The first thing, and probably the only thing, you need to know about Michael Bay’s Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen is that at one pivotal point in the sequel the director’s camera lingers lovingly at two gigantic Decepticon balls precipitously hanging over the top of actor John Turturro’s head. I’m not talking about balls you throw in a basket, bounce against a wall or hit out of Safeco Field for a home run, either; I’m talking about the x-rated kind of balls, the ones that if they were human would instantly give this idiotic brain dead mess of fiasco a NC-17 from the MPAA.

Optimus Prime fights on in DreamWorks/Paramount Pictures' Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen

That is the height of what this horrifically overlong monstrosity considers to be funny. The pinnacle, the peak, the best thing it’s got up its sleeve, every loud, obnoxious, jingoistic, sexist, racist and grotesquely misogynistic second leading up to this one gag. It is the type of sequence overly hormonal seventh graders everywhere fantasize about and make fun of, projected in full 35mm glory across a theater screen with all the force and tenacity of swift kick to the groin and lingering slow motion Megan Fox breast shots.

Not that I should have been surprised. The first Transformers was hardly what I would call a success, and while the special effects and action sequences were indeed impressive the pubescent adolescent comedy and excessive bombast were anything but. It was a hodge-podge of hit versus miss, the former barely overcoming the latter by the slimmest of margins.

But nothing could have prepared me for this. All that was wrong with the initial adventure is amplified to the nth degree this time. The screenplay is a nonsensical mess sending returning hero Sam Witwicky (Shia LaBeouf) and his skimpily attired girlfriend Mikaela Banes (Fox) to Egypt after the college-bound teenager accidentally uncovers the Transformers’ ancient origins. Soon Megatron (Hugo Weaving) is resurrected, a creature named the Fallen (Tony Todd) is looking to block out the sun and Optimus Prime (Peter Cullen) and his Autobots must once again join forces with humanity to save the day.

Hey, I’m all for suspending disbelief but you’ve at least got to give me something of merit to hold onto in order for it happen. Here that just isn’t the case. Time has no meaning as it becomes increasingly impossible to figure out if hours, days or months have passed by from one scene to the next. People hop around the globe at a moment’s notice, while robots launch into crushing stretches of useless exposition for no apparent reason other than to pad the film’s already far too long running time.

On top of that, the Transformers have new abilities that are so incredible that I started to wonder why if they could disappear and assimilate so fantastically and with such ease would they instead revert to forms so colossal they become easy targets for every piece of hardware in the United States military’s suddenly impressive arsenal. Seems to me they would go all Terminator on the human race and beat us to bits from the inside out, laying waste to our species where they could do the most damage instead of spending so much time tracking down a kid still barely old enough to drive.

I will admit that the action sequences are far more impressive this time around, one battle royale in a forest so blindingly spectacular I’m loathe to say it had me sitting at the very edge of my seat. It is also must be stated that Bay stages large-scale spectacles of massive destruction better than just about anyone, the arrival of the Fallen and his minions an opulent eye-opener that left me both dazed and dazzled.

But so what? Scenes like this are in service of absolutely nothing. There is no substance here, no flesh on this carcass’ bones, the film a skeletal mass of aggression and anger that loathes the very audience it is asking to embrace it. Revenge of the Fallen punishes its audience, pummels them repeatedly into obedient submission while going out of its way to order them to fall in love with it or else.

I, for one, am not one of the transformed, and the day I have to try and sit through this ungodly mess of a sequel again is the very day I ask to be smacked upside the head by a two-by-four. While I was hoping for the best, not even I could have dreamed of a worst quite this bad, Bay’s final revenge the headache I’ve incurred spending so much time and effort writing about it. It is an abomination, pure and simple, and with that I have nothing else to say.