P.S. Santa Claus isn’t really real.

transforme- french for make your kid cry, 2009.

transforme- french for make your kid cry, 2009.

The boys have been on my case for the last month about the new Transformers movie…

I was reminded on a daily basis that it was coming… And that I would need to put on my big girl panties and brave the theaters as soon as it did. (For those of you new to the land of Shakespeare, movie theaters are out to get Judith. And her little dog too, if you know what I’m sayin’– And I think you do. Or maybe not. Whatever. It totally made sense in my head.) So, like the good “let my kids watch movies with guns and alien warfare” mom that I am, I set aside an extra $50 in last week’s budget, dropped the girl child off at my sister’s, and headed to the seven o’clock feature Wednesday evening.

Which, of course, was totally sold out.

So I bought tickets for the 7:30…

And then spent the next twenty minutes slapping my kids’ hands away from the six pounds of illegal candy stashed in my purse while they read over the free little Transformers comic books that the nice lady at the ticket counter handed us as we walked in…

Which, incidentally, gave away the majority of the plot of the movie we were just about to see.


The hodgepodge bundle of confusion previews before the movie included the trailer for the new Harry Potter, Ice Age 3, and Public Enemies… the latter causing That Middle One to immediately stick his hands over his eyes due to either the “man shooting at man” violence (as opposed to man shooting at robot violence, which is obviously acceptable) or the fact that I’ve ogled Johnny Depp so much during my child’s lifetime that the actor has simply become the equivalent of yucky grown-up kissing scenes and other random televised moments from which children run screaming.

Oh god…

Johnny Depp has totally become my child’s Freddy Krueger/The Thorn Birds.

That is just so wrong on so many levels.

The movie itself was what I expected and along the lines of the first movie, with the exceptions of the addition of more cursing (to which my child would basically scream at the screen, “That’s a baaad word!”) , the fact that you saw more people actually killed as opposed to implied killed (I prefer the implied killed, truth be told.), and the extremely unnecessary 45 minutes of scenes that switched back and forth between dude running in circles and random indiscernible robots fighting.

My kid, however, was NOT impressed.

[Hi! This is your friendly neighborhood spoiler warning. If the plot of a silly action flick precedes your desire to continue reading this witty and anecdotal post, I suggest you turn back now… and perhaps take another long life-look into your priorities.]

Dude, they killed Optimus Prime.

They. Killed. Optimus. Prime.

We were hardly into the movie at all when it happened, and I looked over to see the most heartbreaking devastation on his sweet little face as he watched the screen… There were tears in his eyes, people. TEARS.

And then he turned to me with a look that can only be decribed as,

“What in the ever-living HELL is going on here? What did they DO? Which DUMBASS is responsible for THIS? Mama, DOOOOO something!”

Followed by an adamant,

“It’s time to go home now, Mama.”

I patted his knee and reassured him that things would get better…

He was doubtful.

I then spent the next thirty or forty minutes watching as his little face fell farther and farther as it seemed the good guys could never win, all the while thinking myself, “What in the ever-living HELL is going on here? What did they DO? Which DUMBASS is responsible for THIS?”

The good guys were losing so much, that even the smallest coup received an exuberant yell and two little five-year-old hands thrown in the air with joy.

It. was. depressing.

When we finally got up for the obligulatory “important scene” bathroom break, he again told me that it was time to go home. This time, though, he threw in a quivering lip for good measure.

The quivering lip.


Balancing myself, as no clumsy person should, while using my foot to flush the toilet, I explained to him that they were going to bring Optimus back. Sam had a plan. And if theycould bring Mega-whatever-his-name-is back from the dead, then I’m certain, CERTAIN, that they could bring Optimus back as well.

He looked hopeful.

All was right with the world…

Then they killed Sam.


In the end, though, everything turned out fine… Good guys won.  Bad guys lost (but got away for another movie,of course).  Kid was happy (although perhaps a bit more jaded). And I finally got around to drinking that bottle of shiraz that I bought last week.

Another movie experience well spent.

Big girl panties, indeed.

June 29, 2009
Categories: Daily, I Heart Demerol, Prose/Bros

1.©2009 by Courtney Hebert as Judith Shakespeare.
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3.Blog title courtesy of Oscar Wilde, pseudonym Virginia Woolf, design JudithShakes.