It's a very old article, but still interesting.
But, really, what the hell is Bay's problem? Why can't he engage the Frankenheimer matter in any kind of serious, subtle, thoughtful or feeling way? Maybe this is to be expected, given the types of movies he has made. But maybe even those movies, at a cost of many millions of dollars, are simply giant-scale expressions of denial, a furious pushing away of everything that makes him uncomfortable. Maybe, too, they are Bay's big-budget cries for help, and so far no one, certainly none of the critics, has heard his sorrowful yaps. Could this be?
"Listen,'' he says, "I can be very reserved about things. My business side isn't shy. I can be like a general. But I've got a shy side. I'm also a lot deeper than people think, and a lot more sensitive. But I don't let people in too much.''
The next day, Bay arrives at his office in his Ferrari. Out of the blue, he announces that he's thinking of selling the Ferrari as well as the Porsche. "I need a more sensible car,'' he says. "Maybe I'll buy a sedan of some sort.''
A while later, his girl, Lisa, drops by. She is, of course, a blonde. She's wearing a supertight, curve-hugging red dress, with a classy peekaboo cutout about chest high, and to say that she is hot hardly does her justice. She is something else entirely. But all too soon she is gone.
more @ Rolling Stone