On Self Loathing

Anyone who knows me knows that I have something of a curio-masochist streak when it comes to movies, so when I wound up extremely bored the other day and went to the theater, only to discover that Public Enemies was sold out, I decided that rather than wait for the next show I would just go and see Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. Review follows:

Never before has the American studio system dumped more trucks of money into such a gigantic, useless, idiotic and offensive fire. This film took everything that was stupid and puerile about its predecessor and compounded it ten-fold, adding a serious dash of racist caricature into the mix as well. It is an exercise in excess, brought about by too much freedom given to too many incompetent people. It is a blurry noisy mess so bogged down in dog sex, up-skirts, pot brownies and incontinence that you can scarcely try to comprehend it. What's worse is that there isn't even a story in this trainwreck, nor is there even a hint of somebody trying to create one in the entirety of the film's two and a half hour run-time.

Then, just when you think it couldn't get worse... Shia LeBouf's character dies and goes to robot heaven.

Then, just when you think it couldn't get any worse... the robots in robot heaven decide to bring him back to life to torture us some more.

The entire affair is nothing more than utter toss. No wonder it's making coin.