashion, the future is one built out of cold, grey metal.
Perhaps what makes this juxtaposition so unnerving is that, despite the vast differences between humans and machines, the change will be insidiously indecipherable. Cameron’s clairvoyance is most apparent here: today, every conversation that transpires over a screen must be done with a raised eyebrow, questioning whether the face on the other end is genuinely a real person, or if we’ve truly entered the age of the dead internet. How are we able to discern the difference between man and machine when we live in an increasingly mechanised epoch?
This is a theme that was explored vigorously in the 1980s, particularly in works such as Blade Runner (1982) and Tetsuo: The Iron Man (1989). However, while Cameron undoubtedly drew some thematic inspiration from Ridley Scott’s trendsetting magnum opus (as well as allegedly plagiarising the work of speculative fiction writer Harlan Ellison), he does a superlative job of dramatising these ideas in The Terminator. When we’re first introduced to Sarah Connor, who’s joylessly working her waitressing job, she spills some food on a customer. Horrified, she immediately begins trying to scrub away the stain, nervously asking: “This isn’t real leather, is it?”
If it weren’t, how could she tell? Fakes have become so convincing that we need professionals to discern authenticity from imitation. Artists have expressed concern that forgeries are so close to the real thing that the market will be inundated with cheap replicas. After all, if even the experts struggle to differentiate the genius from the phoney, why should the layperson care? Moreover, in a digitalised world where more and more writing is created through generative AI (which is learning at a rate faster than you and I could fathom), we are increasingly overwhelmed by words written and spoken by machines.
This thought disturbs us because art, perhaps one of the most fundamental expressions of our humanity, is being mechanically and emotionlessly reproduced. But what happens when our very humanity is copied? When our mannerisms, our sweat-gleamed skin, and our bad breath are ominously duplicated, that’s when things start to get really creepy. Even today, people are expressing great concern with the leaps and bounds made in fashioning A.I. to look human. This is the central issue with the Terminator, the machine with an appearance so lifelike that, even up close, it looks like real leather.
Cameron’s nightmare finds itself deeply nestled within Masahiro Mori’s uncanny valley, and that vale runs red with blood. Every time someone mistakes the T-800 for a human, it usually ends up costing them their life. However, on other occasions, this theme is excavated in a more ironic, darkly comical form. When Sarah rings her own landline, she’s unaware that the Terminator is keenly listening as he stands over the corpses of her flatmates. She’s met with Ginger’s (Bess Motta) whimsical attempt at imitating the answering machine’s robotic voice: “Ha! Fooled you! You’re talking to a machine.”
When superficial appearances become so convincing, we’re only left with what remains inside to tell the natural from the inorganic. The most prominent difference between the film’s two time-travelling agents is that one experiences emotions, whereas the other is completely immovable. When Sarah tries to escape Reese’s grasp, she bites his hand. Reese only winces, before stoically informing her: “Cyborgs don’t feel pain. I do. Don’t do that again.” Tellingly, how he responds to her resistance showcases how he’s devoted to Sarah in a way that a machine never could be; not only is he hopelessly in love with her, but he understands her response and forgives her for it.
Of course, while the emotional differences are immediately apparent, perhaps what’s even more obvious is the juxtaposition of human fragility against an unfeeling, mechanical endoskeleton. Reese’s flesh, burned and bruised, appears to be so much more malleable when positioned next to the Terminator’s unyielding frame. This is noticeable in only the first scene: as the pair travel back in time, the Terminator arrives in a superhero pose, whereas Reese lands prostrate, coughing and spluttering, recovering in the foetal position as he struggles to catch his breath.
This is precisely what makes the Terminator such an understated horror villain: it is nothing but a program. You cannot alter its trajectory, nor alter its will. It’s impossible to appeal to its emotions because it has none. As Reese makes this plain to Sarah, his words take on a quietly dread-inducing effect: “That Terminator is out there! It can’t be bargained with. It can’t be reasoned with. It doesn’t feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop… ever, until you are dead!”
