Somewhat autobiographically rationalizing my appreciation of "The Fast and the Furious" series

If anyone had told me back in the summer of 2001 that The Fast and the Furious would spawn not one, but five sequels--indeed, what promises to be more than that after this weekend's box office take and [spoiler]--I'd have bet against it.  Granted, I was making $8.00 an hour stocking shelves that summer, so perhaps the amount wagered would not have been high, but rest assured it would have been an impressive sum considering that income.

The Fast and the Furious wasn't bad, but it was at moments quite awful.  The first drag race in the film sums up just about everything in this regard:

 

By that summer I had officially checked out of math, and never took that subject again in the eight years of schooling that followed.  Nevertheless, I see in this clip that young Paul Walker reaches 140 miles per hour at the 1:28 mark of this video, with the race finishing at the 2:17 mark. After hitting "the NOS" (yes, the nosssss), or nitrous oxide, Walker zooms up past the 150 mark, but I figure the calamity that follows has to drag him down a little bit (and, really, we're just ballparking here). Anyway, assuming 140 MPH for 49 seconds, I calculate that this stretch alone works out to 1.9055 miles.

Although completely dispelling by any stretch of imagination that this is the traditional quarter mile drag race, when Vin Diesel chastises Walker for his loss and comments "It don't matter whether you win by an inch or a mile," at least in this context it makes sense.

The other regrettable feature in this segment is Ja Rule, yelling out "Ménage!" in what was and remains a reference to not merely French, but to a period of hip hop and rap music that we've all happily forgotten about.

But otherwise, The Fast and the Furious had heart.

Can I explain that? No. It is most likely that my appreciation for the latter three films has elevated the first installment for "starting it all." But you don't know where you're going until you know where you've been, and whatnot.

Although the quality of rap and R&B musicians making their transition to acting would improve with just one sequel, it was there that the franchise nearly ran its course. I did not see 2 Fast 2 Furious when it hit theaters in 2003, but by summer of 2004 it played on one of the Starz channels at any given moment of the day.  Since I was living in Fort Wayne, making little money at an internship and not quite 21 years old (thus unable to go to the bars with my older friends), I saw a lot of 2 Fast. I daresay 2, too much.

2 Fast stepped up by ditching the straight "quarter mile" (or whatever) races, but otherwise offered a mediocre plot with far too many imported cars. Given the number of times I saw the movie (well, never in one sitting), it's surprising how little I can recall. Most importantly, though, is that the pairing of Paul Walker with Tyrese just couldn't cut it. I agree with Metacritic: this is the lowest point in the series.

In 2006, the series saw somewhat of a reboot in The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, a sort of Halloween-esque third installment because of the absence of nearly every character from the previous films. Now making $15 an hour and saving for law school, I did not see this in theaters, and actually only saw the film in its entirety within the last few years. Though still focusing largely on Japanese imports, it had the virtue of taking place in... yes, Japan.  Lucas Black hardly shines here, but holds his own compared to, say, Paul Walker.  What saves the films is Black's pairing with Bow Wow (yes, I said it) and Sung Kang, forming a team of interesting characters that actually surpasses the first film. Mixed with a good dose of comic relief and some refreshingly invigorating race sequences (power sliding like Junior Johnson!), I was surprised that I didn't hear better reviews at the time. And what movie doesn't get bonus points for sending some work the way of Brad from Home Improvement? Anyway, by the end of the film, with the cameo by Vin Diesel audiences were left with that feeling: maybe...


And so came 2009, with Fast & Furious [Four].  No, I didn't see this one in the theater, either. But by midsummer, the spring release carried over into the hotel pay-per-view circuit, and following my first day of the Illinois Bar Exam in Chicago I ate a large meal and retired to my room to digest and watch something mindless.  It was already impressive that eight years after the debut of the series a fourth installment would drop with a near full-scene for a teaser trailer, and though far from perfect this set the Fast & Furious series on a lasting course to par excellence summer popcorn fare.

