I never thought I would get so much pleasure from these three words...The Summer Movie. If you have read my "Robots' Rights Now!" blog from a few weeks ago, you may understand how I have been personally transformed by Transformers. But after reading this article about Transformers as an art film, I have had a much different experience with the film. Please read this article.
 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.
this isn't a movie, in the conventional sense. It's an assault on the senses, a barrage of crazy imagery. Bay has put all of this excess of imagery and random ideas at the service of the most pandering movie genre there is: the summer movie. You try in vain to understand how the pieces fit, you stare into the cracks between the narrative strands, until the cracks become chasms and the chasms become an abyss into which you stare until it looks deep into your own soul, and then you go insane. You. Do. Not. Leave. The Cabinet. |
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