[And that brings us to the first not-terrible installment in the franchise, Transformers: Dark of the Moon.]
I’m trying to think of some pithy intro here, but, hey, it’s the new Transformers movie. I mean, if you get trampled by an elephant and end up with a compound fracture of the femur, the doc who looks after you doesn’t drop a witty bon mot before he yanks on your foot until the bone slides back in through the flesh and then resets it, does he? I don’t really know. That’s never happened to me, but I bet he doesn’t. No, he just does it. If he’s smart he gives you a slug of whiskey first. The point I’m trying to make is,, we both know this is going to hurt. Might as well get on with it. So: Transformers: Dark of Moon. The good news is that it’s probably the best of the three movies. The bad news is, that’s a little like saying last night’s prison rape was the politest gang-sodomy you’ve ever had. The praise is indeed faint.
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