It's with Fast & Furious [Four] that writers and producers changed focus. The first three films sought to tell stories around hot cars and racing, while since the fourth film the series has sought to place hot cars and racing around a great story. And it's worked very well. In this way, Fast & Furious demands comparisons to Bullitt, Ronin, and other films that define the car-movie genre. Of course Vin Diesel and company do not hold a candle to Steve McQueen or Robert DeNiro, but this approach is nevertheless a large step up from a genre that for too long stood as little more than an excuse for teenage boys to park their "tuners" outside the movie theater and pose.

Along with this change in focus came a far better balance of cars. The token Charger or Mustang are buttressed with a far better sampling of American muscle. Just seeing the scene featured in the first trailer--where a Buick Grand National was given center billing--was, for me, jaw-dropping. (The Grand National now has its own documentary.) Also, if only by virtue of there being so much background story, suddenly the characters (including Sung Kang from Tokyo Drift) had depth. This is not to say there's significant character development, but like the James Bond films we warm up to the characters if only because they've been around for so long. However, the major flaw to the fourth film is glaring, and that's the significant use of CGI instead of live action.  At least on the small screen in the hotel room, it was painfully, inexcusably low-rent.  Thankfully, at the time plenty of critics pointed this out.

In summer 2011 I finally went back to the theater for Fast Five. If you only see one Fast & Furious film, this is the one to see. Finally, everything clicked.  Excellent chemistry between a not-quite-A-list cast.  I'm unsure if fame has any real effect, but Fast Five goes miles beyond the camaraderie portrayed in ensembles like The Expendables, which amount to a lot of has-beens cashing in on past fame and hot-dogging. The Fast and Furious cast know they have a good thing going, are enjoying the ride and bringing us along.

Fast Five features new Dodge Chargers, the classic Dodge Charger, a Ford GT and even an appearance by a DeTomaso Pantera. It's simply a joy to watch from start to finish. As with Fast & Furious 6 and the previous installments, there's plenty of stupid movie fare, but it's all forgivable because it's a movie. One must be very cautious with this disclaimer. So far in the summer of 2013, both Iron Man 3 and Star Trek: Into Darkness have failed in this regard, sacrificing great characters to a rigorous schedule of endless activity that bores rather than invigorates. Fast Five and 6 are unafraid to mix up the tempo, and actually put some effort into setting up the action sequences. This should not be a novel approach, but alas, Hollywood.

While the acting and stories may not reach The French Connection, Five's climatic chase scene does. Again, with the reservation that it's a summer blockbuster with no pretensions of greatness, that's saying something.

After last weekend, we have six. I've now seen half the Furious films in the theater and intend to so patronize every one that will be made henceforth. Indeed, there's plenty of things to criticize, even mock: I could offer up a fake trailer proclaiming "From the producers who brought you the 3-mile quarter... the 20-mile runway..." But like Fast Five, this was fun. No shocking departures from past efforts, no suspicions that the suits came in with awful ideas to supplant the director, and some awesome cars.

I mean, seriously, now I'm getting schooled. I had no idea what a Jensen Interceptor was. Now, well, I know I want one. And the Plymouth Superbird (pictured)? Be still my heart.

As I just mentioned, it's miles beyond this year's Iron Man or Star Trek. Furthermore, it does not bring the baggage that accompanied the surprisingly enjoyable GI Joe: Retaliation. On a related note, I did not catch The Hangover Part III this weekend, simply because The Hangover Part II was so awful. So far, for the summer blockbusters I can only offer four of five stars to Fast & Furious 6 and the flawed-but-beautiful Oblivion.

In short, after all this, without irony I say: this is the most reliable action series we've got, and I'm happy to call myself a fan.

Hollywood's Severe Disconnect In This Economy

I like to think that films may be judged solely on their merits, within the four corners of the screen without reference to externalities. Seldom, however, is a film wholly separated from its place in history. History is often an interesting sideshow for films, and current events surrounding a film's release can make or break films that are objectively good (or bad, for that matter). 

Examples include Donnie Darko, which came out in late 2001 but never saw wide theatrical release in the U.S. due to its story involving a plane crash and 9/11 still an open wound on Americans.  Just a few years before that, The Boondock Saints suffered the same fate, as a story with two men dressed in black coats toting guns and wrath was not seen as commercially viable after two kids in black coats murdered over a dozen students at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado. Both films went on to achieve cult status, commercial success on home video, and eventually mainstream acceptance (though I personally have no love for The Boondock Saints anymore).

