I’ve long been a Michael Bay apologist. I own The Rock and Armageddon on Criterion DVD, I dig the Bad Boys movies, and I’m one of the few who enjoyed The Island. When I saw the first Transformers movie in the theaters, I thought it was big fun, and funnily enough, so did the critics. The voices of dissent were dudes like Andy and John from The Hollywood Saloon, who seemed like the mad prophets yelling at us from the wilderness. Most of us thought they were nuts. When I rewatched Transformers at home with Bay’s big theatrical spectacle shrunk into a home setting, the movie’s many flaws reared their heads and took over, leaving the film at their mercy. Andy and John didn’t seem so crazy after all. Then Transformers 2 happened, and the critics changed their tune, bashing Bay for the same reasons they praised him the first time around. In the wake of the writer’s strike, we got a movie with a story that didn’t make sense with an hour-long incoherent action scene in lieu of a coherent final act. What the film seemed like was Bay unfiltered, as though he had carte blanche to do whatever without a hands-on producer like Jerry Bruckheimer or a Don Simpson to reign him in.
What’s sad about this latest Transformers movie is that Bay and company have spend most of their time in the weeks leading up to it apologizing for Transformers 2, promising a better outing this next time around. While Transformers: Dark of the Moon is a slightly better film than Transformers 2, it’s not going to change anyone’s mind about this franchise. Once I saw that this movie had a two-and-a-half hour running time, it became quickly apparent that despite his constant apologizing, Bay has learned nothing. He is like a comedian that told a joke that somehow got really popular despite the fact no one liked it, apologized for it, and then told a slightly reworded version of the same gag. The movie has the exact same tone and structure as its predecessor, stuffed with loud stereotypes, crass humor, oversexed shots of its female lead, and a final action set-piece that seemingly goes on forever. The “we’re sorry, this one’s better” dance they’re doing in the press is just them blowing smoke up the audience’s ass to get smoke-stuffed butts in seats.
This time around, our goofball protagonist Sam Witwicky (the leading manchild no one wants, Shia Lebeouf) is trying to find a big important job after graduating from college. His previous two world-saving adventures have earned him a medal from “POTUS,” giving him an inflated sense of self-worth, as he can’t seem to find a job that meets his unrealistically high standards. But all things considered, things are going pretty well for Sam, who is dating a new gal named Carly (Rosie Huntington-Whitely, filling the love-interest void left by Megan Fox), who has a swanky job working for a high-profile douchebag car collector (Patrick Dempsey).
Meanwhile, the Autobots discover that the original moon-landing was conducted to collect info on an Autobot ship that crash-landed there during the war on their home world of Cybertron. The ship was piloted by former Autobot leader Sentinel Prime (Leonard Nimoy), and he was carrying a weapon called the Space Bridge, which could transport Cybertron to Earth. Naturally the Decepticons, who are still being led by what’s left of Megatron, want to get their hands on it in order to build a new Cybertron on Earth. Sam eventually re-teams with his Autobot buddies Bumblebee and Optimus Prime, as well as the usual team of suspects (Josh Duhamel, Tyrese Gibson, et al). Hijinks and massive destruction ensues.
Critics have taken this movie to task for a number of reasons, including the film’s embrace of the U.S. Military and it’s right-of-center sympathies. Bay has always made the American military look good, and they return the favor by letting him showcase their latest technology, as well as their personnel doing what they do best. Hollywood spends a good deal of time, money and energy on movies that criticize the military, big expensive movies that make them look good act as a good counter-balance. Where I can find fault, though, is the film’s use of its leading lady. Say what you will about Megan Fox’s acting ability, but Fox has a charisma on screen that is undeniable. When you turn the camera on her, she commands the screen. After her flippant remarks in the press comparing Bay to Hitler, Fox is out, and a new lady, Victoria’s Secret model Rosie Huntington-Whitley, is in. Whereas Fox had presence, Huntington-Whitley looks like she belongs on a mall window display, her looks suit still-photography rather than cinema, and her acting fails to overcome this. Bay films her at the same pornographic angles he used on Fox, her introduction being a peek at her panties as she prances up the stairs in a white button-down to greet Sam in bed. Everything in Bay’s movies is as sleek and shiny as the Autobots, this includes the leading lady, whose purpose is nothing more than a bit of window dressing like one of the expensive cars the characters drive, Bay just can’t be bothered to pretend any more.
This brings us to the key problem with the Transformers movies, a problem that persists in this movie, and that is the characters. No one in this movie has an arc, not Sam, not Carly, none of the Autobots, and none of the Decepticons. Sam had an arc in the original Transformers film, but in both sequels he’s reverted back to the same stuttering dork at the beginning of each subsequent film. He’s a coward who has to find his balls during the final act in each movie, I can’t call something we’ve seen twice before an arc, as Sam is a character who the screenwriters are unable or unwilling to change. He’s just Shia Lebeouf doing his annoying schtick. The film’s side characters are simply broad, supposedly comedic stereotypes, rather than people. A good example is the usually funny Ken Jeong, who feels as out of place in this movie as if the Chicken Hawk came screaming out of Toon Town, going bigger and broader than he did in The Hangover Part II. We also get John Malkovich cranking the Malkovich dial to eleven, Frances McDormand playing a CIA hard-ass, and of course you’re going to have to suffer through another John Turturro performance, who now comes with a sidekick played by Alan Tudyk doing a Liberace impression.
Our punishment for Bay’s lazy approach to character comes when he treats us to his massive Chicago battle that fills the film’s final hour. We get a lot of gorgeous, shiny action that has absolutely no weight behind it whatsoever. There is no question that Bay can execute an eye-popping action scene, his talents as a visualist are undeniable, but whether the good guys win or lose feels irrelevant because he can’t be bothered to build his characters. He just wants to cut to the chase and get to the good stuff, but said stuff is considerably less good due to his negligence. For a film that runs two-and-a-half hours, it has plenty of time to give us this, but instead its spent with Bay’s annoying sense of humor and poor storytelling. Without a stern producer with a big stick standing over his shoulder (rest in peace, Don Simpson), Bay unfiltered is a commercial/music video director making feature films. As a commercial artist, Bay is brilliant. But the Transformers films represent his weaknesses, rather than his strengths. Sure, Transformers: Dark of the Moon is the best of the films thus far, but that doesn’t mean it’s any good. It’s a big, shiny object that overstays its welcome and rings hollow. No doubt, it will make money hand-over-fist, and I’ll be whistling the same tune when Transformers 4 comes out and history repeats itself.
