You have to give director Michael Bay credit for one thing — he sure makes destruction look pretty. This is a dubious skill to be sure and it’s on display, ad nauseum in Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, the sequel to the 2007 eardrum-buster that made a huge amount of money around the world. This entry is just as loud, just as obnoxious and just as simplistic as the first and yet for some odd reason, I had a relatively good time though I have an appointment with my doctor to check for any hearing loss.
This time out, Sam (Shia LaBeouf) is fleeing for his life once more as he finds himself in possession of information that will lead the evil Decepticons to the location of a key that will activate a machine that will destroy our sun. Not really sure why this is a good thing but it’s quite a mess as the military becomes involved, Paris and the Egyptian Pyramids are wiped out and good robot Optimus Prime has his dead metallic carcass hauled half-way round the world to be reactivated for the film’s final throw down.
There’s something dangerously seductive about Bay’s style. Without question, he has the attention span of a piss-ant, as evidenced by the hyperactive editing rhythm he employs which prevents the viewer from being able to every truly focus on what is going on. One of the great ironies of these films is that there’s so much attention given to the details that make up the robots, yet I’ll be damned if I can really get a good look at them to appreciate the work that’s gone into them. Be that as it may, Bay is a master at filling the screen with beautifully composed shots that hold to basic cinematic precepts. He knows how to use backlighting to enhance mood, he moves the camera to accent action like a pro and the color palette at use in these films is complimentary and quite attractive. One moment I wish I could go back and truly examine is when an aircraft carrier is destroyed by a flaming meteor and sinks in all its backlit glory. There’s no pause given to the thousands heading to a watery grave — you’re just too taken by how cool it all looks, which was one of the problems that prevented Bay’s Pearl Harbor from being a success.
In the end, Bay knows his audience (teenage boys) and gives them exactly want they want — explosions, sophomoric humor and Megan Fox, whose cleavage should get a separate credit, as it appears so often on screen here. On the plus side John Turturro provides much needed comic relief as a disgraced government agent looking for redemption. On the down side, the robots Skids and Mudflap are the most offensive racial stereotypes since Amos and Andy. Of course, you may not notice any of this, as the bludgeoning Bay inflicts is relentless. The only thing bigger than the film’s decibel level is its emptiness.
As evidenced by the box office take during the film’s first five days ($201 million — that’s Dark Knight territory folks…), no one seems too concerned about its glorified violence, offensive characters or the fact that movies of this sort foster a laziness in young filmgoers that eventually comes home to roost in the form of films that are more and more vacuous. Nope, the Transformers franchise is a money machine and as long as there are plenty of viewers willing to plunk down their hard-earned money to go in and get beaten senseless by Bay, this dysfunctional relationship will continue. All the rest of us can do is sit back and hope viewers will eventually find the strength to leave their abuser.