Few franchises can match the Transformers movies for thunderous stupidity. It’s a series that tends to take a giant metal fist (with added bazooka attachments) to storytelling niceties such as plot coherence and character nuance. It delivers a frequently overwhelming and nonsensical viewing experience that feels like trying to cross the road during a monster truck rally. It’s loud, brash and aggressive. And that’s fine, I guess. Sometimes all you need from a movie is a bunch of self-aggrandising metal monsters bashing the rivets off each other.
With its tradition of dyed-in-the-wool dumb-assery and its loyal and defensive fans (the only time I ever received a death threat from a reader was after a one-star pan of Michael Bay’s 2007 picture), the Transformers franchise is not an obvious contender for reinvention. But the latest instalment, the slickly animated and sharply scripted Transformers One, which explores the previously untold origin story of Optimus Prime and rival Megatron, feels like a refreshingly new breed of Autobot adventure – one that has been notably souped-up in the brains department.
