should i watch robocop y/n

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McDjaLgrrRg

yo im about to eat

http://i.imgur.com/uk8Ks.gifhttp://i.imgur.com/Z9QFg.gif

http://img168.imageshack.us/img168/3780/robocop104.gif

was johnson gay for norton? there's the scene where he clutches norton for support during the ed209 fiasco and norton brushes him away. then the look on his face when robocop plays jones's confession: "I had to kill Bob Norton because he made a mistake"
then finally the look of satisfaction on seeing Norton's killer dispatched.

oh I forgot the "tastes like babyfood" scene but there the relationship seems paternal, or a big-brother. though the dynamic of johnson initiating and norton withdrawing remains.

has anyone ever read that martin amis essay on the filming of Robocop II?

-- smokemon (eman), Monday, April 10, 2006 3:14 AM

here:

ROBOCOP II

ROBOCOP: PRIME DIRECTIVES
1 Serve the Public Trust
2 Protect the Innocent
3 Uphold the Law

RoboCop II - and I mean the robot, not the movie - looks like a wasp-waisted three-ton Swiss Army penknife with all its blades outturned: cutters, skewers, pincers, gougers. Called 'The Monster' in the script and on the set, this sizzling cyborg is not RoboCop's successor but his adversary. 'The concept of two robots duking it out', says one of his creators, 'was a given.' Part Man, Part Machine, All Psychopath, RoboCop II is also, for good measure, a drug-addict, a vigorous abuser of a substance called Nuke. He is programmed to Break the Law, Protect the Guilty, and Trash the Public Trust. 'We're very pleased with him,' says his chief designer. 'The face is great. Those twin panels shoot back revealing a digitalised screen, with receding lines giving a weird to-infinity effect.' For now, the curved diagonal panels remain closed, impeccably hostile and severe, like the sharp prow — the leading edge — of the future.

Last fall, downtown Houston was also giving a good imitation of the henceforward. The main precincts are deserted after 6 pm - for this is a modern city, and no one is seriously expected to live in it. You work in it. Elegantly alienated youths rollerskate through the empty malls. They aren't sullen or simmering or smashed; they are just not interested. Later, the night sky will contain the faint reports of gunfire: the crack wars of the crack gangs. Driving through the more depressed areas the next day, you will find the streets littered with beercans, hookers ('Hey, white boy!'), undergarments, human wigs - and the nomadic poor, clustered in the steel and concrete crevices of the city; soon, the police will come and briskly pressure-hose them out of there, and they will be obliged to regroup somewhere else. But not downtown, where the future is contentedly going about its business. Look into the magenta glass of the looming skyscraper, and what do you see? The reflection of another skyscraper — and then another, and then another.
This month there is street theatre in Houston: the making of RoboCop II. Onlookers gather early behind the police lines. The crowd (mostly black) has come to see what the imported natives (mostly white) will get up to this evening, what explosions and firestorms they will stage, what miracles of wreckage they will achieve: what strafings, what stompings, what splatterings. The ahs and ows of this first preview audience are strictly calibrated to the size of the bang, the height of the flamespout. All week the night action takes place amid the fortress architecture of Houston's cultural centre: between the theatre and the opera house. The filmmakers are obliged by the city to get through their most thunderous scenes before 8 pm, when the curtain goes up on the other performance (tonight, a rock opera of Measure for Measure). But they never make it.
'HOLD THE SMOKE!' says the Assistant Director into his bullhorn. 'I'LL NEED SOME BEEF.' Beef means muscle, means sceneshifters - for the upended cars, the shattered stanchions. 'I SAID HOLD THE SMOKE,,, MORE BEEF!'
A mist of stardom shrouds the trailer of Peter Weller, who has yet to appear. Everyone waits. A rejuvenated, reglamorised Nancy Allen sits chatting on a director's chair (her handsome new boyfriend is near by, the silent custodian of her second blooming). Nancy plays Lewis, RoboCop's sidekick. It is a pivotal role, and she understands its centrality. She is the only 'real' presence in both movies: everyone else is either a hood, a corporation ogre, a scientist, or a robot. Nancy is happy to kill time; indeed, she is an expert time-killer, like all movie stars, for there is much time to kill. Everyone waits. Weapons expert Randy Moore trundles on to the set to deal with 'a blanks problem'. Randy's outrageous handguns and bazookas look at home in Houston: they wouldn't seem out of place, you feel, in the average Texan kitchen. At length, Randy resolves the blanks problem, and everyone goes back to what they were doing before: waiting.
Unbelievably, about five hours later, two whole shots are in the can. Nancy has scaled an armed-personnel carrier and successfully back-kicked a security guard in the face. And Peter has scaled a media truck and readied himself to pounce on The Monster. But the street audience is unconvinced, and gives a collective shrug before it disperses, as if to say, 'Is that it?' And you sympathise. You want to explain to the Houston crowd that what they are getting is, as yet, only half-formed, only half-made. As yet, the illusion is embarrassingly - but necessarily — incomplete. Peter hasn't got his RoboCop pants on, for instance (the shot is only waist-up). And Nancy's back-kick looks dainty and innocuous. And the battleground is littered with scene-coordinators with their walkie-talkies. And the corporation HQ seems punily small-scale. And The Monster is still in the prop shop . . .
This is the thing with RoboCop: it all comes later — the sheen, the finish. What you see here in Houston is just raw material, the chaos of the merely contemporary. Only in the lab will it take on the hard edge of the future. RoboCop is itself a sign of things to come; the new depth of illusion, the widening gulf between set and screen. On screen, the corporation HQ will have a matte painting on it and will loom eighty storeys high. The scene-coordinators will be blacked out of shot. The Monster will be on duty. Peter will appear to have his pants on. And Nancy's back-kick will be crunchy.

