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Up until 2007, the children of the '80s were a criminally under-serviced box office demographic. Sure, they were satisfied by the Spider-Men and Viggo Mortensens offered up to appease them. But it wasn't until Michael Bay came along with a spigot in the form of a truck that turned into a robot that their real money-spewing potential was tapped. By stimulating memoires of Saturday mornings plopped in front of the TV, a geyser of Paul Thomas Anderson proportions exploded upwards. But instead of oil, it was cash. Reportedly, Bay actually would've preferred oil, a lot easier than CGI-ing fuel for all those tanks and helicopters.

Transformers revealed that 1980s cartoons could turn out to be a source of one the most coveted substances in all the Box Office Land, the built-in audience. This on its own is nothing rare. Nicholas Sparks has a freaking built-in audience. But what was so remarkable with Transformers was the size. It was Harry Potter, Stars Wars, and Spider-Man big. And whereas those films are their own self-contained franchises, able to churn out a film every two to four years, each one of these cartoons could potentially all have multiple sequel franchises of their own. They're easily adaptable, and the episodic format is designed to go from one to the next, not unlike a comic book. Therefore, they don't run out of story, like say Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. There also isn't any real strict mythology that surrounds them, either, giving studios a lot of leash when throwing a plot together. You don't have to worry about crazed fanboys having conniptions over Megatron's paint job.

So basically, they're the ideal template for a film franchise. As long as people are shelling out cash they'll keep getting made. I can only imagine the studio executive who discovered this, out on his balcony overlooking the Hollywood Hills, dressed up in his Darth Vader costume, as he says, "Think of it, a whole army of franchises that people don't care are driven by special effects rather than characters! Not even Pixar would be able to stop us!" He raises a clenched fist. Cue Imperial March.

This theory is all well and good, but up until recently, Transformers was the only show to be adapted, albeit to astronomical success. This past weekend was the real test to see if the Saturday mornings of the '80s are a goldmine.

Marketing for G.I. Joe was shameful but - I'm sorry - brilliant. By handpicking trash-friendly reviewers to create a turn-your-brain-off-and-go-along-for-the-ride buzz, they were able to cover up the stench of the rotting Vampire corpse left over from director Stephen Sommers' previously embarrassing effort Van Helsing. This plan seemed to work, even I was tricked into thinking I might actually enjoy myself by a review that said it had fun, inventive action sequences. Of course, it was just another warmongering, pro-military destruction show, which is kind of a disturbing trend that's developing in films of this ilk. I did, however, find it interesting that despite taking place in the near future, since the Pyramids are still intact you must infer that the "Devastator-ing" events of Transformers 2 have not yet taken place. This also begs the question: Where the hell were the Joes with all their crazy gadgets when Megatron and his baddies started tearing them up? G.I. Joe and the Autobots? Now that's what I call a movie. I think Jerry Bruckhiemer's ears just perked up.

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