Months after its big-screen debut, the wonder of On Demand™ technology provided a chance to avoid shitty weather and indulge in a masterpiece of short attention span theater, Transformers.

Writhing about the couch, fists clenched, yelling at the screen, I saluted the trifecta of American sex, muscle, and machinery.

The entire movie was like watching two hours of that really cool Nike football commercial with the Riverdance music, only instead of Sean Merriman and Steve Jackson flying around everywhere it was American vehicles turning into fighting machines in hyper-stylized, hyper-choreographed sequences. All served with a side of aggressively patriotic under(over)tones. (yvan eht nioj!)

And what a loaded cast! Casting a nearly believable 17 yr old (Shai Leboeuf) as the main character allowed the audience to laugh through jokes about acne and masturbation with passive indifference; casting such a smoking-hot-yet-maybe-not-legal girl as the lead damsel (Mikaela Banes) forced these awkward feelings upon the viewer to confront or deny.

Leaving my unsettled feelings with the humans, I sided more easily with Bumblebee, the transformer who, in between being a yellow Camaro with racing stripes, becomes the bodyguard for the human heroes. Unable to talk, Bumblebee mixes up radio signals to communicate, coaxing adolescent love along with Barry White and James Brown. Awwwwwww.

When the battle of good vs. evil was finally wrought all over “Mission City,”
Humans stood among the transformers rejoiced with a well-deserved sense of accomplishment. To be sure, quick cuts of escaping Decepticons cued the viewer in to the “possibility” of their even mightier return. Seriously, thank god. Left alone on my couch, fists still clenched, I wait in angst for more of Michael Bay’s sweet justice.

Droids - Renaissance De L’amour || Irecsa

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