Beyond the fear of an emotionless, cybernetic assassin, there is the looming threat of nuclear annihilation. Perhaps due to Reagan’s move away from détente and his escalation of Cold War hostilities, Cameron’s film (which he claimed came to him in a fever dream when he was sick in Italy) reflects reignited concerns about weapons of mass destruction. It’s for this reason that, when Reese describes Skynet’s calculating decision to exterminate the human race with nothing but disgust and contempt, it all feels a little ironic: we humans do quite a good job of genocide ourselves.
Regardless of how apathetic to life Skynet is, I’m not so sure that we need to outsource the particular habit of organised murder to machines. This becomes part of Cameron’s thesis in the terrific sequel: even without the pernicious threat of psychopathic machines, we’re in a pretty bad spot. That’s because we aren’t just destructive, but self-destructive. Compared to the nigh-indestructible T-800, we are as harmless and irrational as children.
While this argument is made more cogently in the much-acclaimed follow-up, traces of the idea can be found in the superlative original. Part of the reason why the Terminator is so frightening is that it embodies the worst part of human nature (violence), and it does it far better than we do, a claim that we cherish as the only means to escape the food chain. In this respect, Reese appears to be something of a lesser variation of the T-800, which is the more evolved Übermensch.
So in the future, when you’re without hope and are faced with a life of suffering, who can you turn to in faith? Why, Jesus Christ, of course. I mean… John Connor. Well, why not both? They’re effectively the same person in this universe. Indeed, the entire mission in James Cameron’s action-horror science-fiction extravaganza mirrors the old Bible story surrounding Christ’s conception (though the steamy, prolonged, quintessentially-’80s sex scene here was anything but immaculate).
Sarah Connor becomes the Madonna, who faces off against an artificially intelligent King Herod. However, being human, Sarah struggles under the yoke of her own legend: she does not want to be the mother of the future, offering an intriguing look into how the deified are often unmistakably human. This would also make Reese a shotgun-wielding, grenade-making version of the archangel Gabriel (and admittedly, that does sound pretty cool), whereas the T-800 serves as one of King Herod’s ruthless assassins.
With a sturdy bedrock of Biblical plot structure, Cameron ably weaves in a time-travelling narrative that is as simple as it is effective. The logic never becomes confusing because it’s a one-way trip; it never becomes a quagmire, like Primer (2004). Additionally, it provides a great layer of characterisation to Reese, who is nursing a severe case of PTSD. Tackling the police officer, he looks rabid after having come through the time portal: “What day is it? The date. […] What year?!” The horror of temporal displacement (coupled with the stress of saving the entirety of humanity) is plain on his face, and Biehn’s performance ensures it’s wholly believable.
The Terminator isn’t exactly an action film, nor is it a mere horror. Cameron himself believed it fell into its own unique genre, coining the name tech noir, which actually does an excellent job of describing the film’s mood. Combining the feel and plot structure of the film noir detective stories with modern anxieties, Cameron very much paved his own path as he effectively moulded a distinct genre (that is if you don’t count the aforementioned Blade Runner, which I would). Still, The Terminator contributed much of the visual iconography that would inform later depictions of any cyberpunk apocalypse.
Of course, the film certainly succeeds as an action piece in its own right. The numerous car chases still thrill, as do the chases on foot. The sight of Arnold Schwarzenegger chasing down his human targets is enough to get your heart pumping. While the confrontations between the T-800 and the police lack a certain bite (it’s obvious that he’s going to plough through them all, and the coppers don’t put up a great fight), Reese serves as a worthy opponent to the killing machine. As he informs the police, determination set in his eyes: “It’s just him and me.” They battle mano a mano, literally fighting for the future in the present.
Much like Blood Simple (1984) of the same year, The Terminator was an independent feature that launched the careers of those behind it. Perhaps even more so than the Coen Brothers, Cameron demonstrates just what’s possible when you value intelligence over money (a compliment I can’t extend to any of the sequels released after 1991). Some of the set pieces set in the future have aged, but not by a lot. Furthermore, it’s almost charming seeing the poor-quality footage, though it does have the unintended effect of bringing the viewer out of the film, even if only momentarily.
