You name it, it gets shot up, blown up or otherwise obliterated in a massive fiery ball, from suburban homes and cars to aircraft carriers and even an Egyptian pyramid. Along the way, our sense of sanity and humanity also get destroyed, as we feel as if we are being held captive by these walking, talking, shape-shifting robots - both the good guys and the bad.
The Autobots and Decepticons aren't the only ones assaulting us in their epic battle: Regular people are just as obnoxious - probably more so - with their nonstop yelling and yammering. Everyone is overcaffeinated, everyone screams their lines, perhaps so they can hear each other over the explosions and the thunderous score.
Who knows, and more importantly, who cares? It is impossible to become emotionally invested in the Transformers, cool-looking as they may be when the movie settles down for a rare moment (the work of the venerable Industrial Light & Magic), because it's impossible to tell who's doing what to whom. It's all one messy amalgamation of twisted steel and shattered glass, accompanied by generic crunching and shrieking sounds. The only robots with any discernible personality traits, aside from bravery or antagonism, are the Autobot twins, Mudflap and Skids. These are shockingly crass and unfortunate black stereotypes, jive-talking fools who can't read and bumble their way from one mishap to the next. They are Jar Jar Binks in car form.
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