The RoboCop II team has a boy-genius or crazy-professor feel to it. On the set the atmosphere reminds you of the exotic unsalubriousness of Washington Square Park in New York, where all the skateboarders are chess prodigies, the bums are International Grand Masters, and the lounging brothers have four-figure IQs. Director Irvin Kershner (Never Say Never Again, The Empire Strikes Back) looks like a radical Sixties academic. Producer Jon Davison (Piranha, Airplane!, RoboCop) has the droll, wheedling delivery of a Greenwich Village intellectual. All around there is a reassuring sense of strength-in-depth. Unit publicists are usually cyborgs themselves, but RoboCop IPs Paul Sammon is an omnicompetent film-maker, writer, computer ace. And here's cold proof of how hip and classy this outfit is: nearly everyone had read my stuff. Even the continuity girl turns around and quotes me, word perfect . . . And shabbily lurking by the coke-machine and the chow-trailer are Oscar-winning designers, make-up artists, stop-motion animators, stunt illusionists — tricksters, wizards, futurists.
RoboCop made money (£50 million in the US alone), and everybody hopes that RoboCop II will do at least as well. But they are in it for love — obsessive love. Between rehearsals they crouch down among the cables, the webbing, the gizmo wagons and gadget trolleys and gimmick barrows, the cans of engine enamel, the bottles of Havoline. They talk about the film — 'the show' — with almost parental earnestness and cautious pride, as if they were preparing an enormous machine, or an enormous robot, for smooth functioning, fully tuned and 'tweaked'. Someone is going around with a box of Noisebuster earplugs. We help ourselves. One of the redetailed Ford Taurus turbocruisers is about to blow. 'Not the "beauty car" — the one nearest camera - but the oldest car,' Paul Sammon tells me. 'They might not get it done in time, but if they don't they'll want to do something else noisy.' The atrocious detonation comes and goes, and the team gets ready to do it all again.
'Wetdown,' says Irvin Kershner — Kersh — to his assistant. 'WETDOWN,' says his assistant. There ensues, of all things, a long delay, as every inch of the set is hosed with water. The set is regularly wetdowned to give it a glossy, slinky, noiry look — also to preserve continuity, in case it rains. 'BEEF . . . MORE BEEF.' On conies the beef: unsmiling figures who all seem to be called things like Tug and Tiff and Heft. The beef on RoboCop H, you feel, will be better beef than usual, real thinking man's beef, the most skilled and dedicated beef you can buy.
That night's shoot spluttered on until 4 am, but Jon Davison is at his desk early the next morning. Like all on-the-job moviemen he has an air of exalted exhaustion, of priestly fatigue. 'The whole thing was awful the first time around,' Davison croaks. 'Robo himself just didn't work visually. You know: his ass moved in a funny way, he looked smaller than the women. But now . . . it's all going along.' Nobody knows exactly how much the first movie's frisson owed to its director, Paul Verhoeven, and his 'neurotic elan', in the phrase of one team-member (here are some other phrases: 'He's a wildman.' 'A sick genius.' 'A real extremist.' 'Bananas.' 'Nuts'). 'Kersh', says Davison, with some concern, 'is, of course, much less violent than Paul .. .' Kersh is also sixty-seven; and at present he is too busy to sleep, let alone be interviewed. There is a feeling that Kersh will have to be kept an eye on. He may have a weakness for the light. Others, then (the deep talent), will have to make sure it's heavy.
The floors of the production offices are heaped with Fed Ex envelopes and copies of Variety, but the walls are papered with fanatically exact 'storyboards' of the scenes to come, frame by frame. The drawings remind you of RoboCop's imaginative origins: comic books. Comic books, given flesh, and metal - given hard life. 'What made you choose Peter Weller?' I asked. I wondered if it had anything to do with his mouth (his only visible feature for much of the film) and what my wife described as the 'unerotic perfection' of its cupid's-bow lips. 'His mouth? No! Peter was chosen because no other actor would do it.' Like all surprise successes, RoboCop was something of a lucky accident. It gathered the right people at the right place at the right time. Davison put them there. He is the puppet-master - or rather the master of the puppeteers: Verhoeven, Weller, the designers and animators, right the way down to all the unsung eggheads at Dream Quest, Praxis, Intervideo, Screaming Lizard and Visual Concept Engineering.

