“I think there’s a lot more than meets the eye with you.”

Drew’s rating: And Kyle thought Spider-Man 3 was the worst movie of the summer? Uh, no.

Drew’s review: So. Er. I feel obligated to review this movie, simply because — as the dozens of the little bastards infesting my bookshelves and desk will attest to — I am a certified Transfan. (Yes, that’s really what they call us. Sad, isn’t it?) At the same time, I’m not going to write a long review because… uh, well, I don’t want to. So just know this: there are three sets of circumstances in which you might enjoy Transformers:

1. You like Michael Bay and Michael Bay-style movies. There’s no shame in this, despite what some would have you believe. I myself greatly enjoyed Independence Day and Bad Boys, though not so much Armageddon or Pearl Harbor.
2. You were born prior to 1976, or else 1985 or later.
3. You always secretly thought the concept was pretty cool, but despised them because your big/little brother kept having them shoot your My Little Ponies.

If any two of the above three conditions apply to you, then see this movie and God love you… I hope you enjoy it. The plot is simple: Spike Witwicky (Shia LeBeouf) discovers that his first car, a junker Camaro, is actually a sentient robot named Bumblebee. The ‘bee calls his Autobot pals to Earth to search for the Allspark, a giant Rubik’s Cube that can give life to inanimate machines. But the evil Decepticons are already here looking for it so Megatron can create an army and conquer the universe.

When it turns out that Spike’s great-grandfather accidentally found and recorded the location of the Allspark, our boy is suddenly in very high demand among the robots, the U.S. government, and local hottie Mikaela (Megan Fox). So there just may be some fighting before things are all over.

If I can go off on a slight tangent (and I can, because I’m the one writing this): it was early 2002 when the cartoons of our youth — He-Man, Transformers, G.I. Joe, Thundercats, Voltron — began to be reintroduced to the Generation Next consciousness, first via comics and then DVD releases. Transformers was one of the first and easily the most popular, and I remember reading a quote back then that I thought perfectly summed up their appeal. It read, “Some people don’t get the Transformers. It’s simple. They’re big robots. And they change into things. And they fight. This is beautiful and mad. If you do not get this, there is something missing in your soul.”

That’s about the best description I’ve ever heard for the phenomenon, so here’s what I’ll say: if you just nodded your head as you read that statement, and yet never watched the cartoon or read any of the comics while growing up, you should see this movie. You should. It’s big and it’s dumb and the plot has more holes than your dad’s underwear, but it’s fun. You’ll see crap blowing up and the on-screen transformations guys like me dreamed of when we were 8. Or if you’re a fan but are very good at treating different versions of the same concept as entirely separate entities, you may enjoy it.

I’m mature enough to recognize that the cartoon was at least as stupid as this film, that I just remember it through rose-colored glasses, and that I’m a colossal geek who takes giant talking robots way too seriously. And that’s fine. But if you happen to think, “Wait, I’m a colossal geek who takes giant talking robots way too seriously,” then avoid this movie like the plague, because it is only going to make you cry. Especially when Optimus Prime, wise and noble hero of every daydream you had circa 1986, says, “Sorry, my bad.”

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Justin’s rating: Autobots, assemble! Audiences, assimilate!

Justin’s review: Really, part of me simply cannot condemn hack directors like Michael Bay and Uwe Boll (that’s right, I just paired them up in the same sentence and no birth control was involved). If it were not for their misguided, cocaine-fueled efforts, then I’d be sitting here with a huge hole in my heart, missing more than just muscle matter in my life. I need their badness and their consistent delusions of what constitutes a “movie.” I crave their ability to overload my brain with so many mental notes while watching their movies that a weedy, whistling noise escapes out of my eardrum. I desire their failure, because it makes anything I do an automatic success.

Hence, I was not dreading Transformers. For all of the ugly words that will shortly come out of my fingertips and launch themselves at Michael Bay’s left kidney, I have to admit a few positive things:

First, Bay knows how to do dynamic action sequences fairly well, and pairing him with Big Battlin’ Robots was a decent enough fit. Second, Transformers desperately needed a director who had that rare mix of both taking everything way, wayyyy too seriously and then throwing gravitas out of the window whenever a stupid action scene called for kablooeys.

