The last time a new Terminator movie came out, I was an undergraduate English major in Grand Rapids, Michigan with a burgeoning appreciation for the various charms of the moving image. Twelve years, a few relocations, and countless movies later, how interesting that I should see Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines back in Grand Rapids on the weekend of my graduating class’ first reunion. Back in 1991 I named T2 one of the best movies of the summer in Calvin College’s weekly newspaper; that’s a tough act to follow, not least when you wait over a decade to bring out the next installment, each year multiplying exponentially the demands of expectation. And though T3 does not disappoint for a second, it’s a pity that thanks to changes in the cinematic scene over the years the film will still fail to matter a whole lot.

You can’t blame James Cameron, director of the franchise’s first two films, for balking at the idea of helming this latest addition; much like Steven Spielberg after two Jurassic Park films, you can imagine Cameron wondered exactly how he or anyone could top T2: Judgement Day. T2 set the industry standard for special effects, ruled the box-office for a month (and stayed in the top ten for three), and made an indelible mark in cinematic history for a generation of film buffs. Nowadays persuasive visual trickery is a dime a dozen, market-saturating film-distribution virtually guarantees no film will rule the roost for longer than one week, and a summer inundated with sequels takes away from T3’s distinctiveness. We can expect T3’s backers to see a healthy return on their investment, but waiting until the following century to produce it unwittingly ensured a context that would diminish its impact.

To add to the arsenal of pre-existing strikes against T3’s chances for success, neither Linda Hamilton nor Edward Furlong were signed to star in this next chapter. Furlong’s been replaced with Nick Stahl, and Hamilton’s character died of leukemia between films, and director Jonathan Mostow’s resumé (U-571, Breakdown), while solid, is hardly titanic in scale. Sole returning player Arnold Schwartzenegger (admittedly the only actor the series absolutely cannot do without) has been in the throes of a career slump, it’s safe to say, and returning after so long to the franchise that secured his place in the Hollywood pantheon smells not a little of desperation. It’s therefore far too easy to be skeptical of T3 long before it hit theaters – and far greater was the shock last weekend to discover that T3 is a most worthy successor, the franchise once again providing one of the best films of the season.

First and foremost, scriptwriters John Brancato, Michael Ferris, and Tedi Sarafian clearly versed themselves in Terminator lore and display a firm grasp of the essentials that audiences expect in a T-film. A vivid sense of threat, a large swath of Los Angeles again demolished like a Terminator playground, another desert sojourn, Arnie carving himself open to administer some repairs, our heroes fleeing in every sort of vehicle (fire truck, veterinary clinic truck, hearse, RV, twinjet plane), ruminations on altering the future, military toys as part of the problem instead of the solution, Arnie clearly outclassed by a more sophisticated opponent, a healthy fear of nuclear war, endless racing from the villain which only postpones the inevitable showdown, and Arnie’s backup power cell making all the difference after apparent defeat. T3 hits all its marks brilliantly, solidifying a dramatic formula that clearly still had some legs left in it. As James Cameron himself had to learn at the Oscars® in 1997, all the effects in the world can’t absolutely compensate if the script fails to deliver. Some final tweaks could’ve helped – Arnie’s new catch phrase of “Talk to the hand” is already too dated - maybe that particular line was committed to paper a couple years ago as the script was being developed – and it’s a little too convenient how his T-101 happens into his latest leather duds. (T3 plays that particular scene for laughs, at least.) But Brancato and crew knew when to hand Arnie well-timed lines about being back, and it feels right – whereas sometimes starting fresh is a good idea, throwing out all the old tricks can also spell disaster.

