变形金刚5：最后的骑士
Transformers: The Last Knight
Rendező:
Michael BayOperatőr:
Jonathan SelaZeneszerző:
Steve JablonskySzereplők:
Mark Wahlberg, Anthony Hopkins, Josh Duhamel, Laura Haddock, Isabela Merced, Santiago Cabrera, John Turturro, Stanley Tucci, Peter Cullen, Jean Dujardin (több)Streaming (5)
Tartalmak(1)
Az utolsó lovag szétzúzza a Transformers sorozat alapmítoszát, és átírja azt, hogy mit is jelent hősnek lenni. A emberek és az alakváltók háborúban állnak, és Optimusz Fővezér nincs többé. Jövőnk megmentésének kulcsa a múlt titkaiba van temetve, a Transzformerek rejtélyes földi történelmébe. Világunk megmentése egy valószínűtlen szövetség kezében van, melynek tagjai Cade Yeager (Mark Wahlberg), Űrdongó, egy angol Lord (Sir Anthony Hopkins) és egy oxfordi professzor (Laura Haddock). Mindenki életében eljön a pillanat, amikor helyt kell állnia. A TRANSFORMERS - AZ UTOLSÓ LOVAGban ez üldözöttekből hősök lesznek. A hősökből gonosztevők lesznek. Csak egy világ élheti túl: vagy az övék, vagy a miénk. (Bontonfilm)
(több)Videók (38)
Recenziók (13)
That hurt. Transformers is really going downhill and it's one of the few franchises I've become sick of and I wish they wouldn't make another film. The two and a half hours drag on like a brick wall, Anthony Hopkins is annoying, the kids are uninteresting, the story is very flat, I have no idea what the hell was going on, the script is a mess, it's like the studio was scrapping and slapping in everything they could think of. There isn't that much action, and you watch the finale with an annoyed aftertaste and a sore ass. The only good thing is the opening battle with King Arthur, which had a hell of a lot of balls, and I really hope Michael Bay takes a break from the robots and serves us a proper medieval battle instead, where I believe he'd rip everyone's balls off. Unfortunately I didn't have much fun either, at least Isabel Moner was nice to look at. 45%
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Maybe it’s a bit more moderate and not as soul-destroying as the fourth film, but it’s still the worst film of the series, and of Bay's entire production line. Everything that ever made his films bad is multiplied here to monstrous proportions. The appearance is as polished as a Mercedes prototype and as voluptuous as the curves of Oxford doctor Laura Haddock. Every (and I mean every, as I realized after an hour) shot is over-stylized kitsch, which is also subordinated to the fact that if the protagonists are supposed to stand in the counter-shot of the falling sun, the sunset will last the whole day (check your watch during the finale). And somewhere beneath the surface of this twisted fetish is a plot that makes not a drop of sense. The series has never been brimming with deep intelligence, but it has always balanced it with a certain amount of craziness and lowbrow fun (Devastator's balls). Here, the plot goes nowhere for the first hour, and with the move to England, it loses the last vestiges of normal creative progression about building, development, continuity, and at least a drop of logic. Everything is absent, and even though Anthony Hopkins feels this is one big creative misstep, he nevertheless enjoys it with sloppy elegance. And that's it. Michael Bay is the last knight of cinematic ridiculousness.
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151 minutes. Of that, some 60 minutes could go immediately. And cut the rest. And just leave the finale. And throw that out, too... The Fifth Transformers were a pain to watch. Michael Bay more or less does what you expect him to do, but otherwise it's a schizophrenic spectacle. At one point it feels like a kids' movie. then we get some big military sci-fi, followed by a teen comedy featuring Anthony Hopkins instead of Stiffler, and then there's some robot carnage for a while. Bayhem works properly. If it entertained you before, it will entertain you this time. Unfortunately Transformers loses on all other fronts. The characters fail to engage, the humour is hammy, the plot moves in weird jumps so that most of the time I had no idea what was happening on screen or whether Mark Wahlberg and Josh Duhamel were already buddies or still adversaries. And I really can't say that I remember anything positive from those two and a half hours. So, in the end, I was most impressed with the opening hour, which doesn't even try to pretend to have any purpose other than to introduce as many cute little robots as possible taking a toy store by storm. This cynical and pragmatic approach deserves respect.
