
Ok, we’re not sure, exactly, how to say this. It’s, um … well … right, fine [deep breath]. We’ll just say it.
So Bumblebee is a spin-off of the Transformers series, those Michael Bay movies of sound and fury and volume and lukewarm metal-on-metal action that are based on a line of toys, because cinema. You probably remember him somewhere within the haze of your post–Transformers-movies-screening memories, as very few human beings can recall much from those trainwreck blockbusters about good ‘bots and bad ‘bots, cars and jets, the fate of the world (we think?), etc. He’s the one who’s yellow and black, hence the name. Good friend of Optimus Prime. Hates Decepticons. Turns into a bitchin’ Camaro.
And the movie … it’s good. Not just “not bad.” It’s actually good.
Imagine if John Hughes made a Transformers movie. Or: Think E.T., but with auto parts. Or, possibly: The Iron Giant, stuck in a world where only ’80s action movies and vintage teen-angst movies exist. Or — and here’s where things admittedly get weird — an extension of a franchise not known for anything besides “big robots make boom,” only one with personality, wit, tenderness, imagination, emotional grounding, performances that don’t get drowned out by din and a soundtrack that favors The Smiths over Imagine Dragons.
We know, it’s a lot to process. Feel free to take a minute.