Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen (2009)

Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen (Michael Bay, 2009)

The inevitable has happened. Revenge of the Fallen, the much-anticipated sequel to 2007's Transformers, opens to the absolute delight of the franchise's rabid fans around the world, raking in during its opening weekend in the United States an amount of money slightly larger to the yearly GDP of Anguilla, a tiny sovereign island-nation in the middle of the Caribbean. Perhaps the citizens of Anguilla wouldn't mind this alarming worldwide wastage in this era characterized by widespread poverty and economic recession, considering that Revenge of the Fallen seem to provide what was expected from it, no matter what its critics are saying. The film has robots, explosions, jokes, and the token sexy girl (Megan Fox) clean a motorbike in a compromising position. It can't be that bad, right? So, I was forced to bow down to mob mentality and force myself to watch the film. Simply put, the film sucked.

Michael Bay, who effectively turned the 80's cartoons inspired by a line of robot toys into a massively lucrative movie franchise by following his gut instinct of dishing out entertainment that satisfies humanity's basest cravings, sex and violence (and more importantly, without the accompanying guilt of devouring such pleasures), reuses the formula, only this time with larger doses. Thus, Revenge of the Fallen is grossly ostentatious in its excesses. Bay's sequel has this incessant need to nag about sex. This is not the adult and mature understanding of sex, but the prepubescent one, where each hump equates to a giggle and a high five between friends. Thus, some of us have to suffer through a bulldog and a chihuahua in visualized acts of fornication, a squeaky-voiced robot humping Ms. Fox's shimmering leg, and a Decepticon transforming into every shallow-headed college boy's dream girl. Revenge of the Fallen is the cinematic equivalent of a pimply thirteen year old kid who is suffering from a chronic case of bursting libido, with only gigabytes of internet pornography and succeeding wet dreams to quell his overactive hormones.

I appreciate the effort to de-robotize the transformers. Bay's team of writers detail a transformer's life cycle, from how they are hatched from transparent eggs to age into grumpy yet noble giants. Unfortunately, none of that really matter because the transformers who matter are as dull as earthworms hunting for prey. Optimus Prime, the supposed figurehead of the good transformers, is disposable scrap. Even his death, accompanied with the requisite slow-mo and music, failed to move me. Bumblebee, the franchise's inconsequential mascot (designed without a voice but with puppydog mechanical eyes), descends to factotum status. The rest are negligible eyecandy. Sure, they are colorful, humongous, and they make loud noises and huge explosions when they fight, but they are essentially ornaments, whose most acknowledged function in the franchise is to help sell action figures and burger meals, nothing more.

Don't get me wrong. I thought I was prepared for this. I listened to my friends who advised me to "leave your brain outside the cinema and just enjoy the show." I did exactly that, but I was still annoyed by this gargantuan vomit ball. It is not so much the intellectual void that bothers me but the fact that the film is to put it plainly, sensually torturous. The story is all over the place, jumping from one focal point to another like a horny Lothario in Amsterdam's red light district, but essentially getting nowhere. Bay utilizes every trick in his three-page pamphlet of directorial techniques, and what we essentially get is a headache-inducing encyclopedia of what the grossly inadequate director learned making such classic crowd favorites as Bad Boys (1995), The Rock (1996), Armageddon (1998), Pearl Harbor (2001), and Bad Boys II (2003): slow-mos, circular pans, explosions-in-exchange-for-logic storytelling, boobs-butt-and-legs-in-exchange-for-personality characterization, and obviously manufactured sentimentalism.

But what the heck, you're not going to listen anyway and still award this heap of trash with heaps of your hard-earned cash. I might as well stop and just let you and the rest of the world storm to the movie theaters and spend two and a half hours of your life watching this flick, and contribute to its ever-increasing haul. Maybe with your help, its worldwide earning might even overtake the GDP of the Philippines, a fairly moderate sovereign economy located in Southeast Asia and home to around fifty million people whose daily meal is equal to the amount of money you are about to spend to watch Revenge of the Fallen. How's that for a guilt trip?

Transformers (2007)

Transformers (Michael Bay, 2007)

I remember when I myself was transfixed on the animated series Transformers. I longed to buy each and every transforming toy and show them off to all my friends and be the envy of the entire neighborhood. I memorized each of their names, and their qualities, and sometimes pitted them against each other utilizing my imagination. I grew up of course but there still remains that little part in my heart that longs for a come-back of those heroic (and villainous) alien robots.

