We’ve got plenty of auteurs working today. We’ve got Johnnie To’s and Tarantino’s and Cholodenko’s and Refn’s. But when you walk into a dark theater on a hot summer day with a soda big enough to power a used Prius and your hands are already sticky from popcorn “butter” and you sit down, you might have paid at the Regal or Landmark or AMC box office, but when that title card flashes, “A Michael Bay Film” you are in his house now. And whether or not you agree with his sociopolitical point of view, his treatment of robots or his treatment of Megan Fox, you must admit that, for a couple of hours, it’s a pretty awesome place to be.
Yeah, that’s the problem with today’s movies: Too many auteurs, not enough Michael Bays.