RoboCop was a genuine original. All its admirers know this, and even its detractors partly sense it. RoboCop was doubly futuristic. As a movie, and as a vision, it wasn't just state-of-the-art. It was also state-of-the-science: when you see its twirling rivets and burnished heat-exchangers, when you hear its venomous shunts and succulent fizzes, you suspect that the future really might feel like this — that it will act this way on your very nerve-ends. Technology is god in RoboCop, but it is also the villain, with its triumphant humourlessness, its puerile ingenuity, its dumb glamour. And that ambivalence explains why RoboCop's special effects had a special effect.
Also a special affect. To define: affect means 'feeling tone'; and affectlessness means 'no feeling tone' - no heart. And the heartlessness of our response to the RoboCop future is most noticeable, of course, when we confront the movie's extreme violence. American children laugh at Rambo because they don't yet know what violence means, because they shouldn't be watching Rambo (what, you wonder, will their children be laughing at?). The hoods in RoboCop — and in most American thrillers of the past twenty years — laugh as they kill and rape and devastate because this is the expression of their anti-ethics, their sociopathology. But we laugh at the violence in RoboCop, even though we really should know better. We laugh because we have no response to it. We laugh to fill the silence, to fill the vacuum, like embarrassed Japanese.
Take the celebrated and show-stealing scene in the corporation boardroom, when the grinning VP introduces the executives to his latest concept in 'urban pacification', Enforcement Droid 209. An android is supposedly 'a robot with human form', but there is nothing humanoid, or even organic-looking, about ED 209, whose otherness is in fact emphasised by its weird borrowings from the animal kingdom: the shape of the 'face' (killer whale), its warning growl (angry black leopard), its squeal of distress (dying pig). By way of demonstration, the VP asks a young executive to raise a gun at ED 209 'in a threatening manner'. The robot jerks into its attack mode, and says, in its warped baritone (the voice is actually Jon Davison's, slowed and distorted), Please put down your weapon. You have twenty seconds to comply. The executive complies, but the machine advances, citing the appropriate penal violation before announcing, with robotic probity, I am now authorised to use physical force.
There instantly follows a scene of startling butchery, partly cut by the censors, in which ED 209 applies physical force — with twin machine-guns. 'We always knew that sequence was going to be excessive,' Jon Davison has said. 'I sent somebody down to the local 7-11 to get the biggest ziplock baggies they had; and then we filled them with blood.' In the footage submitted to the MPAA, the executive's corpse received an additional 200 rounds. 'I thought it was funny and the preview audience thought it was funny. The censors didn't think it was funny. The result was that they took something that was basically funny and turned it into something horrifying.' Actually, the comic element survives. Where there is no affect, there is no horror. And we laugh because there's nothing else to do.
But our laughter isn't entirely wanton. I finally met up with ED 209, in one of the unit's prop shops. It looks smaller than it does on screen, and slightly bedraggled: one of its gun-arms was ripped off while it was making a PR appearance at a Los Angeles theatre. But it still inspires real menace and amusement, because of the integral brilliance of its design. This is ED's creator, Craig Davies:

I did include things that were my own digs at what I see as a really lame current corporate design policy. For instance, there are four huge hydraulic rams on the legs, even though a creature like ED wouldn't need nearly that many. So it's like complete redundancy - a true corporate product.

