Transformers: Age of Extinction (2014)

Michael Bay’s “Transformers: Age of Extinction” is a 170-minute endurance test thud thud thuding loud as slick CGI and slo-mo explosions litter the screen with buildings, trains, and cars crashing and people running about, always at magic hour. In Bay’s world, every day has five sunsets. The original cast is out, replaced by Mark Wahlberg as a Texas inventor/redneck/father with a Boston accent who happens upon wounded alien robot hero Optimus Prime -– stoic Autobot leader -– and ends up chased by Uncle Sam thugs led by Kelsey Grammer. Our heroes bolt to Utah then Chicago and then Hong Kong, because in China everyone knows kung fu. And Asia means box office coin. Thousands of people die as robots fight and Wahlbeg’s dad saves his pretty teen girl (Nicola Peltz) whose ass Bay glares at, endlessly. The script talks the death of original cinema early on, but “T4” unironically regurgitates films 1-3 and stacks bewildering logic lapses one upon the other. Greatest jaw-dropper: Beijing and Hong Kong within a short drive. Even by the greatest allowance for “dumb” fun and the occasional jolt of a cool image (all those sunsets), Bay’s films are cinema’s death. Soulless, brainless empty robots. D

A.I.: Artificial Intelligence (2001)

Steven Spielberg’s “A.I.: Artificial Intelligence” is a train wreck masterpiece I love all the more because it derails, because the guy who some critics continuously dismiss aims for the sun and misses, but comes oh so close. And leaves us stunned, too. Spielberg could coast on every film he makes. In “A.I..,” he spins wild chances and smashes down a scene midway through so devastating, it leaves one reeling flat, near in tears. 

Inspired by “Pinocchio” and a screenplay by Stanley Kubrick –- a master of cold dread –- Spielberg’s tale follows a humanoid boy (Haley Joel Osment) adopted by a couple (Sam Robards and Frances O’Connor) whose own son lies in a coma. Young, perfect David is a little boy balm until the “real” son Martin (Jake Thomas) reawakens. 

David is programmed to be loved. Martin wants to mommy to himself. Two events paint David as a family danger, and so mommy –- here’s the killer scene -– abandons David in a forest; she weeps, David begs, and Spielberg lays bare every child’s worst nightmare: Your parents do not truly love you, you are a fake. 

From there, the film flies high and nose dives hard as David falls into a nightmare world that involves grisly robot gladiator arenas, needless voice cameos (Chris Rock? Robin Williams?), and a search for the Blue Fairy to make David a “real” boy, just like … Martin? 

I won’t spoil more. Much of it works and a good bit does not as Spielberg takes on The End of the World, but really is pulling out the end of childhood innocence, that blind-faith moment when children firmly believe mommy and daddy are good, and will always be there, keeping you -- all that matters in the world –- safe. Which is more tragic?  

Osment is so amazing. I still bristle he did not get a Best Actor nomination. Unnaturally warm and bright, unblinking, desperate to please, and able to regurgitate a call, he is flawless, yet unmistakably eerie. Early in, tricked by Martin into cutting their mother’s hair, David pleads, “I just wanted mommy to love me. More.” That quick pause, before the word “more,” is true horror for the youngest of us, scarier than any death in “Jaws.” 

Speaking of that classic Spielberg film, John Williams provides the score here and it’s truly one of his best, and with certain beats recalling the wonder of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind.” A-

Sharknado and Pacific Rim (both 2013)

“Sharknado” and “Pacific Rim.” Two films, two end-of-world disasters. One winner, but not who you or I expect.

There’s a scene at the end of craptastic cheap-o SyFy Channel flick “Sharknado” that drops the mike on “Pacific Rim,” a $200 million summer CGI flick from writer/director Guillermo del Toro. Facing raining sharks, heroic bar owner Ian Ziering (“Beverly Hills, 90210”) grabs a chainsaw (!) and leaps into the mouth (!!!) of a shark as it jumps him (!!!!). He then slices his way out of the beast, dragging with him his blood-soaked barmistresses, who was swallowed hole and mid-air by the same shark moments before. Brilliant! 

That gem of Fuck It! lunacy comes after a god-awful film that’s a high mark of guilty-pleasure joy. (Alternating between pain and hilarity: Watching Tara Reid “act,” girl cannot stand still without appearing as if the act is taxing her I.Q.) 

Shot and edited seemingly on the fly by director Anthony Ferrante, “Sharknado” makes you think, “Why hasn’t anyone done this before?” No wonder this $2 million flick jumped to theaters. This is a film to watch with an audience, preferably drunk. Take a shot every time the light mismatches. (You'll be under the table before 10 minutes are done.)

“Rim” has been dubbed “original” by critics, an odd gesture as the entire premise of giant robots fighting giant dino-monsters has been the fodder of afternoon playtime by millions of 10-year-old boys. Roar!  Punch! Crash! Is there more? No. Every character is “one-note,” from Grieving Action Hero to Angry Australian and Tough Boss. Dull. Among the cast is Idris Elba,a great Brit actor who cannot decide on an accent, his native Brit, or some bad put-on American accent. Mind you, I would never complain to his face.

But this is not about people, only the spectacle of massive Iron Men trash beating Jurassic Park monsters from another dimension. The kick in the face, though: Every battle takes places at night in the rain, or under water in the dark, rendering details blurry. The heart of the 10-year-old inside me sunk. 