But these examples--and the most interesting stories of such cinematic history--arose from unforeseen circumstances.  In short, bad timing.  Recently, however, some films are revealing a severe disconnect between Hollywood and the rest of America. It is the result of a failure to recognized and acknowledge the times we live in.

One of last year's flops, one that flopped so bad I would not have heard of it but for its appearance on Netflix in recent months, was Take Me Home Tonight. The comedy, set in 1988, features Topher Grace playing a recent MIT graduate who cannot figure out what to do with his life, so he passes his days working the counter at Suncoast Video. A night of craziness and 80s cliches follows, completely void of the charm of the quintessential 80s-throwback comedy The Wedding Singer. It culminates with a cliche moral. (It has its moments, but they are few and far between.)

A comedy released this month, American Reunion, appears to be barely inching toward profitability after a month in theaters. This is, of course, the fourth installment in the American Pie series. Each of the original players returns for this, and each of the main characters is suffering from the going-on-30-middle-class-blues. They have jobs (with one exception), relationships, responsibilities, and boy does it stink compared to the carefree days of high school.

In fairness, Take Me Home Tonight was produced in 2007 and sat on the shelves for years before it was finally released. But the timing of its release was still imprudent. It's difficult to expect much of anything out of the American Pie series: it was born a gross-out comedy with a modicum of heart and remains there, now competing with series like The Hangover that make the original American Pie installments seem tame. 

Nevertheless, the disconnect behind these films kills them: history is not their friend.  It stems from the fact that the problems of the characters in both of these movies are problems a huge number of Americans can't currently relate to: ennui and middle class angst are the problems many Americans long to face, or long to face again. 

For young college grads--perhaps not quite from MIT but from many other highly regarded schools--working at a Suncoast Video (or the remaining FYE stores) is not a symptom of killing time or not living up to potential: it's all that's available. Even most slightly older Americans approaching their 10- (or 13-) year high school reunion are not basking in the mundane drudgery of the workplace: if they are employed, they're very thankful to have a job, benefits, and perhaps the chance to advance. Even then, the future's not looking so bright. American Reunion's characters are no longer in the 1990s, or even pre-2008, so how did their problems stay there?

One might counter that escapism is what it's all about. Indeed, since we might miss the carefree days of the late 1980s and its excellent economy (with exceptions), that's all Take Me Home Tonight is going for. Likewise, one could see the ennui addressed in American Reunion as a place we'd all like to be, and not bitterly at that. But ultimately I don't think that works: while we can easily suspend disbelief for fictional alternate realities like The Hunger Games (still going strong at the box office, with one friend of mine having seen it almost a half dozen times), being reminded again and again that yesterday's problems of the American middle class are looking strangely aristocratic is not going to win over audiences. It really hasn't: they're not even showing up to watch.


Hollywood fell on hard times even before this economy. When the best audiences can hope for in the mainstream is a decent remake or a semi-faithful adaptation of a tried-and-true comic book, it should come as no surprise that comedies can't seem to find anything new to work with. So, perhaps it falls to the independents to deliver something fresh and funny: given the earnestness of our economic calamity, it's actually ripe for a good laugh.

The Hunger Games: Who needs substance, anyway?

One cannot escape hearing about The Hunger Games any more than one could escape The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo ten minutes ago, the Harry Potter franchise before that and The Da Vinci Code before that. The Hunger Games broke box office records this weekend and the book it's based on remains #1 across the board on Amazon at the time of this writing. It's certainly making a lot of people a whole lot of money, and more power to them.

But what's all the hype about? Beats me, frankly.

Sometimes movies are just supposed to be fun and don't need a message to be enjoyable. I get it. Seriously. But The Hunger Games masquerades as a film that does, in fact, have a message. If not deliberately written that way, that's certainly the opinion of popular culture. And it does indeed have one, it's just dangerously shallow, or at best incomplete. (I cannot opine on quality of the film's adaptation of The Hunger Games novel since I have not and do not intend to read it, but this saves me the risk of superimposing messages that might be in the book into the film. The film is an adaptation of--not a supplement to--the book, so it must stand on its own merits.)

