I know many critics didn’t much like TF1, but I enjoyed the special effects on show and thought that Shia LaBeouf’s motor mouth cockiness was pretty funny – especially his interaction with the slimy Sector 7 suit. Even the origin story nonsense I enjoyed and it held together okay.
Last night I watched Tranformers 2 and now I want 150 minutes of my life back.
When TF2 was announced I intended to catch it at the cinema. But after the critical mauling, I decided not to bother. Yesterday I decided it was probably worth a rental, just to see giant robots beat the shit out of one another. What could possibly go wrong?
I’ll tell you what went wrong. Everything.
Why the hell was that film two and a half hours long? It was a visual effects demo held together by the most convoluted and sigh-inducing story I have ever suffered.
So Sam Whitwhatsit goes off to Uni. It’s his first day at college, but somehow his fellow freshman roommates have – presumably in the few hours before Whitwhatsit got there – become dear friends, created a popular conspiracy website and set-up an internet business selling kitty calendars. Bullshit.
So anyway, story-line-wise (such as it is): inevitably the Decepticons are back and start appearing all over the place, slicing humans to bits and generally being nasty fucks.
We also see more of Megan Fox. In the first movie I agree Megan Fox was quite the hottie. Obviously she can’t act for shit, but she does what it says on the tin: pouts a lot and looks good in a tight vest. Let’s be honest. Fox is provided as eye-candy for the boys turning up to see two sports cars turn into robots and start wrestling.
In TF2 however, Fox spends the entire film looking like a carnival clown trying to make it as a hooker. You can literally see the pantomime makeup caked on her face. Yeah terrific rack, but it would be like making out with one of the female Splicers from the videogame BioShock. Urgh.
So back to Whitwhatsit. The jokes from the first movie are long gone. Think Shia LaBeouf’s god-awful turn in the recent, and very much regrettable, Indiana Jones movie. This time Whitwhatsit is supposed to be this seasoned hero trying to assimilate back into a normal life. He comes across as an annoying ass-knuckle, who you’d be quite happy to see slip and hit his temple on the side of a coffee table.
When Sam’s life is in peril towards the end of the movie, I genuinely wanted the wet fuck to croak. I couldn’t care less about any of the characters.
And what was with the two bickering twin Autobots? Are we, in these post Jar Jar Binks times, expected to put up with ridiculously clichéd (and possibly racist) characters in very blockbuster fantasy? Fuck, dudes.
And so even my son, who’s otherwise obsessed with anything remotely to do with superheroes and robots, got up halfway through the movie and mooched upstairs. Presumably he went to lie in bed and repeatedly punch himself in the face, in the pathetic hope he could wipe the experience from his fragile little mind.
Around the two-hour mark I too was becoming borderline suicidal. I started praying for the torture to end. Believe it or not, I’d actually had enough of gigantic robots rolling around on the floor and smashing each other in the face. I know. Incredible isn’t it?
I know the Transformers back-story is famously convoluted, with differing origin-stories from various incarnations, but the pseudo-religious Prime nonsense of the movie’s last hour was so painful I almost tore the skin from my face.
This film is so bad; everyone involved ought to be forced to drag the limp carcass of an expired Optimus Prime across the Sahara desert as punishment. Michael Bay, the film’s director, should be condemned to a life making adverts for sanitary products, and never be allowed near a movie set again. What a hateful cum-pot of a movie.
My wife’s conclusion summed it up perfectly as the credits rolled: “Well the first one was pretty good”. And that, I guess, is the kindest thing you can say about Transformers 2.