It is no secret that I disliked the first two Transformers films. In fact, I employ no hyperbole whatsoever in admitting that I, for lack of a more expressive word, utterly loathed them. There are those who claim Transformers: Dark of the Moon is light years better than its predecessors. Do not believe their rancid deceit. While director Michael Bay—who recently admitted the second film in the franchise was repugnant—has clearly learned some valuable lessons, they are not of a sufficient caliber to elevate the film out of the misogynistic, infantile and puerile sewer from whence it was first conceived. About the best that can be said for this dreadful piece of cinematic rubbish is that it is only slightly better than the second installment—and that was one of the worst reviewed films of 2009.

When it is discovered that the space race of the 1960s was the result of a crashed alien spacecraft on the moon—a spacecraft containing a weapon so powerful it virtually ensures humankind’s complete destruction—both the Autobots, led by Optimus Prime (voice of Peter Cullen), and the Decepticons instigate an interstellar war to posses it. Caught in the middle, as usual, is Sam Witwicky (Shia LaBeouf) and his Megan Fox body-double Carly (Rosie Huntington-Whitley). If they and their well-chiseled friends cannot find a way to stop the Decepticons, Earth will be lost forever.

I hope, if the categorizers at Netflix are worth the money they are paid, that all the Transformers films will soon be classified under the heading: “Comedy.” As I said in an earlier review, Transformers “suffers from an almost pathological aversion to taking itself seriously.” This, and indeed each of the three films, could be immeasurably improved simply by expurgating the more absurd comic elements. If you hated the racist, jive-talking twins from the last movie, they’ve been replaced this go round by Mini-Me versions. Did you find Sam’s dullard parents taxing comic relief? Now they come in matching tracksuits and contemplate the size of their son’s penis. Did you think John Turturro’s Oedipal secret agent was a preposterous cartoon masquerading as a man? Well this time he’s joined in his idiotic antics by the likes of The Hangover’s Ken Jeong, John Malkovich and, most regrettably, Alan Tudyk as a gay, German, ex-secret agent now celebrity personal assistant—if it made sense, do you think I’d mention it?

Regardless of what you might have heard, screenwriter Ehren Kruger is phenomenally talented. How else can you explain the fact that his literary voice so perfectly matches that of former screenwriters Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman, replicating with uncanny precision the same senselessness and stupidity for which they have proven themselves capable time and again. Dark of the Moon continues to rely on brainless jokes, inane humor, an incoherent plot and profoundly banal dialogue rather than treat the material and the audience seriously. Should you feel the need to counter with the objection that a movie about giant talking robots is hardly fodder for serious filmmaking, might I point you toward The Dark Knight or X-Men: First Class, two equally silly premises that succeed specifically because their filmmakers understood that the audience will follow the artist courageous enough to siphon drama from drek.

What Kruger does succeed in doing is crafting a richer story than we have seen before, incorporating threads of rousing NASA history and injecting just enough conspiracy to keep things crackling. The inclusion of sci-fi legend Leonard Nimoy (Star Trek’s Mr. Spock) as newcomer Sentinel Prime is also a nice touch, even if Kruger takes it too far by presumptuously—and improperly—incorporating a classic Star Trek line. (He also introduces a moment of such cosmic scientific wrongness that any school child dumb enough to talk their parents into a ticket should walk out in protest.)

Bay too has managed to correct some of his former missteps (though gutting his penchant for excess and superfluousness isn’t among them), making more than a commendable use of the 3D medium, something all too atypical in the regrettable 3D glut. His camera seems to have stumbled on the perfect sense of scale between man and machine, and he holds his crisp action shots for a much longer time than usual, allowing us, at last, to comprehend the action. He’s even managed to create the feeling of genuine, epic peril, though, in doing so, is merely ripping off every alien invasion movie that’s vanguarded the way, from Independence Day to Battle: Los Angeles. One scene involving a careening skyscraper—the only one to even marginally quicken my pulse—is breathtakingly well done.

The final hour of this bloated, 160-minute, brain dead behemoth (and yes, you will feel every second of it) is one long action sequence. If Transformers: Dark of the Moon is even remotely successful, it is thanks to the sheer spectacle and overwhelming sensory avalanche of this one sustained scene—the destruction of Chicago (inexplicable except when you consider that this sort of carnage wrought in, say, Manhattan, would strike most as tactless). You won’t miss a thing should you decide to show up late to the theater and slip in slightly more than half way through the film’s running time. But be warned: the prolonged climax is an unrepentant sonic assault; I literally left the theater with a pounding headache.

There is no arguing with the fact that Michael Bay is a slick director. The former commercial and music video man hasn’t changed his style or technique a whit since he first broke onto the scene. What is Transformers but Estée Lauder with explosions? Although one could have argued all along—and the weight of the evidence is inescapable given the third film—that the Transformers franchise is little more than a trio of flag-waving, jingoistic, military recruitment commercials. With hot girls. And even hotter cars. And Bill O’Reilly. Yes, Bill O’Reilly. What’s more American than that? All that’s missing is Optimus Prime cutting down Megatron while shouting, “Oorah!” Come to think of it, baseball is another quintessential component of Americana, Mr. Bay, and in the words of the umpire, “Strike Three! You’re out!”

© Copyright 2011 Brandon Fibbs. All rights reserved.

Directed by Michael Bay
Starring: Shia LaBeouf, Rosie Huntington-Whitley, Peter Cullen, Ken Jeong, John Malkovich, Alan Tudyk, Josh Duhamel, John Turturro, Frances McDormand, Kevin Dunn, Tyrese Gibson, Patrick Dempsey
Rated PG-13 for intense prolonged sequences of sci-fi action violence, mayhem and destruction, and for language, some sexuality and innuendo.
Running Time: 158 minutes