The other essential ingredient of the series is visual wizardry, of course, and it’s no fault of Industrial Light and Magic, but instead a sign of the changing FX-heavy film scene that T3’s effective CGI comes across as rote. This time around the central threat sent back from the future to off Stahl’s John Connor is the “anti-Terminator Terminator” model TX, and she seems to be a combination of the mechanical and liquid adversaries from the first two films; in the form of formel model Kristanna Lokken, whose hair and makeup and fabulous heels never muss regardless of all the whoop-ass being delivered. Her arms morph into any number of weapons and utensils, and it’s possible the effects crew understood how ho-hum her personal stockpile would come across no matter how seamless their presentation, so there’s at least the added bonus of an opponent who’s finally easy on the eyes. (Though CGI can give us Gollum and the Hulk, there’s no way they’ll try to animate Lara Croft for the movies. Some things male audiences still want in all their carbon-based glory.) They also grasp the inexhaustible entertainment value of a good old-fashioned car chase – and throwing in the world’s biggest crane on wheels doesn’t hurt. It’s a back-to-basics approach, visually, and narratively, that gives T3 its chops, and that’s how it ultimately distinguishes itself from the other summer blockbusters.

The details of the plot prove consistently clever, not least the fact that this version of Arnie sent back is not the same one as in the previous film; this guy is an “obsolete model” off the assembly line, who has no knowledge of the bonding between his human charge and his predecessor a decade ago. Cleverer still that he only takes orders from another individual that they pick up along the way, whose incredulity at her circumstances (the TX is after her too) is wholly believable and another testament to the script’s strengths. And if your skepticism is in part fuelled by the understanding that the events of T2 were supposed to avert the birth of the machine consciousness that spells doom for humans, the dose of revisionism in T3 explains things away in a wholly plausible manner. Our heroes’ use of a particle accelerator to disable the TX probably requires a greater understanding of physics than I command to fully appreciate, but subsequent plot twists more than adequately reinvigorate a franchise that now has the potential to last several more movies.

Watching T3 is a lengthy process of negotiation between the weight of your expectations and the film’s actual merits, and the film won’t win anyone over immediately. T3 succeeds in living up to the James Cameron creation that preceded it, unlike Alien³ did ten years ago, and that’s enough of a feat to earn its own place in history. The final component in the Terminator formula is that each subsequent film will improve upon its precursors, and the burden of such a legacy could easily paralyze forthcoming productions. That’s why T3 cunningly bridges the gap between the previous episodes and a future trajectory with its own unique flavor, crossing from the present to the future in a chilling ending that leaves you wanting a whole lot more. “The battle has just begun,” says Connor as Judgement Day finally unfolds, and we realize with one gesture Arnie’s been handed the most precious commodity in Hollywood: job security. I can only hope I don’t have to wait for T4 until my 20-year class reunion.

More and more the difference is narrowing between motion pictures and TV serials; the main distinction used to be the wait between installments, but even that is disappearing, as we’ve only got six months until the next Matrix and Lord of the Rings sequels, for example. And Arnie wasn’t kidding when he said “I’m an obsolete design” – the days of the Titanic-level sensation may be over. T2 ratcheted up the bar for what constitutes commercial success in the public eye, and anything less than a mind-blowing box-office phenomenon comes across as disappointing anymore. Hollywood’s own recent distribution practices are largely to blame for this, as they now insist on an opening-weekend blitz in as many theaters as possible and on as many screens as possible. This means most people will have seen the film in its first week, guaranteeing big initial numbers, but by the next week people only want to see what’s coming out next. Gradually building and sustaining hype is now out of fashion, and T3’s slow descent down the chart (its weekend take halving each week) gives the impression of a merely modest success, nothing in T2’s league. Rise of the Machines deserves better, and its creators need not believe all their outstanding work has failed to impress.

Robert Patrick, you may remember, played the liquescent T-1000 back in Judgement Day; making the rounds in Sequel Land, he now finds himself in the role of the Dude in Distress in Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle, another of the summer’s number-one-at-the-box-office-for-only-a-week victims. Saved from a Daniel Pearl-style execution in northern Mongolia by our erstwhile trio of bombshells, they all find the escape vehicle they’re in plummeting down the face of a massive hydroelectric dam; no problem, there’s a damaged helicopter falling ahead of us as well, we’ll just leap from our truck down into the chopper and get it started, while a couple of us hold onto the wings (for lack of seating), and soar off before it’s too late. It’s an escape sequence that has to be seen to be disbelieved – not even a gaggle of TX’s coulda pulled that off. Suspension of disbelief? More like hanged, drawn, and quartered.

