Seriously folks, if I could give a movie a zero rating, I would.
This is dire from beginning to end.
Michael Bay, a man seemingly hellbent on forging a directorial career that consists of nothing but smearing excrement across a cinema screen brings to life the nostalgic mecha-dudes of yore, The Transformers.
If you are of an age, the very mention of the word Transformers brings a teary glisten to the eye, and you hurtle mentally back to days playing in a friends bedroom with the robot warriors, trying to decide if Jazz was cooler than Bumble Bee.
If you were hoping to recapture those carefree days with this, forget it.
In an incredible accomplishment, Bay manages to spunk forth some five hundred gazillion dollars on this feature, rendering unto the screen a lifeless, soulless, uninspiring mess of a movie.
CGI overload is a frequent hazard, but it is the woeful script that really shines through, in all the wrong ways.
Alleged 'comedy' moments leave you squirming in embarrassment, unsure whether to laugh at the ineptitude of the lines on offer or piss blood from your own eyeballs and, worse still, we have the cardinal sin of weak script writing whereby every single black character is 'wacky', 'loud' and 'zany', as well as being overweight, outdated representations of the Whassup brothers from the Budweiser adverts.
Come on guys, you can do better than that.
Outrageously awful in every respect, I genuinely hope, and I don't say this lightly, that Bay is struck down with some form of visual impairment, to prevent him despoiling future projects so capably. Nothing life threatening, just enough to prevent him directing. Ever. Again.
Terrifyingly, the sequel is even worse and, more frightening still, Bay is down as producer on the Nightmare on Elm Street remake. Holy shit.
A truly dreadful movie.
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