I put off watching Michael Bay's “Transformers” for two years, but the hype for its summer tent pole sequel pushed my curiosity over the edge.

To be sure, “Transformers” is terrible. All of Bay's blustery hallmarks are intact: Laughably poor dialogue, ineptly filmed action sequences and swelling orchestral music that screams “What's happening now is very important!” at almost every turn of the film.

The product placement - fast cars, caffeinated soda, etc. - is obnoxiously omnipresent, if appropriately targeted. Perhaps the only highlight of the movie is Shia LaBeouf's surprising charisma as Sam Witwicky, the horny high school student who mistakes his first car - a ‘76 Chevy Camaro sheathing a benevolent Transformer named Bumblebee - for a babe magnet. Well, Bumblebee tries to be a babe magnet too - when it plays romantic music through its radio as Sam gives hottie Mikaela Banes (Jolie-in-training Megan Fox) a ride home in a face-palming scene early in the film.

Witwicky's wooing is interrupted by Bumblebee, Optimus Prime and the other Autobots, who seek a hand-me-down pair of glasses from the boy's Arctic seafaring grandfather. Imprinted in the spectacles is some sort of clue to the location of the Allspark, a cryptic cube of cosmic energy that would give the Autobots' enemies, the Decepticons, enough transformative power to kill Earth - or something.

Along the way, John Turturro delightfully hams it up as a Man in Black trying to capture Bumblebee and generally get in the way of our heroes. Jon Voight plays a kind of hokey secretary of defense. And a bunch of big metallic things smash into each other in claustrophobically filmed battle sequences that bludgeon the senses with buzzsaw noises and blinding flashes.

Might be a while before I see the next one.