The “Robocop” remake and I have a long and winding history.
When the news broke that a remake was in the works, my initial response was something along the lines of the sound you make when you accidentally hit yourself below the belt. You know what I’m talking about fellas. Sometimes you get a little carried away when you’re talking with your hands and bad things happen.
I grew up with “Robocop.” That’s an absolutely terrifying thought considering the bone-numbingly graphic things that take place between the opening and closing credits of that movie, but it’s true.
I was allowed to watch people get melted by toxic waste, get torn to shreds by machine guns and have their arms shot off at close, bloody range, as long as I promised I didn’t say any of the bad words.
Also, I had all the toys.
Sure, my beloved parents’ priorities may have been slightly askew, but I never turned into a serial killer or even just a regular killer. So if you’re looking for a case study to prove that media violence doesn’t lead to real world violence, get at me dawg.
Anyway, that shiny metal so and so (happy mom and dad?) still holds a special place in my heart, so I wasn’t thrilled with the notion of a remake. Some things are best left alone.
Casting news began to filter out and my ears perked up the way a dog’s would if it heard a dinosaur skeleton fall apart in a museum.