Michael Bay, I Love You

I saw Transformers on Saturday night with Bob, Kevin and Janet. For a moment, let's put aside the fact that I spend Saturday evenings going on 1950s-style double dates at the movies. Next weekend I'll probably go to a sock hop and a soda fountain. And let's ignore the fact that Janet and I, not the guys, picked the movie. Let us glory in the beauty of Transformers, the most awesomely awesome movie to ever be so completely awesome. We're talking about a film that states, "In Partnership with Hasbro" as the opening credit.

It was a lot like guys I partied with in college: loud, dumb, brash, and a complete and total hoot. Bigass trucks, planes and other hunks of metal reassembled themselves into even bigger robots. They even made that thuck-thuck-thuck sound while they transformed, just like they did in the 80s cartoon. Then the big robots would blow stuff up. It was cool. Also, as we learn in the end, Autobots are kind of voyeuristically pervy.

Sure, there were other plot points: would the nerd get the girl? Would the honorable hunky Air Force dude get home to his wife and baby? Would the shadowy government operatives get their butts kicked? Would the President ever get his Ding-Dongs? But who cares? We're talking about a movie where the good guys lead the highly dangerous bad guys into a densely populated urban area that is nowhere near where they were before, just so the big robots could throw the other big robots through some really big buildings. There's nothing better in a summer film than plot holes with a purpose.

And the robots. Oh, how they rocked. The goody goody Autobots had sweet, approachable names like Bumblebee and Ratchet. But the bad boy Decepticons got to be Megatron, Bonecrusher, Barricade, and, my personal favorite, Starscream. The Decepticons were the original branding consultants. How can you NOT be afraid of a dude called Bonecrusher?

In short, Michael Bay, I love you. Sure, when I got home, I had to pour myself a big glass of water and lie very, very still in a quiet room. My ears are still ringing, and I've gone through half a bottle of ibuprofen in the last twelve hours. But that was the most fun I'd had at the movies in ages. Please make a hundred sequels, each one louder and dumber than the last. I'll see every single one.