Explosions, Explosions Everywhere

Rating: 2/10 (17 July 2011)

Perhaps it was JFK's grotesquely computer animated face, or the stupid trying-to-be-cool rip off title, or maybe it was the Buzz Aldrin and Bill O'Reilly cameos that did it for this reviewer. Whatever it was, the third installment of the Transformers series is obnoxious, bloated, and appallingly bad.
Shia LaBeouf returns as the main character, this time shacking up with Rosie Huntington, who does nothing but stand in for Megan Fox. LaBeouf spends almost all of the first 30 minutes complaining about not being able to help save the world with the Autobots. Boo-hoo. Meanwhile, John Turturro plays Seymour Simmons, the other guy that was in the other two movies. Are we supposed to care about these people? In a film about giant robots? Regardless, director Michael Bay spends nearly an hour with the contrived plot and useless, unlikable characters. John Malcovich and Patrick Dempsey both have supporting roles in this film. Neither of them matter, yet Dempsey alone gets 10 minutes of screen time. The only logical explanation for this is that Michael Bay must have nothing but contempt for his audience.
Rather than a movie, Transformers plays out like something used on Guantanamo Bay inmates when water-boarding doesn't work. The acting is bad, the story is incomprehensible, the robots are ugly, and the movie is 2 ½ hours long. Even the action scenes are impossible to figure out; Optimus Prime is literally left hanging for ten minutes, and the film cuts away when anything remotely important happens. Shia LaBeouf & co. are dangling from a falling building facing certain doom, when the film cuts to Optimus and Megatron fighting, but whenever someone looks like they might be the one who wins, the film cuts away—and with so many side plots, they don't return for what seems like ages. It's nearly impossible to tell the Autobots and Decepticons apart. They all have the same color schemes and cheesy one liners. "Looks like we got ourselves a Mexican standoff here". Give me a break.
Michael Bay directs with the attention span of a hyperactive middle schooler. For the first hour the only thing he seems remotely interested in is Rosie Huntington's body; which is fine—for a while. And when the action finally starts, Bay can't make up his mind on where to be. Every cut seems like some main character is left facing impending doom. Not that Bay has made any effort for the audience to give a crap.
The script lacks any forward thinking, trudging along at a gruelingly slow pace. Filled with stupid jokes, an insufferable romantic subplot, and jive talking robots, this screenplay is—dare I say it?—worse than the last one. The plot at points is ridiculously mundane. If this is a movie about giant alien robots, then why in God's name must there be a 5 minute montage of Shia Labeouf being interviewed for freaking jobs?!?
The only saving grace of this abomination is Peter Cullen as the voice of Optimus Prime. He has a few good lines, but—just as in the other Transformers movies—he's not in it nearly enough. As a result, nothing works; the script doesn't work, the action doesn't work, Patrick Dempsey's pathetic attempts at acting assuredly don't work. Michael Bay throws every explosion he can at this movie, going so far as to completely destroy Chicago. His obnoxious direction consumes the movie, and the result is what happens when soulless Hollywood rears its ugly head.
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