You probably know the plot, and it really is that simple. In a bad future, the world (or country, whatever) is divided into 12 districts. Each district must offer up a yearly sacrifice of one adolescent male and one adolescent female to duke it out against each other and the kids from other districts in a winner-take-all battle royale (oops) to the death. This is broadcast to the populace. It's called the Hunger Games, and despite that not making a whole lot of sense I do have to admit it sounds pretty cool.

The purpose of these Hunger Games is, to put it mildly, ridiculous: the districts rebelled around 74 years prior, and the games are an eternal punishment and reminder to the districts of the futility of standing up to the Man. As dictator-for-life (?) President Snow (played to a tee by Donald Sutherland) informs "game master" Seneca Crane (Wes Bentley), the games are meant instill fear, with only the smallest batch of hope, because too much hope will override the people's fear of government. (Deep.)

Although this has somehow worked for 74 years, this time one Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence), from the poor backwater District 12, has brought not only A-game bow and arrow skills to the games, but virtue and appeal that somehow wakes up the rage of the populace by bringing sudden awareness to the fact that they are sacrificing their children to the government.

This political backlash is only a sideshow: the focus of The Hunger Games is on the actual Hunger Games and the toils of teenagers being forced to survive by killing one another off. The acting is excellent, as are the makeup and special effects, and the action is exciting. But the heroism of Katniss Everdeen (a name that remains very hard to say with a straight face) is not how well she plays the game without succumbing to beastly human nature, but how she sticks it to the Man and turns the Hunger Games on its head. This just happens, without us knowing exactly how she's accomplishing this (read: why no one figured out the problem of the Hunger Games before) or what change she intends to bring.

To be sure, tyranny is tyranny; sic semper tyrannis and all that. Tyrannical governments like those in The Hunger Games are evil and should be overthrown. But it begs the question: what do we replace them with? What ideals and virtues would young Katniss (and whoever else might support her) seek to instill in the new regime besides, well, other better stuff?

This is not only a necessary question, it's one of the most important questions to mankind: how shall we be governed? To make a film that illustrates how bad things can get with government is fine, and it's a noble thing to promote the destruction of such regimes, but it seems an oh-so-unimportant afterthought to ensure the protagonist will not set up a government that is just as bad, or worse.

Again, I'm not against fun films (bah humbug), and The Hunger Games did not need to add to its 2 1/2 hour running time with a discourse on natural rights (though Woody Harrelson would have been one to deliver it), but I'm concerned that its empty Fight-the-Power grandstanding reinforces for American teens (and far too many adults) that they are to be guided merely by their own consciences with no need for study, dialogue or reflection. Basically, when you're right, you're right, and you're right!

Sci-fi has done far better. There is no better example than Norman Jewison's Rollerball (1975). (Not to be confused with the horrible, horrible remake.)

While the Hunger Games are meant merely to instill fear, the game of rollerball was designed as propaganda to reinforce the very structure of a tyrannical state. As the insidious Mr. Bartholomew, John Houseman describes this regime succinctly:

So now we have the majors and their executives. Transport, Food, Communication, Housing, Luxury, Energy. A few of us making decisions on a global basis for the common good. The [rollerball] team is a unit. It plays with certain rhythms. So does an executive team, Jonathan. Now everyone has all the comforts, you know that. No poverty, no sickness. No needs and many luxuries, which you enjoy just as if you were in the executive class. Corporate society takes care of everything. And all it asks of anyone, all it has ever asked of anyone ever, is not to interfere with management decisions.

Another dastardly conversation illustrates just why Jonathan E (James Caan), an expert rollerball veteran, threatens the regime by staying in the game instead of retiring:

No player is greater than the game itself. It's a significant game in a number of ways.The velocities of the ball, the awful physics of the track. And in the middle of it all, men playing by an odd set of rules. It's not a game a man is supposed to grow strong in, Jonathan.

The absolute authority of the collective over the individual (although, not so ironically, governed by but a few individuals)? Now that's some serious business.

And, so, the triumph of Jonathan E far far surpasses that of Katniss:


And, yes, today's soundtracks don't hold a candle to Bach.