Movie Review: Transformers: Dark Side of the Moon

                Michael Bay’s latest installment of Transformers is his most psychedelic one yet. Beginning with the trippy sounds of the late 60s, we watch as Apollo 13 lands on the moon, specifically its dark side. The astronauts begin discussing how they are crazy for doing something this brand new, this exciting. Guitars soar into the air once ancient transformer ruins come into sight. Our narrator (voiced by Alec Baldwin) explains how the Space Race of the sixties was just a way to convince the Transformers of Capitalism’s many benefits.

                Suddenly a clocks rings waking up Sam Witwicky (played this time by Keanu Reeves). We learn Sam graduated from college two years ago and has yet to find gainful employment. The morning starts out with him checking emails, Hipster Runoff, and Facebook, searching for something to prevent him from looking for work. After his parents start bothering him about what a total waste he is, he goes to the local coffee shop. Drinking a Latte he’s approached by a man in a large trench coat known as “Morpheus” played by Larry the Cable Guy. Morpheus asks him if he wants to take the red pill to see how far the rabbit hole goes, or the blue pill if he wants to chill. Sam’s relatively bored so he decides to take both simultaneously. 

                The next morning Sam wakes up in his own bed. He wonders what he did to get this sort of dreadful, dead-beat feeling. Looking into the mirror, he remembers: LSD. Reality begins to play tricks on him. What he thought was a car was not a car but a robot in disguise. At first Sam has a hard time focusing on what the car is saying since he’s tripping so hard. Keanu nails the disorientated look that Sam needs. It is like Keanu was born to look perpetually confused and slightly drugged. 

                Giant cars begin dropping from the sky. For a minute Sam is pleased with this, as he doesn’t have a job and the cars could quickly be resold, giving Sam the greatest income he’s seen since High School. This car is talking to him (Optimus Prime voiced by Al Pacino) warning him that these are evil cars falling out of the sky and must be defeated. Sam doesn’t trust Optimus at first, something about his voice sounds a bit deceitful, too high-strung. Once Morpheus re-emerges and confirms Optimus’s words, Sam’s convinced.

                All three of them head to a magical forest through that rabbit hole Morpheus mentioned earlier. They seek the assistance of a great master of disguise, a Hookah Smoking Caterpillar (voiced by Kevin Spacey). The Hookah Smoking Caterpillar brings them to the forest’s military leader, the Walrus (voiced by Bruce Willis). Morpheus asks the Walrus if he is the Walrus they need, to which he replies: “I am the Walrus. Coo Coo Ca Choo.”

                Now they are ready. They receive rings one for each element: water, fire, earth, and heart. With all of their powers combined they summon the ultimate superhero, Captain Planet (played by Burt Reynolds). Captain Planet tricks all the invading Decepticons to switch to cleaner burning corn ethanol engines. Next, he kills them. Earth is saved. Sam still needs a job. Patting Sam on the shoulder, Morpheus informs him it is their duty to repopulate the Earth. A smile forms on Sam’s face as the two of them wander the Earth copulating. 

                In the epilogue, it is mentioned the Autobots repopulate as well. According to interviews with Michael Bay, he wanted to include a twenty minute three-way robot scene at the end. Unfortunately editors cut the transformer three-way deeming it ‘bizarre’ and ‘a waste of 32 million dollars’. Thankfully it is going to be an extra on the DVD. 

                Once I left the theater and regained my hearing, I felt this was perhaps the best out of the Transformers trilogy. Michael Bay is the Steven Spielberg of the 21^st century if Spielberg was concerned with explosions instead of plot.

Effing Twenty Something: A True Story

                  I thought it would be different. Society glorified your twenties as some remarkable, un-reproducible piece of your life, something you’d look back on with fondness. 

                “You’ll have so much fun” the television blared in front of me “All that awkwardness will be eliminated, to present to you the prime time of your life” various advertisements tell me on the internet, radio, newspapers, magazines, songs, movies, etc. 

                All of it was wrong. None of it told the actual truth, of what it is like to be a twenty something. Perhaps my parents warned me of this, of their problems which make mine seem miniscule. They fought in wars; they watched the USSR’s rise and fall. Plenty of horrible stuff occurred during their time growing up, yet somehow it felt better. Reasons, evidence existed that things would get better. Where’d that evidence go? 

                Why the lying? I don’t get it. Who felt there was a need to create this great illusion, this false reality I could believe in? I got promised so much, and received so little. Sure, I’m fortunate enough to have this computer, this roof over my head, this car, this money, this job, but it isn’t exactly what I hoped for. 

                Now as I try to explain to people what’s happening to me, they tell me “Oh, it gets better in your thirties.” When I was in my teens, these same people told me it gets better in your twenties. What is the waiting time before things get better, more interesting, more exciting? Do I have a time line for this, or will my satisfaction constantly get pushed further and further into the future so by the time I get to that terminal endpoint I’m given a sticker that says “Relax” in big bold letters. By the time I realize that things don’t get better, that the entire universe moves in a constant state of entropy, of moving from high to low energy, those liars will be long gone, passed onto another realm. 

                Everything I was supposed to do I did. That 401K got set up. At work I maintain a perky, cheerful attitude that brightens up the office. My tastes would be considered ‘cool’ or ‘hip’. I take care of other people, have empathy for others. Yet after I do all this careful planning, all these things that are supposed to make me better, I don’t feel better.

                Trying to complain, I’m told I can’t. Venting is apparently wrong. Whenever I have problems I try to tell other people, they tell me to think about all the people who have it worse than me. I don’t understand who the fuck installed this fascist bubbly optimism regime, but I hate it. 

                Instead I jump up and down on my bed as my music plays. Lately it seems that technology has become the new opiate of the masses. No matter what bad thing happens, if I get lost, get delayed on a train for 8 hours, so long as I have an IPOD, I can tolerate it. Every time I scroll through the meticulously well-picked songs I got for myself, it reminds me that someone I’ve never met cares.

                Is this what being in your twenties is supposed to be like? All this disconnection can’t be good for me. Occasionally I wonder whether or not I’ll ever be able to find that other voice in the dark, shouting, longing for someone to understand. The more I speak with my friends; I realize they have the same issues. 

                By society’s standards, I’m a loser. Yet I’ve traveled to multiple continents, have helped people in the direst of situations, and have been there in general for countless numbers of people I may never meet. Somehow that doesn’t even count, I haven’t created my own company like the smug asshole Mark Zuckerberg, I haven’t gotten my book published, I haven’t accomplished as much as people tell me I should’ve gotten done. While I’m being told of everything I need, am supposed to do, I’m told I ought to be having fun. Maybe if everyone stopped talking at me and began listening, I might not feel so sad, so trapped, and so small. 

                How can this be the prime time of my life? I know there’s that silly saying of “No pain, no gain” but I at least thought I’d have some company in this twenty something misery.