Breaking News! Bay says " The haters won. He is no longer making TF3

btw, we all do acknowledge that that's going to happen, right? 2012 is it. No more. We'll all cease to be. Which is why I'm so bummed to hear reports that we won't get a new Batman until 2013.

What are you doing, John?

1. Great Cast.

2. Great visuals.

Reason not to see this film:

1. Roland Emmerich.

I think all of his films have made great trailers, but when you stretch them out to 2 hours they fall apart.

Nope. Not going to see this one either, even if Emmerich is the master of making CG buildings collapse.

Ok, guess we'll just have to watch the movie to find their sexual orientation. (prob paedo though).

'Drifters' at the drive in? 'Slackers' at the cinema. 'Bums' on the seats. 'Lazy cunts' on their couches.

FUCK OFF AND GET A JOB YOU JOBLESS CUNTS. FUCKING WELFARE IS NOT MEANT TO PAY FOR YOU TO WATCH TRANSPORTER 3. SPONGING ASSHOLES!!!

Fortunately Roland makes far better casting decisions than Andrew Stanton.

Good to see Amanda Peet is still getting the occasional (hopefully) lucrative role.

1. a pimp.

2. a campily effeminate male.

Origin: 1870–75; of obscure orig.

Pon⋅ce  /ˈpɔnsɛ/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [pawn-se] Show IPA

–noun a seaport in S Puerto Rico. 161,739.

I wanna know, will Beaks be so drunk that he gets kicked out of the theatre?

for my money, Independence Day and The Day After Tomorrow are pretty damn fun, and Godzilla and 10,000 BC are horrible. this sounds like it's more in the vein of the first 2, so I'm optimistic. plus, Cusack is always good. remember how much he did with his throwaway role in Con Air?

I hate to advocate brainless silly movies, since I think you can have popcorn fun AND a brain (Dark Knight, Iron Man, Indiana Jones [the old versions]) but still, this does look pretty damn cool.

still, they was around for over a thousand years before the romans, just had to point that out.

the conspiracy theories around their prophecies are retarded, however. on par with nostradamus and scientology.

Sommers is Bay lite, but Emmerich is his own breed of suck. but we are comparing shit to shit here.

drewlicious: 2038 is a doomsday date, as the 32-bit clock hits wrapsaround to negative (64-bit clocks won't have an issue until 292,277,026,596)

As for whether or not it will be dated ... people still groove to Prince's 1999. If it's good, people will still watch it.

BSB: Thanks for the definition of Ponce. So what do people have against faggots in a puerto rican village then?

Fucking retards.

My my.

ZING!!

In that age (not really long ago in time, but long ago in other bridges crossed, which we shall not return by again), certain things were possible that are not now; and contrariwise, things we know not to have happened indubitably had then; and there were other differences large and small, none able now to be studied, because this is now, and that was then.

Actually, the world ("the world": all this; time and space; past, present, future; memory, stars, correspondences, physics; possibilities and impossibilities) has undergone such an agony more than once, many times maybe within the span of human life on earth, as we measure that life now in our age. And whenever it does happen, there comes a brief moment-a moment just as the world turns from what it has all along been into what it will from then on be-a brief time when every possible kind of universe, all possible extensions of Being in space or time, can be felt, poised on the threshold of becoming: and then the comer is turned, one path is taken, and all of those possibilities return into nonexistence again, except for one, this one. The world is as we know it now to be, and always has been; everyone forgets that it could be, or ever was, other than the way it is now.

But suppose the world is in fact now coming to an end, the world of Meaning we have always lived in. And suppose that the Powers who must make from it a new one—one that will be just like the old one in most but not all respects—are mulling just now over what sort the new world might be, and what garb they themselves might appear in too. If that’s the case, then that old multilayered earth and its shape-shifting travellers would have to be among the worlds from which they could choose—mutatis mutandis, the same but never exactly the same, take a little out of the waist and plump the shoulders. More likely not, though; more likely they’ll choose something entirely different this time, something in a fierce hound’s-tooth maybe, or a moiré taffeta, eye-fooling, iridescent: can’t you see them (I can) moving amid the racks and counters fingering the goods, unable to decide, all possibilities laid out before them once again before they make their choice, thereafter to pretend (once again) that everything has always been this way, that they themselves have all along had these aspects and not others, rank on rank, the army of unalterable Law?