For the most part, the depiction of our future strewn in rubble is very well done, especially with the limited budget. Images of wartime suffering don’t feel unrealistic—particularly in our current climate, sadly—and the sequence that ensues feels disturbingly familiar. As a Terminator (portrayed in this scene by Arnie’s long-time friend and training partner Frank Columbo) infiltrates the resistance’s bunker, exterminating the inhabitants like rats, it feels like disgustingly depraved human behaviour that one can so often find on the news. Again, the juxtaposition of human cruelty and machine apathy feels apt.
Besides the set pieces, some of the practical effects are simply incredible. The vivisection that the T-800 undergoes after sustaining critical damage is the stuff of nightmares: a scalpel being pressed into a wrist, an eyeball. It’s grotesque, visceral, and utterly brilliant. Mostly, it’s an exquisitely graphic method of revealing our horror of machine intelligence: the machine never flinches, not even as he places the steel blade into his pupil. The prosthetics still look exceptional, except Arnie’s mask, which even back then I’m sure seemed jarringly fake.
SFX artist Stan Winston, the legend behind all the best special effects in late-20th-century Hollywood, creates a truly memorable villain through his sublime work. Much like how he turned the likes of Aliens (1986) and Jurassic Park (1993) into cultural touchstones due to his unbelievably vivid creations, his contributions to The Terminator are an undeniable component of the film’s overall success.
He was aided in his work by visual effects artist Gene Warren Jr., whose work in the stop-motion department rendered the final chase sequence possible (and terrifying, regardless of how unconvincing it looks). As the T-800 titanium skeleton shuffles down the hallway, mostly broken, yet just as determined as ever, it mirrors the movement of the skeletons in a climactic sequence from Jason and the Argonauts (1963), which was designed by visual effects legend Ray Harryhausen. Though Warren’s work appears aged now, his contribution to cinematic visual magic in Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991) hasn’t aged in the slightest.
Cameron has a knack for weaving deeper fears into action blockbusters. From the anxiety of nuclear holocaust in the Terminator franchise to environmental concerns in Avatar (2009), his subliminal messaging is commendable, even if it’s not always subtle. The message itself is clear: the future is not set. Actions have meaning and real consequences. When Sarah’s co-worker glibly dismisses her frustration at work —“In a hundred years, who’s gonna care?”—one can see how her attitude mirrors the kind of stubbornly nonchalant rhetoric employed during our fatal climate crisis. Amid an action horror, Cameron ably challenges a deterministic reading of our actions: things can be changed for the better.
Cameron’s writing is also chock-full of iconic lines. Even the undramatic first line is burned into my memory: “Nice night for a walk, eh?” Of course, the majority of the film’s catchphrases that went viral belong to the Terminator himself (itself?), and for good reason; the machine barely ever speaks. With only 14 lines in the whole film, each feels distinctly memorable. From his chilling commands—“Your clothes. Give them to me. Now.”—to his ominous assurances— “I’ll be back.”—The Terminator’s dialogue is replete with legendary quotes.
It’s worthwhile noting how Cameron’s writing is almost absent of exposition. Save for a couple of instances when Reese explains to Sarah and Doctor Peter Silberman (Earl Boen) how he’s arrived and why he’s there, there is very little explained to the audience. Our superb introduction to the cold, unfeeling killer is completed without any meaningful dialogue. We can only gather that this “man” isn’t human by how he operates: he rips a thug’s heart out so phlegmatically, as though it were merely part of procedure. There’s no malice, and it’s not personal. It is a mere technicality: a machine conducting its business efficiently.
As good as the writing is, the film is built on Arnold Schwarzenegger’s performance. His movement is incredible to watch, and I firmly believe that had anyone else played the part, the film would have failed. His proprioception is a sight to behold; it’s not just robotic, but there is a real, understated intelligence to Schwarzenegger’s bodily awareness. No doubt his extensive background in bodybuilding helped here. Not to mention his lack of eyebrows, too.
It’s ridiculous today to think Schwarzenegger was originally slated for the role of the protagonist. It’s a good thing they avoided this potentially colossal error because he would have been hilariously miscast. After all, who would they have cast to look imposing against Schwarzenegger in 1984? A rhinoceros? A boulder? Though the producers wanted him as the hero, even Schwarzenegger could see he wasn’t a match. In their first meeting, Cameron and he decided the film was truly about the antagonist, and the rest is history.
