By Matt Brunson

To both my horror and delight — horror because of my general disdain for the Michael Bay oeuvre, delight because of my desire to enjoy every picture I see (contrary to popular belief, film critics don’t enter a theater wanting to hate the movie; what sort of dreary, masochistic career would that make?) — I somewhat dug 2007’s Transformers, writing in my original review that “even folks who wouldn’t know a Transformer from a Teletubby can expect to have a good time” and praising the film for being “decidedly more character-driven than expected” and “balancing action with emotion.” For this, I credited the presence of executive producer Steven Spielberg, who was described in the press notes as being a “hands-on producer” during the making of a film that, in its best moments, recalled the mirth of Spielberg’s own 1980s output. Well, Spielberg must have been on an extended vacation and far away from the set during the making of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, a perfectly dreadful sequel that’s the filmic equivalent of a 150-minute waterboarding session.

For the full review, click here.

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