Neither Fast Nor Furious
2 Fast 2 Furious belongs squarely in the "fast buck" school of sequels. There is absolutely no reason this movie should exist aside from the fact that Vin Diesel's breakout vehicle The Fast and the Furious made oodles of cash. Since Diesel's asking price soared too high, the only returnee from the original is surfer-boy Paul Walker as Brian O'Conner, now an ex-cop and full time street racer. Not to worry though. This franchise isn't about the people. It's about the cars.
And the cars are beautiful, seductive and fast. They're even hotter than the bevy of bikini clad Miamians who dress up every scene. The opening race sequence, reminiscent of old Speed Racer cartoons, is exciting and over the top. The various racers are cartoons themselves—an Asian babe anime freak, a Mexican homeboy and a black basketball wannabe—and they live up (or is that down) to their various stereotypes. But it's the cars whipping around the track that's important as they defy gravity and common sense.
Once the cars do their deed, a few obligatory scenes of "plot" are thrown in leading to the next auto coupling. It's structured just like a porn flick.
The irrelevant plot finds O'Conner arrested by police and forced by his old FBI buddies to drive for a local Rico Suave gangster type. Since Diesel is off making oodles of money on his own, O'Conner needs a new partner and recruits childhood pal and ex-con Roman "Rom" Pierce (Tyrese).
Several other set piece races fill up most of the running time, including an absolutely useless end sequence that involves dozens of the high-octane cars in a kind of vehicular orgy. The movie's single-mindedness extends to O'Conner and Rom. They're not interested in getting the girl, but in getting the car.
Ignore the "dramatic" passages. The only reason to see this movie is for the absolutely voyeuristic, sensual pleasure of watching several tons of beautifully appointed steel and chrome race down a white-lined highway.
And the cars are beautiful, seductive and fast. They're even hotter than the bevy of bikini clad Miamians who dress up every scene. The opening race sequence, reminiscent of old Speed Racer cartoons, is exciting and over the top. The various racers are cartoons themselves—an Asian babe anime freak, a Mexican homeboy and a black basketball wannabe—and they live up (or is that down) to their various stereotypes. But it's the cars whipping around the track that's important as they defy gravity and common sense.
Once the cars do their deed, a few obligatory scenes of "plot" are thrown in leading to the next auto coupling. It's structured just like a porn flick.
The irrelevant plot finds O'Conner arrested by police and forced by his old FBI buddies to drive for a local Rico Suave gangster type. Since Diesel is off making oodles of money on his own, O'Conner needs a new partner and recruits childhood pal and ex-con Roman "Rom" Pierce (Tyrese).
Several other set piece races fill up most of the running time, including an absolutely useless end sequence that involves dozens of the high-octane cars in a kind of vehicular orgy. The movie's single-mindedness extends to O'Conner and Rom. They're not interested in getting the girl, but in getting the car.
Ignore the "dramatic" passages. The only reason to see this movie is for the absolutely voyeuristic, sensual pleasure of watching several tons of beautifully appointed steel and chrome race down a white-lined highway.