Still, a few scenes rule: A baby monster goes after a character in a jump, pause, jump scene that is an absolute howl. Buildings get knocked around, whole ships get used as bats, and -- in a scene that plays like a bunch of kids making up the rules as they go along -- a hero robot pulls out a magic sword to render an opponent asunder. That is not a hidden message, I mean a magic sword is pulled out of no where. The laughter is intended, yes? I hope.

It’s not all a loss. Del Toro, who made child-horror classic “Pan’s Labyrinth,” one of the best films of young century, has great fun with a plot involving two mad scientists –- one a mathematician (Burn Gorman) with the voice of Ludwig Von Drake, and the other a fan boy biologist (Charlie Day) with the personality of Louis Tully from “Ghostbusters.” The duo is joined by Ron “Hellboy” Perlman as a trader of monster flesh who meets a fate crazily similar to that of Ziering in “Sharknado.” But, post credits, he only has a wussy switchblade to freedom. Against a chainsaw, that will not do. Not for del Toro.

Sharknado:  B+ / Pacific Rim: B-

Robot and Frank (2012)

My PR job allows me to work with humanoid robots, so I was ready for the sci-fi drama “Robot and Frank” big time. With sometimes clunky bodies, humanoid robots are still in developmental infancy and several decades will pass before ’bots hit, say, toaster status. But, Sundance wiz “R&F” matter-of-factly shows a future with automatons all about, in libraries, homes, and on the street. Frank Langella plays Frank, a 70-year-old ex-thief with prison and a broken family behind him. Frank is sliding into dementia when his son (James Marsden) buys him a mechanical housekeeper/mother hen robot. Frank balks and fumes until he learns that the ’bot can be taught … um … unlawful night activities. Frank’s back in the game, and the scores revitalize him, and that’s the sweet/powerful joke behind director Jake Schreier’s and writer Christopher D. Ford’s feature debut. Crime pays and robots rock. Langella nails the part -- no show-off old-man breakdowns, but pure frail human emotion. The script gives Frank a romantic interest (always lovely Susan Sarandon) and it’s great until fate (the pen) insists on a wild card that feels forced. B

Real Steel (2011)

“Real Steal” is a deft genre mash-up: “Rocky” meets “Transformers,” with a heavy dose of “The Champ” tacked on for good measure, and Hugh Jackman in the lead. My film snob tastes melted away. The boy inside me cheered. The simple story: In the near future, human boxing is outlawed, replaced by a Michael Bay fever dream: Massive robot boxers going at each other like Ali and Foreman in the ring, no blood or brain damage, just busted-up (and recyclable) metal junk. Jackman is an ex-boxer named Charlie who has gone from dishing and taking KO’s in the ring to running robot boxers for hayseed crowds. Here comes the Underdog Redemption kick as Charlie has an estranged son named Max who, A) Needs a dad after mom dies, and B) Happens to be a junior engineer and avid gamer. Hokey? Much. So what. This is a CGI-heavy effects film that doesn’t let computer wizardly bulldoze story and character. During the climax, Shawn Levy’s camera pans away from the robot action and focuses on the human players instead. We care about these people, lead robot Atom is a blast, and as Max, Dakota Goyo upstages Jackman and the CGI. KO. A-

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)

James Cameron again proves himself King of Action Cinema with “Terminator 2: Judgment Day,” the follow-up to the 1984 hit that launched Cameron and Arnold Schwarzenegger to stardom. This film still rocks with ace special effects, a relentless pace, and show-stopper moments such as a tractor trailer chasing a child on a dirt bike through Los Angeles, the near-leveling of an office building, and a climatic freeway chase that ends in a steel plant. It also has what is now a Cameron standard: A woman stronger and more ruthless than anything else on screen.

The story in case you don’t know: In 1995, a shape-shifting, liquid-metal assassin (Robert Patrick) is sent to kill young John Conner (Edward Furlong), who decades later will lead a revolt against Skynet, a self-aware humanity-destroying supercomputer. In a twist of irony, a second cybernetic robot (Arnold Schwarzenegger) is tasked with saving John. This is the same model that was the assassin in the first film. The two robots battle each other over the boy and his mentally warped, bad ass mother (Linda Hamilton), nearly destroying Los Angeles along the way.

Every action scene aims to top the one before it, but Cameron leaves room for character development. His mildly satirical touches are sharp. Early on, the T-100 strides naked into a biker bar and orders a man to hand over his clothes. The patrons stare. Several women smile big. Every person is crack-an-hour-glass ugly. (If this were a Michael Bay film, it'd be the hottest boob bar in California, with 150 Playboy bunnies.)

I also love how Schwarzenegger’s shall we say “limited” acting chops are spun into a slight joke. The T-100 is an outdated, outclassed robot, fighting a top of the line model. And as that adversary, Robert Patrick steals the movie. Look how hard that guy works: The running, the steel trap mind and eyes, the utter lack on emotion. He’s a liquid Jaws on two legs, sporting a police uniform. Void of life.

Look, Cameron can’t do dialogue. “In an insane world, it was the sanest choice” is high-school clunky, and one more “fate is a highway” analogy could make me convulse. And the whole time travel thing is bunk. But Cameron knows people, and he knows how to destroy millions of dollars on screen and make it look like joie de verve. A