When the world ends it ends differently for each person then alive to see it, each person who chances to see it among all the other things to be seen and felt and understood around us all the time; and then very soon it begins again. And almost everyone persists, almost unchanged, into the new world, which is exactly like the old one in almost every respect, or seems to be in the brief moment when the old world can still be remembered.

Almost everyone.

The creatures of the passage time do not persist, who only came into existence for the length of time the world wavered undecided over what shape it would take next; they dissolve or are dismembered like the Golem, or they vacate their bodies and leave only bones, like the beings of the night sky who have left only bright dotted lines to show where once they were. And there are those who cannot persist because the new age was made out of their substance; the world ended in their knowledge that it would, and the new world was born of their ignorance of what it could be.

When the West was endless, a sea reaching into the sunset, that was where the beasts and heroes of an old age went at last, stepping aboard a ship restless at anchor, the sign of Cancer painted on their sails. After it had all been swept into the unrecoverable again, Rosicrucian brothers fleeing, the Stone, the Cup, the Rose all blown away again like leaves; under a fuliginous and pitchy sky (dawn due to come, but otherwhere and elsewhen than there and then) they would be gathered up, the one by one by an old man, his beard white as milk and a star on his forehead. Gathered up. Come along now, for our time is past.

So now too.

Well how?

With Hermes Mercurius, Messenger and Trickster, Shepherd of men into the land of death. At the end of every age he comes to ingather the gods and heroes of that age, who won’t survive its dissolution, to his City, which will at that time come to be in the westernmost limit of his disappearing land. Come along now it’s time.

One of their number though left behind in the storm of the world. They seal him in a boat and set him afloat on the years, to be both the message and the messenger. Like Jor-El amid the vastation of Krypton, sealing his own son within the capsule that will carry him into the far future and another world, to grow up not knowing his name or nature, the only one of his kind.

One time it was the man-king Hermes himself, the Thrice-great, self-interred or maybe helped into bed by his even greater progenitor, ibis-headed Theuth. Found centuries later, the Smaragdine Tablet gripped in his white hands. In a cave or something supposedly. And then there’s the Rosicrucians’ story of their founder, discovered in a tomb in a room in a cave.

Then at last would be the Great Instauration, not all at once or without costs or sorrows, but as last everywhere: a backward revolution, a backflip of wonder performed to turn the progress of the world around like a galleon and head it again for the Age of Gold, which lies in the past, in the beginning, but which could now be sought for in the time to come, as Hermes Thrice-great in Ægypt so long ago predicted: the restoration of all good things in the course of time by the will of God. Or by means of the gods, as the Giordanisti would always say it; meaning by gods nothing other than the Reasons of the World: the grammar of divine fecundity endless and ordered, the reasons that make all things to be as they are and yet make them always capable of transformation, the reasons that work and will go on working forever, just because they can: we call them gods because they are within us, because they made our bodies and our minds for us too, because we recognize their faces from long ago, because we love and need and fear them, every one.

