I don't know about you, but I'm ready to relish in the transcendent joys of "Up," which I'm willing to bet won't somehow become the first film to taint Pixar's extraordinary, unblemished record. But, in light of this week's movie, that's really all the optimism I can convey at this point. I am otherwise deflated, and feel sullied and used. Thanks a lot, "Terminator Salvation."
Alright, who's responsible for this? I want names, I want accountability, and I want retribution. Of course, it would be convenient to place the lion's share of the blame on the shoulders of director McG (yes, McG) and his screenwriters John D. Brancato and Michael Ferris. But first of all, McG ain't exactly an auteur, and in any case, to do so would ignore a broader, more pressing issue: Who in their right mind actually hired these morons and put them in charge of not only a $200 million summer blockbuster, but indeed, a previously beloved, billion-dollar franchise that started out great but bottomed out and was in desperate need of a comeback?
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