Transformers: Rise of the Beasts

The air in 1994 Brooklyn smells like Timb boots and diesel fumes, or at least that’s the vibe Steven Caple Jr. (who directed Creed II) wants us to inhale deeply. For those of us who grew up in the era of Saturday morning cartoons and the pixelated glory of the original Beast Wars series, walking into a theater for Transformers: Rise of the Beasts felt less like a movie screening and more like a high-stakes high school reunion. I watched this while sitting next to a guy who was wearing a vintage "Maximal" t-shirt that had definitely seen better days, and his whispered "Yes!" when the first metal gorilla appeared on screen was the exact energy this franchise needed to survive.

After the bloated, chrome-plated exhaustion of the later Michael Bay entries, I’ve found myself approaching these films with a healthy dose of skepticism. We are firmly in the era of "franchise fatigue," where every giant robot fight feels like it was generated by an algorithm designed to sell toys and occupy IMAX screens during a slow June. Yet, Rise of the Beasts manages to scrape off some of the rust by grounding itself in a specific time and place, trading the military-fetishism of previous films for a story about two kids from Brooklyn just trying to keep their heads above water.

A New Species of Hero

The human element here is arguably the strongest it's ever been. Anthony Ramos, who many of us loved in In the Heights, plays Noah Diaz, an ex-military electronics expert who is basically a regular guy struggling with healthcare costs for his younger brother. Opposite him is Dominique Fishback (Judas and the Black Messiah) as Elena, a museum researcher who is actually smarter than the robots she’s helping. For the first time in a decade, the humans don’t feel like annoying ants we’re waiting for the robots to step on. They have actual agency, and their stakes—paying the bills and proving their worth in a system that ignores them—feel surprisingly real for a movie about a planet-eating god named Unicron.

Then there’s Mirage. Voiced by Pete Davidson, this silver Porsche 911 is the undisputed MVP of the film. While Optimus Prime (Peter Cullen, still sounding like he’s narrating the end of the world) is stuck in his usual "we must protect this planet" brooding mode, Mirage is cracking jokes and building a genuine bond with Noah. The movie works best when it stops trying to save the world and starts being a buddy-cop movie between a guy and his silver Porsche. It’s a dynamic that feels inspired by the 2018 Bumblebee spin-off, proving that smaller, character-driven moments actually mean more than a thousand CGI explosions.

The Beast Wars Gambit

Of course, the big draw here is the Maximals. For a specific subset of 90s kids, this was the equivalent of an Avengers level event. Seeing Optimus Primal (voiced with a perfect, gravelly weight by Ron Perlman) and Airazor (Michelle Yeoh, fresh off her well-deserved Oscar win for Everything Everywhere All at Once) brings a mythological weight to the proceedings. The character designs are a massive improvement over the "shredded tin foil" look of the mid-2000s; you can actually tell who is hitting whom during the big climax.

Speaking of the action, Caple Jr. brings a much-needed sense of geography to the fights. There is a sequence on the switchback roads of Peru that is genuinely thrilling, utilizing the verticality of the mountains and the unique transformations of the Maximals in a way that feels fresh. It’s not just noise; it’s choreography. Peter Dinklage voices the villainous Scourge with a menacing, industrial rasp that actually makes the threat feel credible, even if we all know the good guys aren't going to lose the Earth on a Tuesday afternoon.

Stuff You Might Have Missed

Behind the scenes, the production was a massive undertaking that leaned into the current industry trend of seeking out spectacular, real-world locations to balance out the digital effects. They actually filmed in Machu Picchu and the city of Cusco, which involved hauling heavy equipment into high-altitude areas where modern vehicles often aren't even allowed. This gives the middle act of the film a texture that a green-screen studio in Atlanta just can't replicate.

Interestingly, Pete Davidson apparently improvised a significant portion of his dialogue, which explains why Mirage feels so much more "online" and contemporary than the other Transformers. There's also the matter of the soundtrack—a heavy rotation of Wu-Tang Clan and Notorious B.I.G. that acts as a heartbeat for the film’s 1994 setting. It’s a reminder that during this era of cinema, the "vibe" of a movie is often just as important as the plot. The film also made waves for its final scene—which I won't spoil here, but let's just say it signals a "shared universe" ambition that suggests Paramount is finally ready to play the same game as Marvel.

Ultimately, Transformers: Rise of the Beasts is a solid, meat-and-potatoes blockbuster that knows exactly what it is. It doesn't reinvent the wheel, but it certainly gives it a better set of tires and a much cooler paint job. I walked out of the theater feeling like I’d actually had a good time, rather than just surviving a two-hour assault on my eardrums. If you have any lingering affection for the 90s or just want to see a giant mechanical gorilla punch a robot in the face, this is more than worth your five minutes.