The violence of RoboCop isn't the 'poetic' violence of, say, Peckinpah. It is 'sweet' violence: violence as technological fix. When we laugh at ED 209, we laugh at corporate overkill, corporate literalism. Here is a death-dealer with a heart made by Yamaha: thoroughly sophisticated, thoroughly murderous, and thoroughly moronic. When we laugh at ED 209, we laugh at something that already exists in the present and eagerly awaits us in the future. The future won't just happen: it will be our creation, our machine.

The time had come to do the star interview — a nervous interlude. Peter Weller was chosen for RoboCop because he was the only actor who would do it. For the sequel, naturally, he is the only actor who would do. This is a period of what Hollywood calls 'dignity' for Peter. Already, the night before, Paul Sammon and I had tiptoed to the Star trailer. Covertly we watched Peter limbering up in his cycling shorts, his face already 'gone' in Robo's numb glaze. We tiptoed away again. For RoboCop, also, must come close to affectlessness incarnate. Not quite incarnate, because he is part machine. And not quite affectless, because he is still a man.
There are three distinct phases in the evolution of a movie star. Stage 1 represents the swirling, gaseous years of ambition, fever, hard work. In Stage 2 (the briefest stage: you might call it 'Denial'), the star solidifies and heats up, all the time pretending that nothing irreversible is happening to him. Stage 3 brings the nuclear burning of full deity; hereafter, no mortal can ever really look his way. Peter Weller is halfway through Stage 2, still struggling somehow to combine stardom with his original identity. It can't be done. Such laws are universal. The old Peter will be lost for ever in the cosmic fire. And then the star awaits its final destiny: white dwarf, red giant, black hole.
Wonderfully opaque and stylised on the screen as RoboCop, Peter Weller, in real life, is all affect: it's like being in a room, or a trailer, with about fifty different people. Simon Schama's new study of the French Revolution is cracked open on the table; so is Teach Yourself French; so is Teach Yourself Italian. He puts down his trumpet, looks up from the stack of inspirational videos (Ivan the Terrible) and shouts out of the window for more classical CDs. His feeling-tone is intense; but so is his muscle-tone. He hums with vigour. I would too, I suppose, if I got up at three and ran 16 miles every morning, which Peter does, before settling down to his two-hour make-up session. What with one thing and another, he's neglecting his yoga and karate and aido - or was it his ashinto, or akimbo? 'He's a maniac,' says Moni, Peter's mime coach, admiringly. 'Very systematic.'
'The patience factor on number one was nuts,' says Weller, in his hybrid style. 'It took ten hours just to get into the suit. Then five. Then four. Now it's one-and-a-half. Robo II is easier because we're over the hump of making this shit work. There's a Harvard professor who teaches RoboCop in a course on the Hellenistic hero. But I tell you, it's heroic just to be in that suit. The real preparation went much deeper. Moni and I worked our ass off, man.'
I believed it. There is nothing accidental about the strange beauty of RoboCop in motion; the effect is fully thought out, and fully achieved. Like many others on the team, Weller is more than a perfectionist. He is an absolutist. For him, it is a kind of liberation, and not a hindrance, to do all his acting with his neck. 'Did you have any doubts about doing the sequel?' I routinely asked. 'Now that you're a major - '
'Now that I'm a major shit, you mean?' He smiled brightly. 'No. I didn't worry about the dangers of all that career shit. I thought: Do I want to judge up all that jazz?'
'What's the key to the part? For you.'
'Aside from executing the physicality of the robot - I think of him as like a guy with amnesia. That's the only plane on which I address this character.'
Later, Weller arrives on the set in a caddycart; he stands there, holding the rail — a modern Steve Reeves, on a modern chariot. An entire truck-sized cooling unit is trained on him as his dressers do the final clip-on and polish. Additional helpers attend to his itches and aches and stiffnesses. He looks charged. He is the man. Like the creation he plays, though, Weller is only partly human now; to some extent, inevitably, he is product. The lost-self theme works so powerfully on us — perhaps we all feel it. Perhaps, as we speed into the future, we all feel that something has been left behind.

