Mark Wahlberg

A concussed serenity sets in somewhere in the middle of the ceaseless ballet of metal and machismo in Michael Bay’s “Transformers: The Last Knight.” Freed of concerns like plausibility or story, you can simply gape in wonder at the ruthlessly thunderous images in front of you. Maybe that’s the feeling of brain cells dying a painful, anguished death. It’s a sensation I imagine cornered boxers sometimes experience while blow after blow rains down upon them. Dazed by the unrelenting digital…

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