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Today's LAT examines the Job-like trials that fauxteur fashion plate Michael Bay had to endure (budget problems! an abbreviated shooting schedule! torrential downpours sent by a God who's obviously not a fan of his work!) to finally ready The Island for release. In the course of recounting the various obstacles he surmounted during production, Bay once again touts the film's philosophical and ethical underpinnings ("I wanted people to leave the theater saying, 'If I could own a clone, would I?'" a query previously discussed at length here), perhaps to demonstrate that his struggles were for a higher purpose than the frequent detonation of futuristic-looking shit. However, the Times saves Bay's most troubling existential mind-fuck for the final paragraph:

"You know," he says somewhat reflectively, "I've never had a flop."

Please, we beg of you, don't even attempt to puzzle through the enigma of Bay's track record, lest you go insane, impulsively book a trip to Dharamsala, and try to throttle the Dalai Lama in a fruitless search for answers. Some mysteries are better left unexamined, grasshopper.