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|Silly poster! Melanie Griffith does not actually play Cherry 2000|
Manosphere dudes, especially those waiting impatiently for the day when sexbots replace women, could actually learn a thing or two from one of my favorite dumb 1980s films, Cherry 2000, which I happened to catch (for about the third or fourth time) the other night.
The film, set in a vaguely postapocalptic future, offers an update of sorts to a very old story: Boy meets robogirl. Boy has sex with robogirl in a puddle of water. Boy loses robogirl when her circuits short out because they’re having sex in a puddle of water. Boy hires bounty hunter Melanie Griffith to escort him into the lawless Sector 7 to find him a replacement for his robogirl because her model (the Cherry 2000) has been discontinued. Shit happens. Stuff blows up. Melanie Griffith kicks ass, pouts, and kicks ass again.
The movie sets up a stark contrast between the infinitely pliable and submissive Cherry 2000 sexbot and actual not-so-pliable women. In one early scene, intended as something of a satire of the dating scene at the time, our hero and some of his pals go to a singles bar — where, if they decide they want to get with a sexy human lady, they need to negotiate the terms of the sexual encounter with her and her lawyer, and fill out the appropriate paperwork.
We get to listen in on a couple such negotiations; the women in question are all portrayed as, er, pretty touch negotiators — that is, bitches. One of the lawyers is portrayed by a young, pre-Matrix, Laurence Fishburne. At this point, I suspect most woman-hating, Matrix-loving manosphere dudes watching the film will jizz. in. their pants.
In fact, we get to see a lot of loud and obstreperous women in the film. In one memorable scene, a grizzled old junkyard owner asks his ornery young assistant for a favor:
GRIZZLED OLD COOT: Randa is going to fix us lunch, ain’t you, Randa?
RANDA: [Indignantly] No.
COOT: Well, then, you can just go shit in your hat.
Randa does not in fact fix anyone anything. Manosphere dudes will probably be happy to learn that later in the film — SPOILER ALERT! — she’s shot in the head at point-blank range.
Anyway, long story short: after (barely) surviving assorted assaults from Sector 7 baddies with the invaluable assistance of the ornery Melanie Griffith, our hero is forced to choose between saving her or the robogal he’s devoted the whole movie to finding. Naturally, being a robot-loving idiot, he chooses Cherry 2000 — then, after heading off with her in tow, he realizes that she’s sort of a simpering moron, and goes back to rescue the real woman. Cue happy ending. (Well, happy for everyone except for sexbot-coveting manosphere dudes watching the film, who will probably rush off to their favorite MGTOW forum to denounce the filmmakers as evil manginas.)
The moral of the story? Even the complete idiots who made this incredibly stupid movie realized that real women — with opinions and ideas of their own — are preferable to adoring sexbots.
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*Yes, that was a Bioshock reference.