If Michael Bay's intention was to make a Transformers movie that would have the established fans peeing in their pants and clapping with nerdly glee, he's succeeded in fine form. If, however, Michael Bay's intention was to create an accessible sci-fi adventure movie that could bring in moviegoers who believe a "transformer" is something you stick into your fuse box ... he's failed pretty miserably. Hitting the screens with all the subtlety of a 50-piece drum set thrown down an eternal flight of stairs, Transformers should have been bankrolled by the fine people of Tylenol: Twelve random minutes of the flick are enough to give you a brain-bruising migraine.
But loud and mindless I can handle. Lord knows I'm a fan of enough empty vessels like Transformers. (Indeed, I'm even a Bay supporter sometimes. I adore The Rock, I consider Armageddon a blissfully guilty pleasure, and I'm one of the few who bothered to find some good things in The Island. The less said about Pearl Harbor and Bad Boys 2 ... the better.) The main problem (among many) with this massively moronic Transformers flick is that for all its sound and fury ... there's simply that nothing there. One can only sit through so many sequences in which giant animated dolls throw each other across the street before he wonders "Do I even care who wins this fight? And which one's the good guy again? I think he had blue stripes."