Your Move, Creep.

Now any movie fan really worth his salt will probably answer D) straightaway, and up until recently so would I, but now you have a fifth option - you can pop along to your local video shop or supermarket and arm yourself with the entire RoboCop trilogy on a spanking new DVD collection, which emphatically consigns the previous Criterion Edition to the scrapheap.
It comes with all the extra features of the Criterion disc including a commentary track from controversial director Paul Verhoeven and writer Ed Neumier, the trailers, storyboards and a 'Shooting RoboCop' feature, plus you also get a brand new documentary on the making of Robo, a handful of deleted scenes, and DVD ROM stuff. You even get the option of playing the regular theatrical version or the super-brutal director's cut, an almost unprecedented move from our friends at the BBFC!
Oh, and you also get RoboCop's 2 and 3 thrown in, but seeing as these are two of the worst movies ever made, this doesn't count for a lot. Still, considering that the whole package comes for around 28 quid, compared to £45 (and rising!) for the single-disc Criterion version, who's complaining?

Back in 1987, RoboCop was the film that every teenage boy wanted to see, but was never allowed to because, we were told, it was for grown-ups. However, when a film has an invincible, metal guy stomping around, blowing away villainous scum with a really big gun, wild stallions wouldn't keep most bloodthirsty adolescents away and most of us somehow managed to see it anyway.
But don't let the comic-book 'blast-the-bad-guys-kids' philosophy fool you, there's a lot more to RoboCop than that.
There's no doubt that Verhoeven's sci-fi classic does work brilliantly as an all-action, slam-bam crowd pleaser, but closer inspection reveals that RoboCop is also a pitch-black comedy, a not-so-subtle satirisation of American corporate greed. Made near the end of the Reagan era, it gleefully pokes fun at the ''Great Communicator's'' pet doctrines of free enterprise and privatisation.

High up in the OCP corporate boardroom, suited execs squabble over which robot should become "the future of law enforcement". Flinty vice-president Dick Jones favours the all-mechanical 'Enforcement Droid, Series 209' (ED 209 for short), whereas Bob Morton, his slightly more humanitarian adversary, thinks that RoboCop - part-man, part-machine - would be the better investment. However, when the imperfected ED 209 accidentally kills an OCP board member at its grand unveiling (one of the film's satirical high points), the committee soon decide that Morton's RoboCop idea would be a safer bet. All they need is "some poor schmuck to volunteer..."

But they failed.

In the end, Murphy is denied the chance to overcome his programming and arrest Dick Jones, but it didn't matter by this point. The OCP chairman asked him for his name. He gave it.
Murphy. Not RoboCop.
All the jokes, the carnage, the cartoonish violence, even the "I'll buy that for a dollar!" guy can't detract from the sheer victory for humanity announced in that one single word:
Murphy.