I wasn't alone. The theater wherein Michael Bay's update of the popular series was playing was jampacked with eager viewers and most of them are of my age (or of my generation). Some of them would bring their parents (who probably slaved away to buy their kids those expensive toys), or to the lucky few, their kids (who would probably plead their parents to slave away to buy them the neat-looking new line of toys). Bay, the film's producers, and the numerous companies who tied-in with the movie have hit the jackpot. The film caused the audience to cheer, clap, and march away from the cinema with eager points for conversation and a renewed feeling of "it's fun to be a geek."

Now, I was alone. Amidst the sea of satisfied and salivating enthusiasts, I was the lone Grinch. I was thinking why I didn't like the film as much as the rest and I was ready to pinpoint Bay as the prime culprit yet I didn't. The film was tailor fit to Bay's sensibilities. It was loud, consistently moving, and slick (in your typical summer blockbuster way). It was the film Bay was destined to make; the film that would cement his status of prime director of cinematic junk food.

Sure, I was annoyed by Bay's methods. He can't ever have his camera still, it always had to move (through a dolly, a crane, handheld, or whatever) and the constant motion would either cause your adrenaline to pump or give you a severe brain seizure. He also relishes in over-the-top and suspect cheesiness as let's say: a little girl asking a gigantic robot whether it's the tooth fairy; or a shot of the two protagonists suddenly holding hands amidst the mayhem; or that entire ending sequence which stank of pure childish and illogical kitsch. Despite Bay's distasteful tendencies, I was very ready to let everything sink as it is: a pure popcorn flick that would carry me back to those good old days wherein my only worry was that I didn't have enough money to purchase that Bumblebee toy.

The culprit can't be the technical aspect of the film. The CGI was breathtaking; and the reincarnations of the alien robots were in my opinion very apt. I thought the film didn't really need Steve Jablonsky's epic-sized musical score (complete with Carmina Burana-esque chorale singing), but I guess he was trying to top the juicy visuals that was consistently on display. Bay's camera tricks didn't really help showcase the technical pizzazz of the film; but sure, it wasn't totally atrocious. The point is, I knew what was happening onscreen.

Then there's the ridiculous plot. Much of it is grabbed from the Transformers canon (whose illogicality is necessary), but the stuff that was added, I couldn't really buy. The first half of the film involved a chase to get Sam Witwicky (Shia LeBeouf) who is in possession of a pair of eyeglasses that would reveal the location of the powerful Allspark. The second half (or what I'll refer to as the shut-your-brains-and-just-watch part) has the robots and humans battling the evil Decepticons to protect the Allspark. Annoyingly, the two halves don't jive; the first half isn't really necessary to arrive at the much-awaited mayhem of the climax and thus, the more-than-two-hour running time could have been trimmed to serve it better; and give it the appropriate label as a popcorn flick without all the inept narrative it tries so hard to sell.

I thought the update to Transformers is good. The animated series enters the present world of the world wide web, cellphones, Ebay, and Youtube. Meteorites land in the backyard and kids won't scurry away but will get their cameras to film the event and then upload to their respective websites. Everything is sold including family heirlooms using the ease of the internet. Information has become so readily available that the robots themselves form a complete vocabulary, attitude, and racial stereotypes utilizing the information gathered freely from the web. In a way, I can't really complain of the modifications the filmmakers have done to the beloved cartoon series.

I can understand the resounding praise that film has garnered from old and new fans alike. It's so easy to get lost in the fantasy of the boy and the car (who can transform into a heroic robot), especially if it's told with all the million-dollar special effects and goodies. It comes with this generation that is so engrossed with pumping up the ordinary: just observe the hundreds of nobodies in Youtube turning into internet superstars with their Jackass-videos or imaginative creations. Michael Bay's Transformers fits right in. It tickles that fancy of every Gen-X or Y employee that his used Corolla would play the right tunes for that hot chick he's never had the courage to ask for a date. In a way, it is that perfect escapist material for the frenzied masses who see technology as both foe and friend. So what's there to dislike in the film? Honestly, aside from Bay's inept direction and the inutile plot, I don't know.