I didn't think it was possible for someone to actually like Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, but I've been proven wrong. As this reviewer shows, Transformers 2 isn't just a good movie, it's post-modern art.
Critical consensus on Transformers: Revenge Of The Fallen is overwhelmingly negative. But the critics are wrong. Michael Bay used a squillion dollars and a hundred supercomputers' worth of CG for a brilliant art movie about the illusory nature of plot.
Since the days of Un Chien Andalou and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, filmmakers have reached beyond meaning. But with this summer's biggest, loudest movie, Michael Bay takes us all the way inside Caligari's cabinet. And once you enter, you can never emerge again. I saw this movie two days ago, and I'm still living inside it. Things are exploding wherever I look, household appliances are trying to kill me, and bizarre racial stereotypes are shouting at me.
Transformers: ROTF has mostly gotten pretty hideous reviews, but that's because people don't understand that this isn't a movie, in the conventional sense. It's an assault on the senses, a barrage of crazy imagery. Imagine that you went back in time to the late 1960s and found Terry Gilliam, fresh from doing his weird low-fi collage/animations for Monty Python. You proceeded to inject Gilliam with so many steroids his penis shrank to the size of a hair follicle, and you smushed a dozen tabs of LSD under his tongue. And then you gave him the GDP of a few sub-Saharan countries. Gilliam might have made a movie not unlike this one.
The first paragraph reminded me of that 'post modern generator' program from a few years back. Looks exactly the same. But I don't think any computer program can make up the part about Terry Gilliam's penis.
Charlie Jane Anders piece on Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen is more than film criticism: it's art. The review opens with high blown claims which soon feel like irony. However, a few paragraphs in and the review takes a quick left turn deep into psychoanalytical territory which finally leads us, to all places, a hypertextual study. By the end of the review it feels as if you've read several reviews in one. This is not the greatest review of the summer. This may be the greatets review of all time.
Hilarious