June 22, 2001 | When the graybeards among us bitterly grouse about Hollywood’s inability to “make them like they used to,” chances are good that the complainers aren’t pining for the obvious progenitors of The Fast and The Furious. Time was, back in the 1950s and ’60s, when exuberantly cheesy B-movies about hot rods and cool cats were as plentiful as small-town drive-ins. These days, however, you don’t often get a chance to wallow in that kind of exploitation fare, unless you’re a frequent viewer of some cable-TV network that interprets the word “classic” with the utmost flexibility.
Fast and Furious, a film that should serve to define “guilty pleasure” for at least the rest of the summer, is a flashy and trashy recycling of characters and conventions that already were whiskery two generations ago. (With only minor adjustments, the plot could have been used for an Eisenhower-era production of American-International Pictures — a studio that actually did release an unconnected movie with the same title in 1954.) What makes it so much down-and-dirty fun is the flat-out sensationalism of its high-velocity storytelling. Rob Cohen (Daylight, Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story) puts the pedal to the metal during the outrageous stunt work of the opening scenes, and maintains an equally brisk pace during the elaborately sustained car chases that pepper the rest of the drama.
Sporadically, Cohen slows down for the narrative equivalent of a pit stop, as the actors exchange hurried words and anxious glances that are meant to provide some semblance of exposition, transition and motivation. But, trust me, these are the spots when it’s a good idea to go out for popcorn.
Paul Walker, a handsome ex-model with a pained look of purposeful intensity, plays Brian, an undercover cop who insinuates himself into a group of speed-junkies led by mechanic extraordinaire Dominic Toretto (Vin Diesel). Brian is supposed to find a link between Dominic’s crew of road warriors, who compete for cash and kicks on and off the track, and a gang of delivery-truck hijackers. Trouble is, the deep-cover cop is repeatedly distracted – by the alluring charms of Mia (Jordana Brewster), Dominic’s younger sister, and by the adrenaline-pumping thrill of driving souped-up, high-performance cars in illegal, late-night street races.
Brian’s superiors have every reason to question his clouded judgment when he insists that Dominic couldn’t have anything to do with the hijackings, and that the real culprits must be a group of Asian speedsters led by the snarling Johnny Tran (Rick Yune). But when Brian finally snaps to the truth – somewhere around, oh, I dunno, maybe a half-hour after the audience wises up – he does his duty as a cop. That is, until he decides it would better, or at least more audience-pleasing, to do something else.
If – and, I admit, this is a big if – you can overlook the film’s borderline-offensive stereotyping of Johnny Tran and his buddies, who turn out to be much worse than relatively nonviolent hijackers, The Fast and The Furious can be enjoyed as a shamelessly exciting and instantly forgettable popcorn flick. Gravelly-voiced Vin Diesel claims top acting honors, for what they’re worth, through the sheer force of his graceful physicality. He even manages to get through a hokey scene that calls for Dominic to “justify” his outlaw lifestyle in an emotion-milking monologue. As if to reward him, Cohen gives Diesel a couple of hot romantic clinches with Girlfight star Michelle Rodriguez, who feistily plays Dominic’s tough-talking, fast-driving girlfriend. Truly, a match made in movie heaven.
