Future Earth is torn by conflict between machines and mankind. Two parties go back in time to 1980s Los Angeles. One is the Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger), a cyborg assigned to murder Sarah Connor (Michael Biehn), mother of future resistance leader John Connor. The other is Kyle Reese (Michael Biehn), a resistance fighter sent to protect Sarah. A running battle rages through Los Angeles and beyond as Sarah and Reese try to defeat the indestructible robot.
More than anything, The Terminator is a successful genre hybrid. Besides the obvious science fiction elements, it has the moody style of film noir and the decay of a '70s urban drama: garbage-littered, crime-ridden LA seems more dystopian than the skull-strewn future. It also resembles a high-caliber slash movie, from its implacable antagonist to the virtuous heroine outlasting her horny friends. Somehow, Cameron fits these disparate elements together into a near-seamless vehicle.
Cameron carefully builds suspense and atmosphere, then unleashes the expertly-staged action. Things escalate quickly from an early foot-and-car chase to the Terminator's assault on a police station. The latter scene seems transplanted from a horror film, less thrilling than horrifying: dozens of cops blast the Terminator with shotguns and assault weapons, without leaving a scratch. The Terminator's impregnability becomes terrifying: after being shot, crashed and immolated, he returns as a metal skeleton. Compare the sequels, where he comically knee-caps cops while tossing lame quips.
Terminator pits its cyborg against down-to-earth protagonists. Kyle's blandly heroic, with some traumatic flashbacks to spice his character. Sarah's a more relatable heroine, a clumsy waitress who unwittingly embodies the world's fate. The two cops (Paul Winfield and Lance Henriksen) protecting Sarah take the Terminator threat seriously; they just can't imagine an indestructible robot. Cameron and Gael Ann Hurd draw these characters between commendably economical storytelling. Even the obligatory sex scene serves a plot purpose.
Though Arnold Schwarzenegger made his star turn in Conan the Barbarian, this is his signature role. Schwarzenegger exudes ice-cold menace and physicality that dominates the screen. Nobody's ever called Arnold's a great actor, but it takes a special kind of star to sell an emotionless cyborg. While Schwarzenegger's self-effacement served later roles well, he's much better as a straightforward stone killer.
Michael Biehn is likeable but lacks the charisma to carry the picture. That chore falls to Linda Hamilton; her Sarah evolves credibly from hard-luck ingénue to tough, canny survivor. By the second film, she'll evolve into one of cinema's iconic action heroines. Paul Winfield and Lance Henriksen provide Terminator's few glimmers of humor; Earl Boen's obnoxious therapist graced the first two sequels. Bill Paxton gets wasted in the opening scene.
With thirty years' hindsight, The Terminator's main virtue is its straightforwardness: little humor and just one portentous monologue, focusing instead on action, atmosphere and characters. Terminator 2 upped the action and effects, but also the goofiness and pretentious ponderings on Man's fate. Terminator 3 is a bad joke, while Terminator Salvation is barely a poor man's Transformers. I haven't seen the new excretion with ancient Arnie, but I'm dubious.