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“I don’t know what you’re smoking in that pipe, man.” That's exactly what I missed in Guy Ritchie’s King Arthur – a three-headed robodragon! Michael Bay has never known moderation, nor has he ever had any reverence for narrative logic or respect for the limits of good taste, but he ostentatiously mocks them only in The Last Knight. However, he only rarely attempts to mask the imbecility of his ideas with self-parodic exaggeration and a knowing wink at the viewer. It is not enough to show him a drunken medieval wizard. He has to make him say something along the lines of like “I’m drunk” and turn up the bottle. One of the few hints of self-awareness is Cade’s remark about the striptease outfit worn by Viviane Wembly (a name straight out of a Moore-era Bond film), a holder of three academic degrees with perfect body proportions, who is dressed and photographed through most of the film so that we notice her legs, ass and breasts (expensive sports cars are traditionally also the objects of similar fetishisation). ___ The screenplay was apparently based on a recording of a conversation among a group of teenagers about everything that they would like to see in their dream movie. An update of the Arthurian myth with robot knights? Sure. The watch that killed Hitler? Why not? Dinobots breathing fire and vomiting police cars? You got ’em. Anthony Hopkins acting like an adolescent? Of course. This literary jumble was subsequently entrusted to a hyperactive child named Michael Bay, who has enough trouble sustaining an idea and maintaining causality between individual scenes, let alone across a two-and-a-half-hour narrative. Even though I conscientiously took notes throughout the film and paid maximum attention to what the characters were saying and doing, I cannot reconstruct the plot a mere hour (let alone a day) after the screening so that there aren’t numerous gaps in logic and a number of unanswered questions such as “how did character X get from point A to point B?”, “what role did characters Y and Z play in the narrative?”, "what made anyone assume that anyone else would act that way?” I really don’t know what John Turturro and a teenage girl with a robot conspicuously reminiscent of WALL-E were doing in the film, or why a Transformer named Hot Rod attempted to speak with a funny French accent (if we ignore the fact that Bay apparently finds national, ethnic and gender stereotypes funny). I suppose the filmmakers didn’t know either, assuming that the target audience (kids up to the age of 15) would not ask similar questions. ___ At the same time, however, I spent the whole time wondering if perhaps Michael Bay was ahead of his time and made an avant-garde masterpiece, the most technically sophisticated bit of Dadaist art ever, which viewers will admire in a few decades just as much as we admire Man with a Movie Camera today. If The Last Knight can evoke anything other than a feeling of apathy and intellectual defeat (because you have failed in your attempt to find any meaning or order in it), it is amazement at how it looks from start to finish (at least in 3D and IMAX). It remains true that few people are able to direct such epic, uncluttered and breathtaking 3D action scenes like Michael Bay, who can no longer be bothered to take the story into consideration. And why should he? Story is dead, long live the cinema of (purely non-intellectual) attractions! It was astonishing and I was royally entertained, but if I had to watch it again, my head would explode. 60%
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Michael Bay has finally eradicated even the last remnants of his greatest enemy: logic. He serves us a divine 151 minutes of eclectic spewing of unspoken / discontinuous motifs. This is finally an abstraction that was only in its infancy in the previous half-timing hypnagogic installation. A spectacular ADHD attack that begins at the end and then progresses to an admitted self-parody. At the same time, it contains the mutated bacteria of several films, which the director's feverishly working mind will never allow to overcome the embryonic stage and moves on. Bay's ability to move in the narrative chaos and find a robotic order in it is liberating to surreal. Finally! The first film that gives the impression that it was created by a combination of a random generator of trending motifs and a wonderfully ill human mind. It may seem like a recession on my part, but I mean it. Compared to Transformers 5, other blockbusters feel like a careful game of certainty. I couldn't tear myself away from this eruption of confusing, yet strictly arranged shapes; I wasn't bored for even a second. The best, most detached and strangest Bay film. I urge anyone who gives it five stars to call me on the secret line. I will pass them on silently to Witwicky. They are the people of the future. Or the people of a world that will never happen. Robots write human history and chat with John Turturro on Cuban beaches. All the power to imagination and Optimus!
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Photo © Paramount Pictures
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