Ayer vi Transformers II en el BFI IMAX. A los de las UNESCO se les debieron salir los ojos de las órbitas viendo como unos robots gigantes convierte las pirámides de Egipto en su patio de recreo. Los efectos visuales son la columna vertebral de la película, seguidos de las bromas fáciles y el cuerpo de Megan Fox que Michael Bay explota hasta la saciedad sin escrúpulos. El guión es lo de menos, una mera excusa. En la primera fui al cine exigiendo algo más que explosiones, persecuciones y transformaciones. Fue un error. Sin esta exigencia la película es mucho más divertida. Llamadlo "cine basura" si queréis, pero a mí que no me quiten mi Big Mac.
De todas maneras no puedo dejar de sentir nostalgia por el Michael Bay de La Roca y Armageddon (o incluso Dos Policías Rebeldes II), preocupado por ofrecernos algo más que simple pirotecnia. Aquello era cine palomitero del bueno.
No os perdáis esta sarcástica crítica de Transformers II (da igual que no la hayáis visto, no hay ninguna sorpresa que desvelar): Michael Bay finally made an art movie. Absolutamente hilarante. Copio una parte:
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. (...)
Transformers: ROTF is so long, you'll need to wear adult diapers to it. But the movie's pure celebration of the primal urge, and unfiltered living, will make you rejoice in your adult diapers. You'll relieve yourself in your seat with a savage joy, your barbaric yawp blending in with the crowd's screams of excitement.
And yet — and here's the part where I really think ROTF approaches "art movie" status — the movie's id overload reaches such crazy levels that the fabric of reality itself starts to break down. Michael Bay has boasted about how every single shot in the movie has so much stuff going on in it, it would take your PC since the dawn of time to render one frame. After a few hours of this assault, you feel the chair melt and the floor of the movie theater becomes an angry mirror into your soul. Nothing is solid, nothing is real, everything Transforms.