RoboCop II was being made by a kind of brotherhood - a brotherhood of know-how and can-do — and on the set there was an attempt at a kind of moose secrecy. One of Paul Sammon's duties was to thwart paparazzi ('They want shots of The Monster. Or Peter without his suit on'). Similar interdictions apply to the script, I'm not allowed to quote from it. But presumably I'm allowed to praise it.
The author is another boy-genius, Frank Miller, who wrote the cult comic book Batman: The Dark Knight Returns. He is perfectly placed to expand and deepen the RoboCop idea; he understands how 'this unique creation' vibrates with myth, everything from Frankenstein to Captain Marvel. RoboCop II will feature the same underlit corporate boardrooms, the 'mediated' reality of ads and newscasts, the same reflexive corruption and passionless violence. The script also offers us a more pained and plangent hero, and two resonant new villains: a murderous twelve-year-old drug baron, and RoboCop II itself - the heir, not of RoboCop, but of ED 209, the latest concept in machine literalism, machine justice. Frank Miller has seen the future. And it sucks.
On the last night I patrolled the set with Paul Sammon. We quizzed and banished a lady 'onlooker' with a four-foot lens on her camera. The street audience had already gathered for the night's viewing ('They're going to blow that one'). All around, monitoring the set, was the city's superstructure and its real personnel: real firemen, real cops.
And beyond them, meanwhile, on the higher ramps, the young rollerskaters loop and glide, remote and self-possessed. Ironically, these incurious youths are themselves much talked about and widely celebrated; magazine articles have been written about them. They exude calm and indifference and silent esprit de corps: immaculately affectless. They are the audience of the future. They will watch the RoboCop double bill with no response at all — without a tremor, without a smile, without a flinch of recognition.

Premiere, 1990

the whole book is here: http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/1002554/Amis_Martin_-_Visiting_Mrs_Nabokov_and_Other_Excursions.html

Wonderfully opaque and stylised on the screen as RoboCop, Peter Weller, in real life, is all affect: it's like being in a room, or a trailer, with about fifty different people. Simon Schama's new study of the French Revolution is cracked open on the table; so is Teach Yourself French; so is Teach Yourself Italian. He puts down his trumpet, looks up from the stack of inspirational videos (Ivan the Terrible) and shouts out of the window for more classical CDs.

lol

can you fly bobby?

NO CLARENCE NO

I watched this yesterday, for the first time in years. I was probably in the single digits the last time I saw it the whole way through, as were pretty much everyone else in the room that saw it. It was a whole lot more shocking now seeing this, thinking, man, if I had a kid, would I let them watch this? My parents were awesome.

This movie, likewise, is awesome. I loved the structure of it, with the cheesy commercials, gorgeous cinematography, super-cartoonish violence, etc. I'm usually really squeamish about violence in movies, but this one was so OTT that somehow it was ok to watch. Maybe I've been desensitized from watching it when I was 9.

Again, I really liked the cinematography, especially the video effects. The sequence where Robocop is being made, and it's all first-person with a TV filter, is really cool. The part where Robocop is visiting a school is some _brilliant_ satire, the kids holding his hand, his only advice a cold, metallic "Stay out of trouble".

The movie's energy is effing addictive, and I love love love how OTT the badguys are. At one point they are trying out rocket launchers and just start blowing up each other's luxury cars, laughing maniacally. While this is going on two of them take a break and just start doing coke. Every Batman movie villain owes this film through the nose.

The 80's energy in this is intoxicating. For some reason I just really love the look of 80s office buildings, the clean and sanitized textures, that purple-grey-blue color scheme, the early computer graphics wall art. All of it being blown to pieces. Also that scheme where the bad guy is thrown through like 6 glass windows, one at a time.

Also, the guy who gets turned into a mutant, if this were made 5 years later, woulda been played by Flea.

Do I remember correctly that the woman whose rapist gets shot by Robocob through her dress gets a little turned on by the action?

*RobocoP*

Because that's a little fucked up.

It was a whole lot more shocking now seeing this, thinking, man, if I had a kid, would I let them watch this? My parents were awesome.

It's on the list of movies that I've told my son I'd watch with him now that he's 8.

That part is so awesome, he shoots that guy's nuts off right through her dress. Yeah it's a little fucked up. So is 1000% of this movie.

Also fucked up is at the presentation near the beginning when the ED-209 malfunctions and the dude is running for his life. He knows the robot is about to kill him and he runs over to where everyone else is hiding and tries to use them all as a shield or something. And then they throw him away so the robot gets a clean shot.