Knowing Bay’s previous endeavors behind a film camera, I went into Transformers prepared. I jammed my ears with jackhammer-proof plugs, I carefully put any intelligent center of my brain on temporary life support, and I walked in heroic slow-motion the day before, just to get used to the effect. Even if you’re just strolling into a convenience store, if you do it in slow motion and have Hans Zimmer backing you up with a electronic orchestra, it’ll bring even the toughest man to his knees and cry in admiration before you.

All these things helped, almost too much — I forgot to analyze what I was witnessing, and more or less enjoyed a vapid action movie that featured giant robots crushing the crud out of a flower garden.

As Drew said, if you’re coming into this with little or no past vested interest in the Transformers franchise, it’ll be a fun (if brainless) experience. But if Transformers means something to you — a cherished slice of childhood or even a current slice of your toy budget — then you have to brace yourself for the fact that Michael Bay respects the franchise so much that, at one point, he turns a Mountain Dew vending machine into a Transformer. Because that’s how true to the source he is.

Being a Bay flick, there are miles of road between where we stand and the end of criticism that we could heap on his head and the flimsy plot. As much as midriffs appeal to the average red-blooded male, I didn’t exactly come to this movie to see one wobbling at me every 3.5 minutes. I had to refrain from rolling my eyes for the tenth time that military/police forces puffed up their manly chests and went so over-the-top with an action that both the Geneva Convention and Miranda felt violated afterward. There was no explanation why the giant cube was only able to make bad Transformers (NokiaBot, natch). And if you’re going to have giant robots as some of your lead characters, you don’t wait until halfway through the movie to start trying to give them artificial (heh) personalities, right before they’re blown up or shredded.

In fact, that was my biggest point of contention with Transformers — it really felt as if it started out as one movie, a semi-serious Armageddon-like endeavor, and then suddenly shifted midway through to focus on Those Darn Wacky Robots. Everyone begins by treating the Transformer invasion as some sort of dire threat, decoding signals and marshalling up the U.S. Navy (which, by the way, does nothing in this movie… so why show them?), and giving Jon Voight a lot of screen time that is non-Anaconda related.

Then, it’s as if Michael Bay did a facepalm and went, “We forgot the bloody robots! Quick! Make sure one of them is black and dies an early death!” Once it firmly becomes the Transformers Show, all the previous seriousness of the flick evaporates, and we end up with giant robots with King Kong complexes. Who also, at times, act like the Three Stooges.

It’s not — by far — the worst thing that Bay’s ever done, and there is plenty of gorgeous CGI eye candy to gobble up. If I was a little kid, seeing this for the first time? I might declare it the best movie ever out of ignorance and geeky love. But I’m now a crotchety old man, coughing up my dentures and waving my cane threateningly at passers-by, wailing at great length to anyone who will stop and listen how much better things were back in the glorious ’80s. Bah.

Kyle’s rating: I can survive, I can endure (and I don’t even think about her most of the time)

Kyle’s review: Essentially, I agree with everything else Drew and Justin filled this review page with. Although I do wonder exactly why they keep referring to “Sam” as “Spike.” In the heat of the summer, though, even the best of us are prone to mistakes so I’m fine giving them a pass on that one.

In fact, despite going with similarly-pumped friends to the super-pre-midnight-the-night-before-the-midnight-pre-opening (whew!) and having an absolutely great time watching Transformers (although going with the right snacks can add several enjoyment points to the worst of films), I didn’t bother buying Transformers when the DVD hit. I think I rented it for my dad, but didn’t stick around to watch it. I just didn’t care. Overall fun, yes, but one (viewing) and done was fine with me.

And yet… the LaBeouf. And the Fox. They called to me, much as the All-Spark called to the Transformers.

Yes, I decided randomly that $14 was a small price to pay for the absolute genius found in the scenes between Sam (LaBeouf) and OMG her name RAWKS Mikaela (Fox). I don’t recommend a similar purchase for you, nor do I admit this information readily. But for me: money well-spent!

Transformers, then, is being relegated by me to the metaphorical pile of films where the whole is less than the sum of its parts (although I’ve never fully understood that particular axiom so I forgive me if that makes no sense). I can’t imagine a circumstance where I would willingly watch the entire film ever again (my friend had it playing at his house over the Christmas holidays but I spent the entire running time making out with a girl on his couch: for Die Hard or Tron I would have ignored the girl and watch the movie) but the parts I love I’ll happily watch just because I only have fifteen minutes free and it’s right by my television.

