This Weekend At The Movies

The good news is that the third chapter of Michael Bay’s “Transformers” saga is an improvement over the sophomore entry to the series.

The bad news is that it is still not very good. Watching the film is an experience that can best be described as a flashbulb in the face and a fork being forced down the garbage disposal.

This time around, Bay has re-imagined history for the sake of his story. We find out that the 1960s space race was, in fact, merely an effort to halt a robotic alien life force – the series’ villains, the Decepticons – that had crashed on the moon.

Returning cast members include Shia LaBeouf, Josh Duhamel, Tyrese Gibson and John Turturro, a great actor who can ham it up with the best of them. Also (inexplicably) joining the cast are Frances McDormand and John Malkovich.

Rosie Huntington-Whiteley has replaced Megan Fox as the love interest for LaBeouf, and her duties in the picture consist solely of being ogled by Bay’s camera and consistently thrown in the way of danger.

Our first view of the actress is a low angle shot from behind of her climbing the stairs in a pair of skimpy underwear. Anyone want to guess what is at the center of focus?

The filmmakers have toned down the racial caricatures that plagued “Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen,” and the crudely drawn Twins, Skids and Mudflap, are missing this time around. Unfortunately, the film is not free of unflattering ethnic portrayals.

Bay also consistently mines our national tragedies for the sake of entertainment. One of the film’s more creative sequences involves LaBeouf and a group of marines sliding down a crumbling glass building. But the scene culminates with people hanging over the Chicago skyline as papers flutter in the air and desk chairs sail out into the sky. It’s a reminder of Sept. 11, 2001 that should probably be left out of a film based on a collection of Hasbro toys.

The film is a nonstop barrage of mind and ear-numbing violence, all of which is bloodless. Humans get tossed around and smacked into buildings with nary a scratch, while screaming crowds get evaporated, leaving their skulls to fall and roll around on the pavement.

And Bay’s film is so frantically edited that it is often difficult to understand who is shooting at whom and which of his gigantic bots are battling.

“Dark of the Moon” may not be the summer’s worst movie so far – I’d vote for “The Hangover Pt. II” in that category – but it’s certainly the most headache inducing.

On the complete opposite side of the spectrum is Tom Hanks’ laid-back romantic comedy, “Larry Crowne.”

The film, which was mostly panned by critics, takes a while to get where it’s going, but eventually finds a relaxed, breezy rhythm.

In the picture, Hanks plays the titular character, who has been laid off from his managerial position at a Walmart-type store, where he appears to have worked for years.

A neighbor (Cedric the Entertainer) convinces Crowne to sign up for classes at a local community college, where he stumbles across all manner of characters, including a beautiful young woman (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), a kooky economics teacher (George Takei, of “Star Trek”), a biker (Wilmer Valderrama) and a bitter speech teacher (Julia Roberts).

The film stumbles mostly when it tries to play too cute and quirky with its cast of eccentrics. But the film mostly just glides along on the charm and performances of its two megastars – Hanks and Roberts.

And it certainly does not deserve the critical drubbing it has taken. It’s a light, but enjoyable, character-driven picture.

This week’s anti-“Transformers” is Romanian director Christi Puiu’s “Aurora,” a bleak and glacially-paced three-hour drama about a budding sociopath.

Puiu, who directed 2006’s acclaimed healthcare horror show “The Death of Mr. Lazarescu,” is working in the most stripped-down mode imaginable.

The film’s protagonist, Viorel (played by Puiu himself), commits several murders during the picture’s proceedings, but there are seemingly no reasons for any of the crimes. Much of the film is dedicated to Viorel thinking over his actions in his cruddy dwelling or going about his daily routines.

But while the epic length of “Mr. Lazarescu” felt necessary, “Aurora” is an endurance test. It’s a case of where less could have been more.