If action movies that stay within the realm of plausibility are your thing, you’d be better off sticking with the first Charlie’s Angels film, which featured stunts and combat choreography that were outlandish at worst but at least honored Newton’s Laws. The heroines of Full Throttle have blossomed into full-fledged super-heroines, with gravity-defying abilities straight out of The Matrix. Of course, it’s entirely up to you whether that’s a bad thing; if girl power turns your crank, there may be endless delight in seeing ladies with an utterly polymathic intellectual reach, a seemingly telepathic link, and a mind-boggling resilience from what should be devastating injuries. And you thought the TX was fun to watch? That pile o’ gears has got nothing on Cameron Diaz, Lucy Liu, and Drew Barrymore, any of whom apparently could have averted Judgement Day and changed clothes about a hundred times without breaking a sweat.

Like T3’s creators, the folks who brought us Throttle kept a keen eye on the component charms of the first film, but unlike them upped the ante about four thousand times over. Precious little of the actual plot makes any discernible sense, but there’s disco dancing, and illegal chinchilla ranches, and nuns, and Spider-Man underoos, and someone named Helen Zass, for heaven’s sake, so cut them some slack. A soundtrack that literally starts up a new song every minute (that’ll be one big boxed set at the CD store) may start to get on your nerves, but if it allows an opportunity for the girls to break into Hammer Time, then so be it. There’s definitely a marked spirit of fun that permeates all the chaos, and if you’re not already predisposed to such frivolity you’ll probably end up feeling like Eminem on the set of A Mighty Wind.

The script consists more of effectively witty moments than a coherent storyline, even though Throttle does afford each of our Angels a modicum of character development (how does Dylan’s past come back to haunt her? Does Natalie’s future include a wedding? And why does Alex’s dad think she’s a callgirl?). Mostly it’s Crouching Tiger – style acrobatics followed by mass giggling, though, not to mention an impressive series of cameos – see if you can spot Carrie Fisher, Bruce Willis, both Wilson brothers, Eric Bogosian, Robert Forster, Pink, Chris Pontius, and a visitation by an original Angel, as our gang apply their limitless talents toward recovering a pair of rings containing the actual identities and whereabouts of everyone in the Witness Protection Program. A task that also involves tussling with homicidal bikers, Irish gangsters, and a returning (and still hyper-fetishistic) Creepy Thin Man. (And with the assistance of Bernie Mac replacing Bill Murray as the new Bosley for reasons too random to discuss, a casting change that is clearly a matter of taste.)

You may have noticed in the supermarket checkout lanes that it was neither Diaz, Liu, or Barrymore making extensive promotional rounds for Throttle; the magazine covers instead feature Demi Moore, playing (trust me, I’m not spoiling anything here) Madison Lee, an ex-Angel (from somewhere between Shelley Hack and the present troika, I guess) who’s crossed over to the dark side. (How does she recognize the current roster when she runs into them at the beach? “I get the newsletter,” she reminds them.) Like Arnie, Demi’s career was starting a death spiral a few years ago, but she chose a different tactic to revitalize her stock: disappear for a while, then make a triumphant comeback. Such a plot worked for Julia Roberts many moons ago, but only time will tell if Moore can now start a trajectory toward her own Oscar®. (Hey, if Kim Basinger can do it.) There is a difference between acting and putting on an act, though, and in Throttle Moore simply postures and rattles off lines sounding tough with her husky voice. It’s all good for business, I suppose, and the fact that Moore looks better than any of her rival Angels sure doesn’t hurt her chances.

In the final analysis, Throttle is better than it ought to be; as far as summer fluff goes you can do much worse. The consistently witty dialogue, and the girls’ irrepressibly jovial attitudes help lessen the pain when director McG tries a Cape Fear homage or hastens Moore’s final exit without a whole lot of ingenuity. It’s an unending parade of retro fashions and tunes, with a class reunion (of all things) at Rydell High (of all places) thrown in for good measure. An old dorm-mate at my own reunion asked me with what attitude I approach a film as it unspools; I answered that I always want to love each film, and give them every chance in the world to win me over (it’s not like anyone pays eight bucks expressly to have a bad time), and maybe it’s only with such willingness that Throttle will entertain. Besides, enjoy it all while you can, because when we’re all middle-aged at subsequent reunions I doubt we’ll be quite so forgiving.