A stunning development could herald the return of one of the greatest way-above-the-title pairings in Hollywood history: that of superproducing entity Jerry Bruckheimer and überdirecting force Michael Bay, the former the explosion-loving ying to the latter's blowing-shit-up-obsessed yang. The pair's creative partnership resulted, of course, in some of the most beloved, absolutely-terrible blockbusters of the mid 1990s—but what project could satisfy their shared need for one mushroom-cloud-detonation per page and a stream of ham-fisted catchphrases that can only be fully appreciated when delivered by Nicolas Cage?