However, Schwarzenegger couldn’t have remained as the evil character for the sequel. By 1991, his celebrity was too large, his face too recognisable as a one-note, yet charming good guy. He would not have been ominous in any future instalments, and his face serves better as an amiable automaton in the sequel. Having said this, he was terrific as the T-800 in ’84. Terrifically terrifying, that is. Whether it’s his expressionless visage as he engages in grim, execution-style killings, or crushing every bone in a security guard’s hand, he is always impressive here.
More than anything, it’s the unshakeable determination of the antagonist that chills. As Reese intones, it’s not simply going to stop. It cannot be bargained with, nor will it ever feel pity. Arnie’s bemused expression as he gets up, undeterred by being blasted several times with a shotgun, is deeply unnerving, even after countless rewatches. Not to mention how the endoskeleton reaches for Sarah’s face even in its last moments, five metallic digits trying to claw the life out of its target, with a complete disregard for the perilous situation it finds itself in. What a villain.
Arnold’s human counterparts provide the story with stellar support, particularly the febrile performance from Michael Biehn. He manages to sound both soldierly and psychotic, despite the fact he’s only the former. I like how he doesn’t coddle Sarah—he treats her as a fellow soldier, because he must. He can’t defeat the machine on his own, and she has to understand the gravity of her situation immediately; there’s no time for her to adjust. The future has arrived at her doorstep, and it’s ugly—but she must prevent it from becoming even uglier.
Linda Hamilton (Children of the Corn) is great, though she doesn’t come into her own until the sequel. Here, she has very little agency and isn’t given much to do. She’s asked to drive once, and at one point Reese rather hilariously gives her a handgun while he goes out to get supplies. What she’s supposed to do with that pistol should the Terminator show up is anyone’s guess.
However, that’s alright—as a narrative device, it works, just as it’s worked countless times in any story featuring an embittered pedagogue and distrusting protégée arc. Reese is her protector, which brings them together wonderfully, and she learns from him as much as she can in the short period they have together. Despite the damsel-in-distress prototype, Hamilton is never uncompelling onscreen, and her furious rejection of her future reveals the raw humanity of her ordeal.
With some terrific editing, the film’s pacing is commendable. There are some great graphic matches, mostly done on Linda Hamilton’s face, much like in Alien (1979), a franchise into which Cameron would eventually insert himself. Furthermore, Brad Fiedel’s techno soundtrack, recorded on a synthesizer, provides a pulsating rhythm to the film. I was unsurprised to discover that Fiedel wanted to reflect “a mechanical man and his heartbeat,” as that’s exactly what the score sounds like.
As much as I appreciate this film as an absolute classic and an utter feat of shrewd independent filmmaking, the sequel undeniably surpassed it in quality. The difference between the two films is much like the differences between the antagonists of each story: the sequel is smoother, sleeker, and faster. However, I’d be remiss not to mention how much the sequel borrows from the original film’s format.
Narratively speaking, the sequel is rather derivative, even if it adds a father-son dynamic that’s lacking in the original (for obvious reasons). But the plot enjoys the same chase structure that the original crafted so well. For this reason, while the sequel has experienced greater commercial success and acclaim, by no means should the original be forgotten.
As Sarah Connor records tapes for her unborn son, driving off into an uncertain future, it appears as though her ordeal has only truly just begun. While the ending is technically a positive one, it feels morose, sombre, and rather bleak, even with that glimmer of hope. The 1991 sequel was necessary; there was more to this story than what transpires here.
By the time the film closes, it feels like an unending nightmare. Unfortunately for us, if Cameron’s predictions are correct, it’s a nightmare that’s just about to begin. When Sarah dismissively asserts that people can’t make anything like the Terminator yet, Reese agrees: “No… not yet… not for about forty years.” Well, 40 years later, I’m hoping Reese was wrong. But if ChatGPT starts speaking to you in an Austrian accent, you heard it here first.
UK • USA | 1984 | 107 MINUTES | 1.85:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH • SPANISH
director: James Cameron.
writers: James Cameron & Gale Ann Hurd.
starring: Arnold Schwarzenegger, Michael Biehn, Linda Hamilton, Paul Winfield, Bill Paxton & Lance Henriksen.