And that is how the world came to be in which we would come to be. This world, our great wide wonderful beautiful world, and our benignant sun, Sol Apollo, since then grown even larger and more kind; and the great good beings who, like our Terra, circle him in love, those animals whom in time our æronauts will set out to visit, on winged ships that will be drawn up into the air and beyond the moon’s sphere by Will and his cousin Eros. Our seas teeming with metamorphosis, the great gems growing in our caves, watched over by solitary dæmons; our walled and towered cities guarded too by their own genii, our famous colleges and abbeys where no sort of wisdom is forbidden and no error punished except by laughter. Our many well-loved monarchs, kings, and emperors holding their inoffensive dream empires together simply by sitting still at their centers like queen bees, to be fed on royal jelly by wise magi, who then can draw from those princes’ fattened hearts the alphabet of all good things, Peace, Plenty, Justice, Delight, Wisdom, and Comfort. Mere signs, yes: but signs are food and nurture for us, they are in fact all the food and nurture that we need: all of us in here.

honestly, as soon as I saw the first fissure, or the first tidal wave, that's what I'd be thinking:

"FUCK!! All that time wasted on recycling!! That's like 2 days more I could have been playing Call of Duty!!"

They are uncertain about whether or to not to cross the threshold, but they only have a short time left before their Earth is destroyed.

They enter the portal, as they come through they are scattered across the globe, for instance one arriving in Central Park, one in Shibuya, Tokyo, and even some in the ocean. We start to see realise though that the people that went through the portal are different, changed somehow. They have in fact become exploding zombies.

With 10,000 zombies on our planet all producing an explosion of a small nuke, who who will stop them, who will save our Earth?

Roland still not hooked, then quite simply there will be a sh#tload of explosions and total destruction, not just one Earth being destroyed, but two !!!

Fuck..ya know making a movie about that would have been a lot more entertaining and thought provoking (The choices people make when faced with certain oblivion) than yet another tired disaster flick.

Or you could just film a documentary on the typical Los Angeles Lakers fan after a Championship win...End of the World/Basketball Championship...it all leads to looting and raping.

Haven't seen the last Emmerich crapfests but this really looks kinda cool.

Plus... Oliver Platt? Comedy gold, I'm there.

Oh, and Con Air was _awesome_.

Also, now that we have this and it's plot/ending...and if GI JOE really is as big a turd as inside reports say it is...I guess this means the big budget Stephen Sommers directed/Steven Spielberg produced remake of WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE is now officially shit canned.

December 22nd arrives...."oh sh#t"

(Waah! Global Climate Change ain't real! Limbaugh sez so, and if you can't trust a drug addict, who can you trust?!).

No political message here, except...SHOULDA LISTENED TO TH' MAYANS!

As I said above, there is an argument that the Mayans are the oldest. It may be the Chinese though, it's hard to say for sure.

And what's with the Kennedy hate? Is Roland a stinking crypto-fascist?

That last is a joke, by the way.

Now choose!

Instead of The Day After Tomorrow, which rammed human-induced global warming and climate change down our throats, 2012 is all about the futility of religious belief! In the end, don't look to God for help - because only man can save man!

Oooohhh, did you see the irony of the US Warship taking out the White House? I guess American politicians get what's coming to them for being such bullies. Puh-leaze.

And making Danny Glover the US president is the funniest thing I've ever seen! Roland Emmerich must really hate America. Why didn't he just cast Hugo Chavez as our president? Oh, I get it. Oliver Platt is supposed to play Chavez! Does Chavez end up saving the human race? With Ahmadinejad's help, of course. And Fidel Castro!

They all fund the humanitarian mission to Mars, or whatever the fuck idiocy this movie has decided to try and ram down our throats. What a pile of garbage. Count me the fuck out. You idiots go have yourselves a gay old time at the movies.

It is beyond offensive to anyone with a modicum of brainpower - not just "right-wingers" like myself. And it isn't about politics. Most of Emmerich's films are offensive to people with good taste. Apparently that segment of the population isn't well-represented on AICN.

By all means, throw your money away on this crapfest. Knock yourself out. But I call it like I see it. It's a lowest-common-denominator night at the movies, with anti-American, anti-Religious sentiment generously sprinkled throughout.

If that gets your rocks off, more power to ya'. It just says a lot about you.

As for the nutbags like Von Daniken, Hancock, etc., their spiritual successors are the Planet X nutjobs and the faked moon landing people.