Peter Weller: Part Man, Part Machine, All Asexual Cyborg

Article Tools

weller_leadIf memory serves me right, RoboCop was released in 1987. I remember seeing it on cable television as a little kid and thinking how rad it would be to have an automatic handgun hidden in my thigh. Now all I can think about is what the TSA would do to my genitalia if I walked into an airport so equipped.

I caught RoboCop running at some absurd hour on television right where it belongs, sandwiched between equally thrilling infomercials for weight loss and some fantastic device Ron Popeil created to clean your brown starfish while you fry an egg. As I sat there, considering if $19.99 was worth having one, no two, chode fununda scrubbers it occurred to me that I had no idea who played RoboCop. Weird, right?

I realized what a shame that was when I considered that this poor , lifelong B-movie actor had to do three things for the better part of two motion pictures (he wasn’t in RoboCop 3 , commit that to memory):

1. Brown an alloy wedgie,
2. Never take a step without doing the robot,weller_kirkwood
3. Never speak without sounding like a robot.

He endured all that after having his package shot gunned into a runny crotch-blood soup in the opening minutes of the film by the world’s least intimidating bad guy, Kurtwood Smith (“Red” from “That Seventies Show”). Way to jumpstart a career, huh? His agent must have been Jack Benny’s toilet in a prior life.

As I sat on my couch watching Peter Weller work his magic, something else occurred to me. All of the cops in this film drive flat-black, first generation Ford Tauruses. The film’s setting is supposed to be the post-apocalyptic, crime-ridden, drug kingdom of future Detroit. The premise of the plot builds upon the fact that a man can be transformed from a buckshot riddled pile of innards and scrotum into an indestructible cyborg cop that runs on baby food and sounds like an Apple IIe. Despite having reached that level of technology they can't spray a decent coat of paint on a late-model, futuristic looking vehicle. The enemy was a goddamn bipedal robot with Gatling gun arms!

But all shitty stop-animation aside, RoboCop left Weller S.O.L. in another important area.


How can a brotha bust a nut when you shoot them off in the first scene?! I dare you to think of one equally crappy mid-eighties sci-fi action film that doesn’t have some sort of love interest in it. No, Labyrinth doesn’t count. David Bowie’s cod-piece violated everyone in that film, whether they knew it or not. Sorry, Jennifer Connolly.

What was even sadder was the scene late in the film when RoboCop gets his gun sighting recalibrated by his bitch partner. She stands behind him like some creepy pool hall pedophile fresh out of C-block, grabs his shooting arm, and sweet talks him in what has to be the weirdest matriarchal woman-on-machine action ever to turn me off. It’s like Martha Stewart teaching Ron Jeremy how to masturbate.

weller_vernAfter all that bullshit, RoboCop accomplishes very little. Let’s recap. He gets a vasectomy via hot lead, kills the gayest 80’s bad guy since Vernon Wells in the Road Warrior, and never gets a chubby. Now that’s a raw deal. I’d like to feel sorrier for Peter Weller, but the fact is that he went on to return in RoboCop 2. I can see them pitching that one to him.

Hollywood Executive: “Peter, baby, got a gift for you here. RoboCop 2. Tell me you love me.”
Peter Weller: “Hold on, do I grow a robo-scrote in this one?”
H.E.: “Not exactly.”
P.W.: “But there’s a RoboGirl, right?”
H.E.: “Strike two.”
P.W.: “At least tell me I don’t get shot in the groin again.”
H.E.: “Well, not in the first five pages...”
P.W.: *sigh* “Where do I sign?”

So next time you’re laying on your couch late at night, sobering up and fighting the urge to send Ron Popeil the twenty bucks you just pissed away, remember Peter Weller. His career was shittier than that wet fart you don’t want to check on.

1 Comment

  • 1

    Peter Weller has had a very distinguished career.

Web Design by okbreathe • © Copyright 2009 - Steves Word, All Rights Reserved