Budding psychologists (though surely only strict Freudians) could certainly derive endless publishable papers from my insistence that the LaBeouf/Fox scenes not only hold the only repeat viewing value but also seem like they are part of another, better film. But why waste time with psychoanalysis? The LaBeouf is an innovative genius of acting and arguably the only actor in Hollywood capable of surprising you with a performance anymore (if he pulls off “Mutt Williams” in the increasingly-disappointing-looking fourth Indiana Jones film I think the ENTIRE WORLD will do a double-take), and The Fox may have a limited range but she is ASTONISHING when allowed to play with those bounds.

Consider the scene where The LaBeouf attempts to escape his ‘demonic’ car on a pink bicycle, despite absolutely no in-film evidence of a younger sister in his family (although the potential inference that his cheaper-than-cheap father bought him a pink girl’s bicycle in some sort of money-saving circumstance is ABSOLUTE GENIUS). There goes The LaBeouf, slinging charm at his car and displaying a taste of that “No, no, no, no, no!” approach to the role that filled YouTube with “Can Shia Act?” video essays. Then something happens (spoiler!) and he looks the fool in front of his love The Fox, whose response manages to encompass both amusement, actual caring, confusion, and status-conscious distinterest.

But then, even though The LaBeouf continues to adore The Fox (as he has since the first grade!), he maintains focus on his current predicament and runs off, allowing The Fox to catch up to him and become part of the action-packed plot. Genius!

Most people will assume I’m kidding. My creative writing professors, especially my poetry instructor, would burn me over hot coals for so blatantly crossing the line between ‘character’ and ‘performer.’ I would counter, in a mumbly way as I stared down at my Converse, that Transformers counts as a dayglo explosion of craft, form, and function in such a way that acting lines are abolished along with a sizeable chunk of the city, and most people leave the film believing it was really The LaBeouf, The Fox, and Jon Voight fighting robots with the help of the guy from that show ‘Las Vegas.’ Isn’t modern cinema so ****ing cool?

In the sad circumstance that you can’t personally locate the ‘genius’ in any part of The LaBeouf or The Fox in Transformers, the simply solution is “never watch this film again.” Furthermore, if you can’t imagine The LaBeouf or The Fox being mentioned anywhere near the word “genius,” don’t even bother watching Transformers. Sorry if your childhood dreams got wrecked or weren’t lived up to, but then again I had my army of Transformers both trounce and get trounced by Super Powers, G.I. Joes, and occasionally The Hasselhoff in my big plastic KITT. So all I can say to you, quite loudly but with only empathetic derision, is: have a little imagination!

Kaleb’s rating: Take it, take another little piece o’ my heart now baby…

Kaleb’s review: Before we get underway, I’d like to paint you a picture of my little review-making space (trust me, it’s relevant). Immediately to the right of my computer is a bookcase. On top of this bookcase is a 20th Anniversary Optimus Prime figure (sometimes referred to as Masterpiece Prime, although that technically refers to a slightly different SHUT UP KALEB!!!) with trailer, thank you very much, that amounts to roughly $150 worth of toy. It completely obscures my graduation photo, and has been mentally catalogued as the only thing I have to save in the event of a house fire. Sometimes, I’ll just sit here and look at it and sigh. Other times, I’ll just sit here and look at it and have Stan Bush’s “The Touch” playing in the background and sigh.

Add to that the fact that there are approximately 100 other Transformers figures within sight of my computer, and easily that many in storage, and you can kind of see the point I’m trying to convey, right? No, not that I’ve officially been upgraded from Harmlessly Pathetic to Menacingly Creepy! You guys are silly!

Minions of evil, beware the awesome might of Lippimus Prime!

What I’m trying to get across is this: Michael Bay did not make a film so much as he rewrote the scripture of my lesser religion (Menacingly Creepy–>FBI Watch List). And yes, I’m one of those nerds, and yes, I’m being childish and unreasonable, and no, I’m not going to stop. Granted, Bay should be given some leniency in light of the fact that he was taking on what may have been an insurmountable task, but on the other hand, I think he also could’ve failed a trifle less spectacularly.

