Don’t hate. I was given tickets. Then I stayed thinking it could not get any worse. It did, and my faith in the industry is waning, along with my hope for humanity.
Unscripted Wahlberg slides on a knee from a Detroit dump site onto Oxford cobblestone into an antique sub and back onto midwestern fields where he leads the rebel band of transforming good guys against both the anti-alien strike force and Megatron’s bad-car band stars.
Hideously disconnected, nothing shocks more than the horrid acting from legends like Anthony Hopkins and Stanley Tucci. If money led them to this decision, the world has sunk to a new low. More character intros than a History Channel film, and more stolen moments than Shayamalan could boast, Bay thrusts Tony Hale’s sad screams into too many unrelated scenes so his two new Megan Fox wish list girls can attempt to save the world with Merlyn’s lost staff, a shapeshifting suction token, and a mini wannabe bb8 bot.
Michael Bay, still so obviously suffering from arrested development or boredom allows his pre-pubescent humor to direct scenes without sense. He calls for the low bar and gets it every time. Despite bright colors, explosive chase scenes, expensive effects, and 2012esque planet-threatening invasions, an extensively narrated opener of exposition can’t make up for a complete lack of story. This extended screen test for fresh-faced potentials hoping for their Stranger Things debut became a nonsensical comedy by minute 12, and the longest toy commercial ever by minute 5.
Splatter: on FILM 