I’m not so artsy that I can’t enjoy an escapist movie. I have no problem turning off the graduate degree and the Morrison-esqueness of my own writing to sit down and pretend for two hours that I’m in an action movie. I promise you I, for the most part, will not intellectualize, politicize or moralize an action movie as there was no election in my brain that made action movies the epitome of my BAU.
That said, I admit I was excited for this spring and all its delicious action promises. So far, my “Matrix” heart has been broken. Terminator left me crabby. Angels & Demons left me talked to death (and amazed that throughout the whole damn movie in Italy, not one shot made me hungry as mostly anything Italian does). And now Transformers.
Luckily we have a group of friends who ride hard for the midnight show. Even if we didn’t, we’d go ourselves. This time we all ganged up at The Grove to hit one of many midnight shows, joyously turning into eight year olds with with cereal milk breath and tattered Saturday morning pajamas when we sat in our seats. Even if you didn’t watch the cartoon regularly (I admittedly did not as I had a full TV agenda back then and couldn’t commit regularly to anything other than Smurfs or Warner Brothers with a little Kids Incorporated) everyone knows the theme song thereby knowing all the major players. I hear you singing it in your head now. I do!
We’re all bigger now. We’ve got more fun gadgets. Our ADD is larger than our concentration. Things affect how stories are told. I get it. Except there’s a line you can cross where all the kaboom and the mechanical switchery can look like one big pot of hot diesel fuel mess. That’s what happened here. On the big screen, it’s very difficult to determine who was an Autobot and who was Decepticon, especially during the Matrix-like fight scenes. There’s no need to do suspended air acrobatics when you’re a car that’s a machine. That’s when you get too far with the dramatics. While some of the transformations are very cool (especially all the little Decepticon bugs that turn into one razor sharp insect that can extract ANYTHING humans put together), most are so grandiose and done in a tailspin of parts and dust that there’s no way to appreciate the painting as it gets put on the canvas.
Notice I’ve not mentioned the story. Because it’s secondary. Not for me but obviously for the moviemakers. It really doesn’t matter why Sam (Shia) has got to get these transformers together to save the world. He just does. Just liked last time. Only this one takes place within different environments like college, Egypt and New York. Yes, there will be sappy moments of “I am so lucky to have this incredibly hot toothy girl run around the world with me as we risk life and limb for the world” but then that’s action movies so you expect that. Lest your eyes get too tired trying decipher which transformer is which, you have your comic relief moments galore in John Tuturro (I mean he gets a break for doing this given he’s one of the vertebrae of the early indie film market - cash your check, John!) and a new squealing college roommate. And, as if young boys and grown men (some chicks) couldn’t get enough of the walking sex bot, Megan Fox, there’s another bot in the form of a collegiate “femme fatale” (the quotes are mine because, well, she ain’t) that’s so into Sam, he should get a restraining order. Seriously.
Don’t go to the movie to try and connect dots. That’s a waste of your time. Just go and ride it and wince when you see them destroy thousand year old ruins and appreciate the military coming in and saving the day along with the car men with the radio dj voices. I mean that’s what it is.
Oh and we got a “bonus” at our screening. One of the “stars” of the movie showed up to thank us for coming out. We probably should have thanked him since we saw more of him standing there for five minutes than we did in the movie. But what are you gonna do. Cars gotta shine too.
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