Watching Arnold Schwarzenegger lumber his way through Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, I was struck by a nagging, persistent quibble. Why on Earth would anybody build a 55-year-old android killing machine? That’s like building a sex robot modeled after Bea Arthur. Granted, at no point in T3 does the Austrian oak actually pull out a card for the American Association of Retired People, nor does he quip, “I’ll be back—to purchase strained prunes and adult diapers.” But there’s no getting around the fact that Schwarzenegger is, to use the immortal parlance of the Lethal Weapon movies, getting too old for this shit.
Schwarzenegger and rival Sylvester Stallone (who can currently be seen camping it up in a jokey supporting role as the bad guy in Spy Kids 3-D) are among the last of a dying breed: the rugged, stoic action hero, the kind who can carry an entire rusty vehicle on his muscle-hewn shoulders.
When I was growing up in the 80s, there was an unchanging constellation of action heroes. At the top there were of course, Schwarzenegger, Stallone, and Clint Eastwood, alpha-male Horatio Alger-types whose rise to glory had already become the stuff of legend. Below them were lesser but still commercially viable pretenders to the throne: pretty boy Jean-Claude Van Damme, Methuselah-like Charles Bronson, unsmiling Dolph Lundgren, hirsute redneck Chuck Norris, and ponytail enthusiast Steven Seagal, who is best known these days for running like a girl, lying about CIA connections, and getting shaken down by the mob.
Needless to say, nearly everyone in that list, other than Eastwood, who moonlights as a respected auteur, has aged about as gracefully as a Zubaz track suit, and many of Eastwood’s most recent acting roles have made references, usually explicit, to the advancing age of The Man Who Long Ago Played The Man With No Name. With the exception of Eastwood and Schwarzenegger, all the other guys have starred in at least one film that’s skipped multiplexes altogether, on its way to a less-than-auspicious premiere at the neighborhood Blockbuster. Haven’t been seeing much of Stallone on the big screen lately? That’s probably because his last two starring vehicles, the sadly titled Eye See You and Avenging Angelo both went direct to video.
Then again, Stallone is a direct-to-video newcomer compared to Van Damme, who has recently struck out with such not-ready-for-the-multiplex fare as Derailed, The Order, Replicant, Coyote Moon, and The Legionnaire. Or Seagal, who has alternated between direct-to-video vehicles and Joel Silver-produced theatrical releases where his fading star is augmented by a motley array of co-stars and sidekicks.
Schwarzenegger hasn’t had a flat-out hit since 1994’s True Lies, and one of the unexpectedly poignant aspects of T3 is that it writes Arnold’s (and company’s) approaching obsolescence into its narrative. Schwarzenegger’s character in the film is the android equivalent of an Atari 2600—a hulking anachronism who just can’t compete with the sexy new technology represented by Maxim cover girl Kristanna Loken. It’s thematically fitting, since technology, particularly the kind used to great effect in The Matrix (and much lesser effect in its army of imitators), has played a large part in killing off the action hero. If special effects, wires, and high-tech trickery can make Tobey Maguire, Drew Barrymore, and Keanu Reeves look like they can outfight Bruce Lee, then what’s the appeal of a 50-something martial artist like Seagal? His non-existent talent? The pony tail, maybe?
Given the cruel, Darwinian nature of survival as an action star, it’s no wonder today’s most promising action heroes (Vin Diesel, The Rock) look like freakish, steroid-addled caricatures of their predecessors. In order to survive, the action hero has to evolve, and that evolution has been halting and troubled at best.
Another factor in the demise of the conventional action hero is the skyrocketing cost of making, marketing, and releasing movies. A decade and a half ago, a definite theatrical niche existed for modestly budgeted action vehicles. As budgets rise exponentially, outstripping inflation and squeezing out all but the most fool-proof, high-budget, high-concept fare, that theatrical niche simply doesn’t exist anymore. Like an aging athlete still trying to make a living with his best years behind him, yesterday’s action heroes have been demoted to the movie-making equivalent of the minor leagues.
No wonder Schwarzenegger is considering a move into politics. Mr. Maria Shriver has fared much better than nearly all his contemporaries, but his career has been sliding downhill for a long time; he hasn’t been a sure thing at the box office for around a decade. Reprising his most beloved roles—sequels to True Lies and Conan the Destroyer have been rumored for years—will probably keep Schwarzenegger on professional life support, but as the actor approaches his 60s, juicy new roles are likely to elude him.
As a concerned citizen, I find the idea of Governor Schwarzenegger terrifying. I still vividly recall the T3 star endorsing the elder President Bush with the following bit of heavily accented would-be mirth: “I just played da Terminaytor on da big screen, but Maacheel Duk-a-kis is da real Terminaytor of America’s few-chah!”—a patently ridiculous claim that brings to mind far-fetched images of the shrimpy former governor of Massa-chusetts striding maniacally through a post-apocalyptic U.S wasteland of his own making.
But as someone who loves a compelling, larger-than-life personal narrative, I find the idea of Governor or even President Schwarzenegger to be infinitely compelling. If he were to go into politics, Arnie would be like Ronald Reagan adjusted for inflation, a true-blue, all-American success story as improbable as it is irresistible. At worst, he’d be the next Governor Ventura: an amusing idea in theory, an unfortunate one in practice. Even if he lost, he’d still continue to loom large as one of his chosen country’s biggest icons.
Schwarzenegger’s film career, though still monstrously lucrative, offers nowhere to go but down. If Arnold runs for office, the second act in his brilliant career could be a doozie. I’m just glad I don’t live in California.
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