Long before Hollywood pioneer James Cameron solely dedicated himself to the world of and its upcoming installments slated for 2025, 2029, and 2031, he used to make what this critic passionately misses: original, stand-alone pictures. Or, in the case of sequels like and (among the greatest sequels to follow their brilliant predecessors), installments that fully worked on their own, too. In other words, films that didn’t require a hefty amount of pre-viewing homework like so many movie universes demand today.
Mind you, I love both the technical and emotional register Cameron is in these days with his dazzling franchise—through it, he’s found himself a deeply emotional story of a family that he clearly (and disarmingly) adores, an evolving cinematic channel for his environmental and political anxieties and curiosities, and a futuristic playground ripe for his thirst for innovation, on the screen and off. But I can’t help it. I frequently wish he’d set aside for a bit, and give us another brilliant genre blend like —alongside , his finest achievement—another mystical excursion like , or something that’s just fun and goofy and light on its feet, like , the frothiest and ironically, the most controversial title of his career.
As a lover of Cameron’s cinema, I’d often rather discuss any of his films other than , a boundlessly entertaining marital-spy comedy (like 2005’s , which it reportedly inspired) that put final girl Jamie Lee Curtis and Arnold “The Termi.