Entertainment Weekly — Maybe it’s time to rewrite the Bill of Rights for...

Generally Speaking: Don’t be a douchebag.

For TV Shows That Release A New Episode Every Week: 24-hour grace period; no putting the name of the character who died in headlines or in tweets. But you are allowed to use code names or hashtags or otherwise non-specific descriptors that refer to The Thing That Happened, like “The Red Wedding” or “Six Minute Tracking Shot” or “Tread Lightly.” After 24 hours, it’s open season.

For TV Shows That Aired Months Ago in Britain: If you are the kind of person who watches the shows when they first air — presumably totally legally, when you’re visiting your British cousin specifically just to watch British television — then it is incumbent on you to presage anything you say about unaired episodes with “Well, I’ve already seen the season, so-” at which point everyone you’re talking to will cut you off.

For TV Shows That Release All Their Episodes At Once, Like Netflix:
24-hour grace period for the first episode of any all-in-one season, followed by a one-week grace period for the first four episodes, two weeks for 5-8, and three weeks for the full season.

For TV Shows Based on Books or Comic Books: Readers can talk about everything EXCEPT for character deaths. Also, everyone can do their best not to be a douchebag.

For Movies In General
Anything that happens in the first half-hour in a movie is not a spoiler. Everything after the first half hour should be clearly marked with a SPOILER ALERT until two Mondays after their release. Movies that initially open in limited release get a one-month grace period from their opening.

For Movies Based On Things: Movie adaptations are actually less problematic than their TV counterparts, since lately there’s been a rather exciting trend of films departing wildly from the source material. But in the interest of not being a douchebag, one ought always to err on the side of not ruining the movie experience.

For Videogames: Same three-week grace period as the season finales of binge-released TV shows. Not that it matters much, since there don’t seem to be any videogames coming out anymore.

For Books, mainly YA franchises: A two-week SPOILER ALERT grace period should be granted, since some readers have to go to school and do their homework, while other readers have to go to work and suffer from the crushing certainty that they should probably be reading a grown-up book.

And If You Live in California: Don’t go on any social media for three hours before your favorite show airs. Because we’re watching it on the East Coast, and we’ll probably talk about it. Get over yourself; you got all the good weather in this deal.

(More lengthy explanations for these rules are right over here.)

by Darren Franich

Even by the surprisingly flimsy standards of ’80s action cartoons, Transformers was not a good show. The toys were fun — this was back in more innocent days, when talking cars didn’t have tongues — but the cartoon was a parade of random robots with colorful names and zero personality. The one exception — really, the only reason why Transformers has become so iconic — was Optimus Prime. Designed like a cross between a medieval knight and a robo-Captain America, Prime had a surprising amount of character depth, especially considering that he was a tall robot machine that transforms into a truck. For one thing, he seemed to be the only Transformer who actually cared that they were, you know, the last of their race. There was a weird streak of melancholy in Prime — imagine Jack on Lost, except without the ability to cry all the time. He had compassion. He was not, in short, a homicidal war junkie who seems to get a delicious thrill from forcefully tearing his enemies in half. 

So of all the various offenses of Michael Bay’s Transformers trilogy, one in particular sticks out: The slow devolution of Optimus Prime from a caring leader to a homicidal ninja douche rocket. In Transformers: Dark of the Moon, Prime pays lip service to noble causes, saving humanity, etc., etc. But his actions don’t bear that out: If you read between the lines, Prime is actually something like the ultimate Michael Bay protagonist, a character who uses the cause of Goodness to justify every conceivable violent atrocity. Really, he’s a sociopath. He’s also a complete idiot.

Let me explain (Spoilers ahead, for anyone who still cares about plot, in which case you’re adorable): The final act of Transformers: Dark of the Moon begins when the Autobots are forced to leave Earth by the sniveling diplomats in the United Nations, who for some reason always think it makes sense to negotiate with gigantic evil robots who are called Decepticons, which would sort of be like negotiating with a terrorist group called “People Who Lie To the United Nations.” The Autobots’ rocket is then shot out of the sky by Patrick Dempsey, a sniveling corporate guy. And then the Great Chicago Massacre begins. We see buildings brought to the ground, Decepticons firing laser beams that explode civilians into ambient bloodfog, and because this is a PG-13 movie, we don’t see any grieving mothers or children with their faces burnt off, but predictably that is what would happen if giant evil robots purged a city of all living beings.

After 24 hours of this, the Autobots show up, and Prime reveals his brilliant stratagem: They faked their death to prove to those sniveling U.N. bureaucrats why they need the Autobots. Hold on this for a second. The Autobots have been on Earth this whole time, and they let Chicago burn to the ground… just to prove a point? Oh, thanks so much, Optimus Prime! My cousin in Chicago is dead because you had to be the biggest douche in the universe and wait for us humans to beg you for your help! What a hero!

Anyways, at this point, Prime kickstarts the last hour of the movie with a line that had everyone in my theater gasping: “We will kill them all.” That’s not an empty boast — the Autobots fight their way through Chicago killing every Decepticon in their way. I don’t want to sound like a wet blanket. A lot of this is pretty awesome. But the Prime that I remember was a real hero: He didn’t want to kill anyone. Compare that to Movie-Prime, who, in one eye-popping shot, flies down into the middle of a Decepticon squad and kills nine of them: He slices, he dices, he shoots, he punches through robo-hearts, and he grabs the last one by the throat and performs a fatal tracheotomy. All that’s missing is a scene where Prime bathes in the blood of the fallen Decepticons and screams, “I am become Death!”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love bloodthirsty action heroes, which is why Conan the Barbarian is basically my favorite action movie ever. But Conan has code of honor, and a grisly sense of humor. Prime is a just a self-righteous douchebag. The big twist of Dark of the Moon is that Prime’s mentor, Sentinel, is actually a bad guy — and, since Prime brought him back to life, he’s indirectly responsible for the complete destruction of Chicago, which you will remember he could have also stopped at any point, but he had to teach the U.N. a lesson. (At one point, Shia LaBeouf tells Prime, “It’s not your fault.” YES IT IS. TAKE SOME FREAKING RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOURSELF, YOU HIPPIE.)

At the end of the battle, Sentinel lies wounded, completely defeated. This is the point at which a real hero, say someone like Batman, would say something really clever and assert his moral superiority by taking Sentinel in custody.

Instead, Prime shoots him in the back of the head.

And when that doesn’t do the trick, he shoots him again.

So, in short, by the end of Transformers: Dark of the Moon, Optimus Prime has become a bloodthirsty idiot douche rocket with no moral code, who gladly sacrifices millions of lives in order to prove that humans can’t last long without his awesomeness. Who’s ready for a fourquel?