Transformers 3: Dark Side of the Moon was oh, oh, oh so bad. I was so pissed that I wasted 2.5 hours (yes, TF3 was 153 minutes, WTF???) that I considered walking out. Even my husband said TF3 was the 2nd worst movie he’s ever seen, second only to Leprechaun. Freaking LEPRECHAUN, people.
Where do I even begin? The tasteless Katrina meets September 11th style destruction of Chicago? The baroque-to-the-point-of-insanity CGI monster truck characters? The misplaced, weirdly inappropriate patriotism that all but proves that America is teetering on the verge of economic collapse?
The ridiculous premise of TF3 is a lone surviving Autobot crashes into the moon sometime prior to JFK’s assassination and that the entire US/USSR space race is a giant cover-up. Michael Bay and Hasbro figure that if you can suspend your disbelief that a race of mechanoids evolved on a distant planet just happen to look suspiciously like a cross between standing primates and their gas-guzzling cars, then surely you can get behind mechanoids standing in for the US’s armed forces as world
warmongers police peacekeepers.
The irony of a scene where a race of beings evolved to look like petroleum-dependent motor vehicles slams around a bunch of turban-headed desert dwellers was almost too much for this viewer to handle. Gee, I couldn’t help but remember the two wars for crude the US is losing to the tune of a billion dollars every 24 hours. Kind of makes the Transformers 3 mega-budget look like chump change, however, a pro-military, obtusely nationalist pep rally for an oil-addicted empire disguised as a cheesy robot movie broadcasts the exact opposite message said empire wants its enemies to hear.
I can just imagine the thoughts of any intelligent non-American unfortunate enough to watch the TF3 debacle. He or she must assume that America is a very warped place that produces uniformly offensive, crazy, misogynist people. The first shot of a female character in T3 (Vickie’s Secret model turned actress Rosie Huntington-Whitely) is of her behind. She’s got a nice butt, granted. Perhaps the rear end is less off than her face, which resembles nothing as much as a pretty slack-mouthed anthropomorphic fish creature. I blame Huntington-Whitely’s fashionably overinflated lips. You can almost hear Michael Bay’s goblin-like snickering over Rosie’s DSLs: “Eat your heart out, Megan Fox!”
Not that any actual acting took place among the CGI extravaganzas and ridiculous car-robot voiceovers, but it’s a sad day when Megan Fox is a better actress than you. I’ve got three words for Huntington-Whiteley: STICK TO MODELING. The only thing bigger than Huntington-Whiteley’s lips is the
horrible acting ego of Shia LeBeouf’s character, who sees every life situation, including meeting his parents, as an opportunity to stage hysterical screaming fits.
The robots are equally melodramatic: the crux of T3’s plot is yet another scheme where the Decepticon bad guys want to take over the world, this time to use human slaves to build (presumably) more Transformers. Huh? LeBeouf’s character, Sam Witwicky, reprises his lame duck role as hapless protagonist, somehow surviving Titanic-like falls through floors of ruined buildings and seas of broken glass with nary a scratch and somehow walking from the Marshall Fields clock on 1 S. State Street to the corner of Jackson and Canal by Union Station in 15 seconds. I guess he must have teleported.
Eerily homoerotic in way only the most chest-beating, vehicle-exploding, gun-shooting movies can be, the Transformers series begs the question of how a bunch of male car-robots (ever notice that there are no female Tranformers?) reproduce themselves. Oops, I just gave Michael Bay his next multi-zillion dollar idea! Oh . . . NO. Rest assured that I’ll be skipping Transf***ers 4: Inside Robot Pants.