That was the scene that really fucked up my head, watching that dude dart around knowing the guns are trained on him and only him.

when I say something's fucked up in robocop, yeah, I mean it in a fucked-up-in-robocop kinda way.

saw this for the first time ever a few weeks ago, don't know why I wasted so many years

"Do I remember correctly that the woman whose rapist gets shot by Robocob through her dress gets a little turned on by the action?"

she runs over and gives robocop a hug, but she doesn't start dry-humping him (I don't think!)

this movie is great! i wouldn't go so far as to say it was a george lucas situation, but when compared to starship troopers, you can see how the circumstantial limits placed on a director often makes for a better movie. there's a lot of stories in the commentary track where they were gonna do something that would have totally ruined the movie, but they couldn't because of budget/time reasons.

Not so much dry humping as maybe smoothing out her dress and going "Ooooh, ROBOCOP!"

i do remember her looking down at her blood-splattered dress and seeing an expression like, 'i'm thankful and all this cyborg shot my rapist's balls off but i really liked this dress, too, it was $15 at ross.'

Maybe the "Ooooh, ROBOCOP!" came from me.

Yeah, the only expression i remember was he stepping back after realizing he's not a human.

murphy... its me...

*you

interesting gun porn trivia, this movie had that big sniper rifle (done up as the "cobra assault cannon") before the US army did

my post on it from action movie poll:

robocop - what a fuckin movie. so much can be said about why it owns, but i think one underrated aspect is ronnie cox's performance as dick jones. he has so much fun with that part.

someone earlier in the thread was shittalking the production design on robocop, which is just so wrong! the production work on robocop is really intelligent and awesome. first of all, brutalist architecture in a sci-fi setting = always good. the ed209 is a great example of the thought they put into things - its deliberately absurd, evoking something built by corporate committee and made to look intimidating at the expense of practicality, with redundant hydraulics, feet that can't fit on stairs, a body modeled after the huey chopper. this is underlined the first time we meet the ed and it literally growls like a lion. and what could be more haunting than robocop without his helmet, peter weller's face lost in all that machinery - what an amazing image! weller's got some great line readings in this movie, especially "they fix everything"

also, killer ending:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qEknoNtHSMs

― RudolfHitlerFtw (Hungry4Ass), Tuesday, February 21, 2012 12:15 PM (1 month ago) Bookmark

i just rewatched it last year myself - its as impressive as ever. i was surprised by the pathos of scenes like shooting jars of baby food, or weller's linereading of 'they fix everything'

also great usage of ford tauruses. that was really striking to me even when i was a child, because i was so used to 80s movies where everyone drove blocky sedans, i didnt even know they had cars that looked like the taurus back then

they were going to make some crappy bad syd mead knockoff "future" cars but had no money, so went with the tauruses instead, which police cars of today better resemble. they were also going to make some cheesy holo-cube storage media for the dick jones "nyeah nyeah" message to bob norton, but also ran out of money, and used a CD instead, which blu-rays of today better resemble. sometimes cheaper is better!

as Ford learned when they tried to retire the name, there must always be a Ford Taurus anywya

Yeah with that CD message i was like, holy shit, they predicted DVDs!

also leeza gibbons!
iphone with gps tracking! (if you look closely at clarence's robocop-finder, it's just a single blinking bulb affixed to a piece of prop-plastic)

Also some scenes it really looks like they took Robocop's helmet and just spray painted parts of it blue and purple.

um....just like we do in the future

they were going to make some crappy bad syd mead knockoff "future" cars but had no money, so went with the tauruses instead, which police cars of today better resemble.

I re-watched very recently and kept thinking, "man, these are the PERFECT cars for this movie."

you know who did have a crush on robocop was not lady bloodyskirt, but the tech who was all proud about saving his arm, then norton goes, lose the arm and she's really torn up about it, and later she gets drunk on new year's and plants a messy one on robo's visor.

Oh yeah! Robocop scoring with geek babe.

Also, Tauruses were actually cop cars, at least in my neck of the woods, during the 90s.

I probably mentioned the tweet upthread, but someone recently saying "Who knew Robocop's vision of the New Detroit would actually be rosier than what it actually turned out to be?"

the all black paint job rules (x-post)

best commercial:

http://robocoparchive.com/info/car8.JPG

even mr. snrub has an otm post in this thread.

i am watching this now tbh.

i want a copy of the criterion version buried with me.

I don't think there's been a more perpetually strong and obvious 'y' in the history of 'y/n' questions.

The best

Only dumber question asked on this board is the Al Green C or D? thread.

BITCHES LEAVE

i just woke up, should i watch robocop y/n

y

I just fell asleep, should i watch robocop y/n