[I realize this review is about two months behind. I wrote it and forgot about it (just like the movie), but, hey, it’s still being posted before the DVD comes out and pisses you off.]
Before I begin, let me state for the record that I didn’t go into Transformers: Dark of the Moon planning to review it. That, to me, would be the same as a New York Times book reviewer critiquing a third grade book report: tedious, unfair, and wholly predictable. The Transformers films haven’t been good from the beginning, but I understand why they’re popular. Giant robots who can turn into cars fight each other while destroying American cityscapes and being intercut with footage of Shia LaBeouf trying too hard to take himself and his career seriously. What’s not to like, right?!
This latest installment of the Transformers franchise even has the advantage of being slightly controversial, since the previous pair of boobs with a name that everybody (read: guys) got attached to, Megan Fox, was ousted in favor of Rosie Britishname-Foreignass. As far as I can tell, the new girl was hired to shake her Victoria’s Secret junk on screen and try to get her lips to pout into the fourth dimension. She certainly wasn’t hired for her acting ability, because she and Shia LaBeouf have all the romantic chemistry of a hammerhead shark and a housecat.
And yet in spite of giant robots and a new Michael Bay-approved assemblage of lady parts to gawk at, Dark of the Moon manages to achieve something both unbelievable and unforgivable for a summer blockbuster: it is boring.
No, really. I actually nodded off no less than three times, and my brother nearly slipped into a coma. Keep in mind that this is a guy who measures most media on a sliding Star Wars scale in which all films simply need be better than Phantom Menace to rate as “pretty good.” So unless the soundtrack was broadcasting Enya music subliminally or the theater had a carbon monoxide leak, a film that hinges on huge robots and hot chicks put two grown-ass people to sleep.
I don’t ask that my giant robot blockbuster have a stellar plot, and I don’t even ask that they make sense. But goddamn you for taking something as pure and wonderful as big metal men with swords and turning it into something I’m still shotgunning caffeine to overcome, Michael Bay. You are a bad man. I’m beginning to suspect that Megan Fox was right about you.
Save your money. Get yourself some Transformers toys and a Victoria’s Secret catalog and make your own movie. Just…do what Michael Bay should have done and keep that shit to yourself.