From The Awl.

Megan Fox is a magical Disney cartoon, a Jessica Rabbit run wild, and she eagerly invites the camera to attend to her every crevice and flesh-folded intersection. Even as an avowed homosexual, I cannot help but notice just how feverishly she thrusts her secret parts towards the camera at every opportunity. (Of course, the camera thrusts back, as it has the hideous, orc-like eye of “director” Michael Bay leering behind it, and clearly he is touching some grotesque and unnaturally short and discolored protuberance of his own flesh the whole while.) In a slightly worse world, Megan Fox would be the star not of Hasbro’s idiot “Transformer” franchise but of something that has the phrase “Double Penetration” in the title. All on her own, she is reeling back twenty years of gender and film studies textbooks. While we may have thought the male gaze was wilting or troublesome, Megan Fox proves that (for her and a select few others, at least) the male gaze is just some flimsy and pitiful little ray to rub her flesh up against so as to keep warm her nearly-exposed rump. She is hard to believe, with the soft kitty-cat stripper ways of a Gina Gershon melded with the hard machineness of a Linda Fiorentino.