This prequel-ish remake of John Carpenter’s Halloween finds a 10-year-old Michael Myers (Daeg Faerch) looking like Dennis the Menace—but still acting like the Antichrist. Who could blame the kid? His older sister (Hanna Hall) makes fun of him when not ignoring him his alcoholic stepdad (William Forsythe) hurls food and profanity at him and the school bullies harass him endlessly. Young Michael’s only allies are his mom (Sheri Moon) and baby sister. Which explains why their lives are spared when Michael goes on a Halloween night killing spree. Fifteen years pass and Michael’s hatred of speaking and love of mask-wearing have reached an all-time high. When the guards at the instititution Michael has called home for the past decade and a half make the fatal mistake of trying to transport him to a new location—on his favorite night of the year no less—Michael busts out without a hitch. With his mom having committed suicide years ago Michael has but one person to pay a visit to: his now teenage sister (Scout Taylor-Compton) who has long since been adopted and not informed of her family tree. But with Michael’s longtime psychologist Dr. Loomis (Malcolm McDowell) hot on his trail it won’t be so easy to get to his baby sis. OK so maybe it'll be somewhat easy. The only members of the cast to turn in actual performances are Moon wife/frequent collaborator of Halloween writer-director Rob Zombie and McDowell. It’s not that the others can’t act but rather that they spend the movie screaming (Taylor-Compton) or hiding dialogue-less under a mask (Tyler Mane) or some other form of non-acting—which is admittedly neither here nor there since the same could be said about most slasher movies. Moon lends a certain humanity to an otherwise emotionless affair and it makes her stand out in more than one way but sadly her performance is rather short-lived. Elsewhere young actress Taylor-Compton certainly has nothing on Jamie Lee Curtis’ original Laurie Strode except for perhaps the decibels and amount of her screams. Filling in for Donald Pleasence McDowell wasn’t a bad casting choice to deliver cryptic if dubious dialogue but his performance is rarely more than funny—which could sum up most of the acting here. Such humor culminates with Danny Trejo’s tiny performance as a janitor who cheerily calls the grown-up Myers “Mikey”—even when being savagely murdered by him. Thought shock-rocker Rob Zombie would be the right man for the job of updating John Carpenter’s Halloween? You weren’t alone but alas it is only an update by the standards of today’s “horror” directors who mistake gore for fear factor. In the prologue featuring the young Myers the laughability of the young actor’s dialogue is only exceeded by how unscary his actions are. Blame Zombie’s screenplay which is often unfunny when it’s supposed to be funny—primarily during his trademark clichéd-white-trash-family scenes—and funny when it’s not supposed to be. In the second half at least the talking turns into screams and the pace picks up but it’s all for naught because the older Michael has become a superhuman monster instead of a troubled institutionalized human. The psychological scares have been completely drained from this remake as Zombie appears more intent on stylistically depicting the murders than setting them up; any shred of subtlety as a result is gone. Although maybe the director thought he fulfilled the psychological-scare quota when the psychologist’s life is put in grave danger. As Zombie’s Halloween limps on it becomes a sad commentary on the state of the genre: Elaborate throat-slittings and blood trajectories are no longer even flinch-inducing.
Remember when you were younger and you would hold one Transformer action figure in each hand maybe have Optimus Prime square off against the sinister Megatron? Well each of them could now hold your entire body with the curl of their mechanical pinkies—that’s the scale on which Michael Bay operates in every movie not just Transformers. Our first glimpse of the ‘bots comes in the deserts of Qatar where a shape-shifting helicopter makes quick work of defenseless U.S. soldiers. But what they’re really after is a keepsake held by an unsuspecting teenager Sam (Shia LaBeouf) who is actually trying to unload the item on eBay. Sam however soon finds out that this family heirloom is the key to Earth’s survival—and that his seemingly beat-up jalopy of a car is Bumblebee a member of the well-intentioned Autobot Transformers. Bumblebee repeatedly saves his life and that of his high school crush (Megan Fox) before the evil Decepticons descend upon our planet to take matters into their own “hands.” But they’ll have to contend with the likes of all Autobots to win the war—as well as some pissed-off humanoids like the Secretary of Defense (Jon Voight) and a couple of soldiers (Josh Duhamel and Tyrese Gibson). In Transformers there seems to be a hierarchy of strength of performance—by order of age starting with the youngest. In such an uber-CGI extravaganza one might expect the older actors to have a better handle on the blue screen-as-a-costar dynamic but that’s not the case. Take Shia LaBeouf hottest ‘it’ boy since the last one. The fact that his ‘it’ predecessor is already forgotten doesn’t bode well for Shia; then again that person didn’t have Indiana Jones IV lined up. Despite being the youngest LaBeouf has as much experience as anyone not named Jon Voight and it shows. He blows away every other actor and when he’s not merely coexisting with Optimus Prime and co. he steals their thunder too. LaBeouf’s comedic timing is so astounding and infectious that even his eager-to-hate generation of viewers will cheer instead of jeer but it’s his overall energy that gets us in the mood before the Transformers make their proper entrance. Megan Fox will also get people in the mood for slightly different reasons. Most male viewers will have to mop up their drool after watching the Angelina Jolie wannabe in action—if not for her looks then for her mechanical proficiency—but her and LaBeouf’s elders are well outdated. Duhamel there for sex appeal to the chaperone set is just so damn lucky he doesn’t look like Paul Giamatti but he and a seldom-seen Tyrese aren’t as off-key as John Turturro (as a government agent) and Voight. Voight’s age to put it bluntly prevents him from keeping up with the action and its breakneck pace. Luckily no actor has a long take without Transformers intervening. Call Michael Bay Grandmaster Cinema—cinema’s master of grand. To him quality in film is apparently measured by size and decibels and it has always been the reason for his movies’ death (and to his credit financial successes). At least Transformers’ demise takes a while to surface. Bay the director responsible for making anyone born circa 2001 think that Pearl Harbor is a theme park fancies his special effects more integral than the actors or story. But Transformers has a first half that is among the most entertaining in years thanks to its balance of all three of those elements. The story—a near masterpiece in kitsch screenwriting from Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman—is for a while cohesive and so genuinely funny that it’s sustenance for the audience whenever Transformers aren’t present. And Bay shows the 30-foot-tall robots sparingly at first great foreplay for an unforgettable scene involving their official chase-sequence intro. The Transformers are groundbreaking not only in the literal sense but insofar as a new special-effects bar has been set with a mix of live action and CGI. The movie is clicking on all cylinders at this point. But somewhere along the way albeit subtly the story ceases that coherence—or rather ceases altogether as the Bay of old takes over and cuts loose. It’s as if his disease was in remission for much of the movie and then he had an action relapse. The overlong ending features nay is his trademark special-effects orgy and Transformers flying through buildings and ripping apart a city is suddenly uninteresting. What was once exciting and controlled is now mundane as Pearl Harbor has come to the metropolis—with robots.