The Terminator (1984; dir. James Cameron) is a suspenseful, A-grade B-movie—a tech-noir crafted with cunning and care by a Roger Corman graduate. The film’s $6.5 million budget proves to be a bonus, not a constraint. Cameron’s approach is guerrilla efficient. He delivers a chase movie that’s also a slasher. Here, though, the unstoppable killing machine is just that—a machine—a cyborg. Where the movie soars, though, is its storytelling. The Terminator is a story about inevitability—of time, of destiny, of machine logic. It’s also about love (among the urban ruins).
Buy The Terminator UHDUpon his arrival in 1984 L.A., the Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger), naked as the day he was machined, makes it terribly clear that he is an unnatural force of power. Every motion is robotic; this isn’t a man, but a slab of steel intent. Cameron’s decision to frame Schwarzenegger as a figure of crushing tectonic violence is crucial to the film’s mythic tone. This is no mere gun-toting villain. He’s sweaty, robotic death on two legs—a weapon sent back in time from 2029, a time shattered by nuclear war. Kyle Reese (Michael Biehn) is a man of sweaty, all-too-human desperation—all furtive glances and quick sprints, his every move driven by a raw, primal need to stop the Terminator from fulfilling its mission.
The film’s premise: A.I. sends the Terminator to kill Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton) before she could give birth to John Connor, the future leader of the human resistance. One look at Schwarzenegger’s face—unblinking and impassive—and you know the stakes. As Reese says, “It can’t be reasoned with. It can’t be bargained with. It doesn’t harbor pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop. Ever. Until you are dead.” The power of this line comes not just from Biehn’s delivery, but from Cameron’s relentless pacing. Every frame is a race against inevitability. Neither the pursuit nor the film itself relents—for at least its first two acts. The back third slows down, hindering the pace that was once breathless. While these moments offer space for character development, they slow down the film’s momentum.
Cameron’s direction is taut, precise. With stark efficiency, each scene builds on the last. The chase scenes have no excess weight. Upon seeing the Tech Noir nightclub, with its neon haze and synthetic beats, you sense you have entered a space where past and future converge. This is where the Terminator first confronts Sarah, and it’s one of the most electric moments in ‘80s cinema. Brad Fiedel’s percussive, heart-thumping score kicks in, and your breath catches short.
Schwarzenegger’s portrayal is iconic not just for his physical presence but for his restraint. Cameron & co-producer Gale Anne Hurd give the eventual ‘Governator’ of California brief dialogue. He delivers each sentence, from “I’ll be back” to “Fuck you, asshole,” with clipped, guttural intensity. And his choppy hair, dead-eyed shades, and leather attire give him a memorable, punk-rock flair. Hamilton’s Sarah starts as an ordinary gal—the kind who might fade in a crowd—but as the film runs, she becomes one of the more memorable “final girls” of American horror cinema. By the end, she doesn’t run from fate—she fights it.
The film’s low budget dictates, you could say, a more intimate approach (we focus mainly on the central conflict between the three principals), but this helps it. In the texture of every space—the grunge of the alleyways, the smoky steel of Tech Noir, the skeletal rubble of the future war—Cameron’s prior work as a set designer for Corman films is clear. In The Terminator, L.A. isn’t a glam city of beaches and palm trees; it’s a place of cheap motels, rain-slick streets, and semi-abandoned industrial zones. Cameron’s aesthetic would later bloat into digital excess, but here, each shot counts. Modern viewers may find the miniatures and stop-motion effects quaint, but these elements have a tactile charm. They feel more real than CGI. There’s an interesting—if somewhat alien and no doubt imperfect—familiarity in their tangibility.
And while The Terminator eschews sentimentality, it tries a little tenderness. Reese’s love for Sarah is real, not contrived. He’s dreamt of her face; his journey back in time is an act of love disguised as war. Their love scene is more than a cheap narrative device, it’s crucial to the story. It’s hard-earned; it’s a moment carved from violence and fear.
By the end, when Sarah crushes the Terminator in a hydraulic press, she’s not just a survivor, she’s something more. The film’s last image—of her driving into a storm, the future settling on her shoulders—is as mythic as any scene in ‘80s American cinema. Compared to Cameron’s later work, the movie is full of broad strokes like this. But that’s part of its charm. It’s not trying to be perfect. It wants to be hard to forget; to kick your movie-loving ass and haunt your dreams. And it succeeds.
To call The Terminator a “tech noir” might undersell it. Though the movie might be overfamiliar, a goodly amount of its durability derives from its status as a genre hybrid—a story about men and their machines and a woman who refuses passive acceptance of her fate. It’s the story of a machine’s inability to change—and a human’s ability to do just that. For my money, Cameron never made a tighter, meaner movie; and for all his later glories—Aliens (his greatest achievement, in my eyes), The Abyss, Terminator 2: Judgment Day—I wonder if he’s lost the hunger to do something this taut, this streamlined, again. This was his moment of pure creative combustion, when he turned the film industry’s head and roared, “I’ve arrived.” And like the Terminator itself, that message still echoes.
Coinciding with its 40th anniversary, The Terminator’s new (and first!) 4K UHD release is a wonderful tribute to one of cinema’s leaner, meaner machines. Despite some residual grain, the Dolby HDR exhibits remarkable clarity and detail. Where the 4K shines, though, is the audio (you can hear it in Dolby Atmos, or in DTS-HD MA 2.0 for the movie’s original mono mix). On the downside, the disc lacks extras from earlier home releases. Still, besides a digital code to stream the movie, you get deleted scenes with Cameron’s optional commentary, as well as a trio of legacy featurettes (Creating the Terminator: Visual Effects and Music, The Terminator: Closer to the Real Thing, and Unstoppable Force: The Legacy of the Terminator).
