Um, so I saw the new Transformers flick with Shane and Ashley and Joey. And I really didn’t have any idea what was happening at any given moment. Except I marveled at all the references to balls. And Megan Fox’s perpetually open mouth and perpetually (until the last ten minutes) clean white pants. (In the real world, when a woman puts on a pair of white pants, she immediately starts her period. True story.) There were explosions. And really gullible military folk. And slooooooow mooooootion ruuuuunnnning awwwwaaaaaayyyy froooooommmm thhiiiiiinnnnnggggssss blllooooowwwwwingggg upppp andddd shhhrrrrappppppnellllll.
Roger Ebert was similarly unimpressed (HT: Nick Fowler, who also taught me the meaning of “DSL” in this movie’s context).
I love a good mindless filmic romp as much as the next emotionally numb asshole, but this movie made no goddamn sense in any context. Part one? Fun. Part two? BOO.
See what I did there? Yeah, sorry. The movie made me dumber.
Update: This is the best review ever (HT: MC-T’s Manderson’s GChat status), except for maybe Pajiba’s Black Snake Moan review.
Once again, good lady, you have saved me some pocket money AND expanded my brain with your wit. I am most grateful.
Every time I see/hear anything about these movies, I immediately think of my cousin, who was then five and alarmingly skinny (and even more alarmingly prone to sneak attacks in his underwear), leaping out of the bed of my dad’s truck at us, screaming, “TRANSFORMERS! MORE THAN MEETS THE EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEE!” while making gestures with his arms and legs that would have frightened a praying mantis.
He is now very much grown, with two boys of his own. I think the youngest one is probably lurking in the bed of Tim’s truck right now, in his underwear, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce.