THE VOICE OF CHICAGO'S GAY, LESBIAN, BI, TRANS AND QUEER COMMUNITY SINCE 1985

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Jaws was originally released on June 20, 1975, just prior to the Fourth of July weekend. And we still have the spectacular success of Steven Spielberg's first mega-hit to thank—or curse—for the summer blockbuster movie bonanza that has ensued in the 30-plus years since. It really wasn't until the end of the '80s, however, that the all-important Fourth of July weekend was taken over by the juggernaut—the movie ( s ) from which all other summer films scurry from. Batman set the tone in 1989 with its monstrous budget, gigantic sets and special effects; emotionally awkward hero; cartoon-character villain; and clear delineation of its female characters as either madonna or whore. Almost 20 years later, this formula for success is easily used to describe Transformers, the latest Fourth of July weekend blockbuster—but the formula ain't so fresh anymore, is it?

The set pieces arrive in Transformers right on schedule with all the precision of a Swiss watch, but by now the recipe is so familiar to audiences as to have become dispiriting and even laughable. The biggest chuckle for the savvy movie audience comes right at the opening credits when we read 'Paramount Pictures and Dreamworks Present' followed by 'Hasbro presents'—before we even see the title card. This is literally the boys-with-toys movie that adolescent men and their offspring have been awaiting and the wedding of the toymaker with the two movie studios says that from the get-go. There isn't a shred of subtlety, character shading or common sense in the entire two hours and 20 minutes that follow those credits. Okay, fine—there hasn't been much subtlety in many of the previous Fourth of July weekend movie offerings, either. But what about thrills? Memorable set pieces? Something to make one walk out of the theater and immediately get right back in line to see the picture again?

That's how I felt about Terminator 2 in 1991, Batman Returns in 1992, Independence Day in 1996 and even Armageddon in 1998 ( directed, as is Transformers, by the king of dumb-dumb blockbusters, Michael Bay ) . All those pictures offered at least a smidgen of a story for the audience to hang onto; a hip character with heart to identify with; advancements in their special-effects sequences; or a director adept at balancing both the effects wizardry and characters. In 1995, Ron Howard actually trumped the special effects with the compelling true story of the men in peril aboard Apollo 13. In 1997, director Barry Sonnenfeld fused the star power and comic timing of Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones with mega-budgeted effects and struck gold with Men in Black ( though the sequel five years later, also a Fourth of July weekend release, paled in comparison ) . All these were massive hits proving that audiences love the special effects but love them even more when wedded to characters they can root for and a story they can care about.

Transformers, however, does not offer audiences more than a morsel of either. The babykins story essentially is that of a group of skyscraper-sized 'autobots'—robots who have learned human-like characteristics—that can turn themselves at will into cars, trucks, helicopters, cell phones and, well, any machine you can imagine. There are good transformers ( blue laser eyes ) and bad ones ( red laser eyes ) and both have come to Earth seeking a gigantic cube for reasons that I never could quite discern. Shia LaBeouf plays the teenage great-grandson of a man who, for reasons too complicated to explain, knew the location of the cube and has left him with a pair of spectacles that shows the location—so both the good autobots and bad ones are after him. LaBeouf himself is after Megan Fox, who literally seems to be a human embodiment of a SIMS character—one of those plastic Penthouse centerfold women that you're afraid would melt if she stood too close to a fireplace because of all the silicone you suspect is lodged in her body. The camera lusts after Fox like a panting schoolboy until the special effects take over and she is relegated to the background.

Also in the background are a lot of mostly male actors huffing and puffing, including Jon Voight, Josh Duhamel, John Turturro and Anthony Anderson. Adding a dash of something ( thank God! ) are the always welcome Kevin Dunn and the miraculous Julie White ( who just won the Tony Award for Best Actress over Vanessa Redgrave and Angela Lansbury—no slouch, this actress ) as LaBeouf's parents. LaBeouf and Fox themselves are not so much directed as placed amidst the special effects ( and his nerd teenage act is tiring very quickly ) . Moreover, Michael Bay is not exactly a director noted for working with actors. ( It's no surprise that the movie's filled with campy howlers—though it's not quite in the same league with Bay's hugely enjoyable guilty pleasure, The Island. )

In 2005, we got the ultimate terrorist alien picture—Spielberg's War of the Worlds. Last year, it was Superman Returns with the fetching, sweet Brandon Routh who carried the day. ( Both were winners. ) Even when July 4th weekend movies have been rare misses—like Spielberg's A.I.: Artificial Intelligence in 2001 and Barry Sonnenfeld's overblown Wild Wild West in 1999—they have at least been earnest efforts to try to give audiences of all ages a reason to stand in line. Not so Transformers. This is a Fourth of July weekend movie that does offer something new, though it's something new that insults: It does not care to have adults or kids or any subgroup ( from women to gays and lesbians ) as part of its audience. Here at last is a movie made from first to last for those highly-desired testosterone-crazed teenage boys to revel in. They are welcome to hermetically seal themselves in it until next year's Independence Day.

Check out my archived reviews at www.windycitytimes.com or www.knightatthemovies.com . People can leave feedback at the latter Web site, where there is also find ordering information on my new book of collected film reviews, Knight at the Movies 2004-2006.