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'Transformers: The Last Knight' Review

What. The Hell. Is Happening?

By Nicholas AnthonyPublished 7 years ago 3 min read
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There’s a moment in the final cacophonous act of Transformers: The Last Knight–or it could have been at the start, I’m not really sure–where, if you squinted mightily, the images could be construed as a Jackson Pollock painting. Such is the temporal strain that this fifth installment in the alien robots franchise directed by (for sure, totally, without a doubt, super for real serious this time is the last time) Michael Bay, elicits on a conscious being that at times it almost pulls off the trick of being an avant-garde piece of filmmaking. To the point where you could legitimately question your own intelligence and ability to follow a story. *Caution: spoilers may follow!

Mark Wahlberg returns as a self-styled inventor and Transformers babysitter, Cade Yeager (that name will never not be the most amazing part of this movie). Transformers, both Autobots and Decepticons are being hunted (again), cities are still reduced to rubble, and are promptly forgotten about. Optimus Prime is floating in space looking for his creators, and King Arthur, a drunk Merlin and the Knights of the Round Table had something to do with the Transformers way back when. Oh and there’s a teenage girl named Izabella with a ‘Z’ who can do anything, fix anything, and is really tough, and sort of just hangs around with her Vespa cutesy Transformer pal.

It’s not that the plot is difficult to follow, it’s that never has so much on-screen been so empty, devoid of even the most basic awareness of coherence. None of it really matters, apart from the product placement, I guess. And that’s not even factoring in the second half that takes place in and around England where Sir Anthony Hopkins shows up as a Duke to say ‘what a bitchin’ car she is’. It’s just...what? There was a distinct feeling, no matter how crazy it seemed, that as the end credits rolled, the film would simply morph, as if it had gained sentience in that very moment, into the already announced sixth film. Such was the dissonance, the terrible and titanic assault that the film had on time and space, I actually settled back in, a sense of resigned recognition of the fate thrust upon me to endure more.

And yet, cutting through the Wagnerian chaos, there was intermittent fun to be had. When Bay doesn’t have to worry about communicating exposition or a semblance of character motivation, the action can thrill– fleetingly so. Wahlberg yells suitably enough. Hopkins leans joyously into senility. Newcomer Laura Haddock, as an English professor, somewhat maintains her dignity and relevance. The mythology and crazier plot points that sneak in when Bay isn’t looking hints at stupidly fun film– Transformers building the Arthurian legend! A malevolent robot goddess! A Transformer butler who’s also a ninja! Steve Buscemi as a cybertronian scavenger! Why oh why could it have not just gone completely unhinged! Instead, it devolves into a pseudo world war three for what felt like two hours.

Is it possible for a movie to have every element of it be superfluous? Does that bring into question the existence of the film itself? If so, what on earth did I just witness? Was it Michael Bay's ego or subconscious manifesting as a violent rainbow? The Last Knight is like a loud, obnoxious guy at a party who's drunk, but always smiling. He stumbles on entertaining things to say, he falls over, he’s downright rude and a boor. And he never, ever stops, to the point of cosmic exhaustion. And if that sounds like an exaggeration, I’ll leave this here–this April, Michael Bay stated that, as a result of the writers' room, there are fourteen stories completed for potential future Transformers films.

Oh. Oh no.

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About the Creator

Nicholas Anthony

Writer and nascent film-maker. I work under my Oraculum Films banner.

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