Allow me to further elaborate with a quaint and delightful metaphor illustrating the difference between Bay-type directors and the other kind (”good” I like to call them): Imagine that beloved dork franchises are represented by ancient magical tomes, and that would-be directors are young adepts having been found worthy of receiving them. Good directors — and I’m going to cast nerd-darling Bryan Singer in this role — respect the power of the tome, listen intently to the old wizard (this would be established canon, I guess) regarding its use, and are ever-mindful of the thatch-roof village of fan-peasants they have been charged with protecting.

Michael Bay would yank the tome out of the old wizard’s hands, throw up a silencing hand to quell his natterings about responsibility, yell out “Look what I can do!” and promptly drop a meteor on the fan village. He would then rearrange the runic obelisks keeping the world-ending demon asleep according to his liking, and declare that the castle would look much better if it were all gangly and stupid.

Now here comes the last-minute twist that has become something of a hallmark of my reviews (and probably looks like wishy-washiness to the untrained eye): All of the dorkous bellyaching you’ve read up to this point, although written within the last couple of days, exists largely in the context of my initial reaction to the film back in 2007 (you know, back when it was actually relevant review material and hadn’t already been covered by three other reviewers). Since then, my disposition has softened considerably. Don’t get me wrong; I still have qualms-a-plenty, but I find that if I stuff a sock in the mouth of my inner picky nerd, I’m able to enjoy Transformers for the big, dumb, loud movie that it is.

And, unsurprisingly, and in spite of my best efforts to keep the hate fires burning in regards to Transformers ala Bay, I too let out a squee when I saw the titanic new Decepticon in the Revenge of the Fallen trailer. That has to be Devastator. And at this point, I don’t even care that it’s probably a horribly-wrongly-done Devastator; I’m stoked.

In light of the metaphorical mood I seem to be in, allow me to sum up my feelings regarding Transformers, and my probably-feelings regarding Revenge of the Fallen and any further sequels, with the following:

My cousin owns a couple of Dachshunds, which I got to play with on a recent visit (Dachshunds are awesome!). However, Sassy, the little female, didn’t seem too keen on my existence. Nonetheless, she would reluctantly waddle over whenever I beckoned; glaring balefully and growling low, but unable to resist the siren’s call of the scritchy-hand. So, we worked out a compromise; she would let me rub her tummy, but only on the condition that she be allowed to growl the entire time.

In the preceding, I am a tiny female Dachshund, Michael Bay is me, and the tummy-rub is anything having to do with Transformers. Come May, I will go see Revenge of the Fallen if for no other reason than that I can’t-not, I will grouse and stomp about everything done wrong, and I will impatiently wonder when the third movie is going to be released.

Intermission!

• Wow, Bumblebee is a playa. And a gangsta — his air freshener is shaped like a bee and reads “Bee-otch.”
• Soundwave is now Frenzy? And, essentially, a robot gremlin? Who… cracks his knuckes?
• Based on their method of communication, Optimus Prime is apparently Batman and Bumblebee is Commissioner Gordon.
• Scorponok: Takes a lickin’, keeps on diggin’.
• I love how no matter how many nerds the government recruits, it always comes down to the one guy they’ve never heard of who lives with his grandmother.
• Barricade, the Decepticon police car, has a motto that reads “To punish and enslave” in place of “To protect and serve.”
• How does Prime know all the exposition?
• All my other quibbles with this movie aside, Peter Cullen has the greatest voice ever.
• Never thought you’d hear talk about masturbation in a Transformers movie, did you? Surprise!
• The Autobots are now the Keystone Kops…
• Bumblebee. Pees on someone. Excuse me, “lubricates.” You have no idea how painful it is to type that.
• The giant robot who keeps wanting to kill everything calls us “a primitive, violent race”?
• The idea that all our technology of the last 70 years has been reverse-engineered from a captured Megatron is pretty cool, I’ll admit.
• Where… did a phone get missiles and bullets from?
• Convoy! Come on, you know you want to sing it.
• For once, Starscream’s not a complete wuss.
• Mountain Dew-bot!
• “I smell you”? What’s next, fe fi fo fum?
• Scratch that – Starscream is badass!
• Ha ha! Bumblebee peed on that guy!
• Uh-oh! Ratchet walked into a power line and it went “zzzap!”
• The best part about slapstick is how funny it is!