Movie review: Fast & Furious

High-test hijinks

by John P. Meyer

Director Justin Lin has seemingly settled into the driver's seat of the high-test hijinks Fast & Furious series, as he returns to steer the latest entry - which is titled simply Fast & Furious, as opposed to the title of the original 2001 film, which went by The Fast and the Furious (dir. Rob Cohen).

(Note the "the"s, along with the actual "and" instead of the ampersand used in the present title. Guess the producers were in a hurry and couldn't afford to waste time on all those extra keystrokes.)

If you were to number-designate this mark (which the studio decided not to do), it would come in as #4, preceded by the just-discussed wordier original, then 2 Fast 2 Furious ('03) (with John Singleton at the controls) and finally The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift ('06), which found Lin horsing the directorial wheel away from his one-shot-wonder predecessors.

In similar fashion, Chris Morgan now finds himself doing sophomore duty in the writer's seat (replete with typewriter/keyboard controls, no doubt). Although, given the lineage of this cinematic narrative and its target demographic, the writing seems less crucial than the stunt driving. Of which there is plenty, in case anyone feared otherwise.

The current film picks up on the lives of Dom Toretto (Vin Diesel), his amorous partner in crime Letty (Michelle Rodriguez) and the undercover cop who almost busted them in the first go-round, Brian O'Conner (Paul Walker). To get the roll bar rolling we zoom in on Dom, Letty and gang as they attempt a rolling hijack of a multi-trailer pertroleum truck, which is clipping briskly down a deserted Dominican two-lane. It's meant to be the equivalent of a Cubby Broccoli James Bond cliffhanger intro, and this it indeed ends up being - complete with cliff.

Following the petrol heist, Dom learns that the law is hot on his trail and decides to split off from his compatriots (including the reluctant Letty, who's perfectly willing to risk jail time in order to be with her Dom). It's at this fork in the road that we get our first taste of the thoughtful, reflective Dom, as he broods over the sleeping form of his girlfriend, brows knitted. And it will not be the last occasion on which we encounter the brooding Dom with knitted brows, though it probably should have been.

(Still, without some kind of display of angst, there'd be a slew of film critics out there writing about how there was no character development in the film. So we'll allow it.)

Meanwhile, back in L.A., reinstated FBI agent O'Conner is on shaky ground that has nothing to do with the neighborhood fault line: his superiors and associates are skeptical of his dedication to the job, given the fact that he's previously allowed Dom to escape capture (ref. The Fast and the Furious). But Dom starts out as the least of the bureau's concerns, as there's a new street racing empresario in town, and he's using his gang of fast fellows to make drug runs into (and, more to the point, out of) Mexico. Following his own Broccoli-worthy cliffhanger intro (involving a rooftop footchase), O'Conner manages to finagle his way into an introduction to the ranks of this drug-running, street-race-condoning bad guy known as Braga.

No one outside his criminal organization even knows what Braga looks like, which adds a bit of mystery to the proceedings as both O'Conner and Dom (who takes up the cause in order to avenge the death of a loved one) attempt to infiltrate the Braga crime crew. Those we meet by name include Braga's right-hand man Campos (John Ortiz); Braga's left-hand woman Gisele (Israeli-born newcomer Gal Gadot - who is, just for the record, smokin' hot); and Braga's lead driver, an unremittingly bad-ass dude whose middle name ought to be "Surly": Fenix (Laz Alonso).

Justin Lin seems to have perfected the art of the close-up, fast-cut chase scene (though Paul W.S. Anderson gives him a pretty good run for his money in that regard). The action highlight of this movie comes about mid-way into its 107-minute run-time as Braga's lieutenants hold auditions for their next team driver, sending the competitors on a "five miles the hard way" mad dash through downtown L.A. - and woe betide the innocent bystanders (and by-commuters) who happen to be out and about when that mayhem commences. Thank God for GPS, as the drivers who are forced off-course have only to follow the dulcet-toned voice instructions to return to the path that will lead them to the finish line.

There are other inducements to seeing the film besides a latent teenage fascination for speed and street racing gear, and they can be summed up with the initials "T" and "A." Talk about your dream Hollywood jobs: whoever did the booty casting for this opus should have had to pay the filmmakers, rather than vice-versa.

Far be it from me to get overly-analytical about an adrenaline-laced actioner such as this, but I couldn't help noting that the plot has more (and bigger!) holes than the intakes on Dom's hemi. Let's start with the fact that, even though the FBI is out to arrest him, Dom hangs out at his well-known sister's house working on the SS Sports Coupe in the garage.

(Hello! Investigators! Feel the thunder?)

Furthermore, although we've been made aware that Dom has no driver's license, he has no trouble crossing into Mexico. And then there's that whole driving full-throttle into the cliffside louvered tunnel doors on the off-chance that they might be pliable enough to simply smash through. (And didn't he rack the slide on that shotgun twice in the final confrontation with Braga in the church? I'm thinking he did...)

Speaking of Dom's sister, Jordana Brewster (as Mia) turns in the most appealing performance of the show. Not to mention the girl-next-door sexiest.

Sour grapes aside, movie-goers are going to get a lot of what they want by showing up for this one - it'll likely take the checkered flag for weekend box office.