Poorly written, badly acted, completely stupid, but never once boring, The Fast and the Furious has accomplished more entertainment-wise than Driven or Gone in 60 Seconds could ever fathom (and it did so with considerably less money and virtually no star power).  Any film about a gaggle of car-racing buffoons immediately starts out in the hole as far as I'm concerned, but with the popularity of the NASCAR thing, it's likely we'll get more racing pictures shoved down our throats for a few more years (until the inbreeding wipes the fans out).  But if they're all as fun as Furious, I say bring 'em on.

Furious is set in and around the street-racing district of Los Angeles and begins with a nicely staged truck heist, in which three cars and a harpoon gun are able to procure a ton of stereo and television equipment from an 18-wheeler.  The truck-jackings are happening with increasing regularity, which catches the eye of local police and the FBI, who send a dreamy, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy undercover into the world of muscle cars and monkey wrenches.

The cop is Brian Spindler (Paul Walker, The Skulls), and although we don't know he's a cop at first, anyone with minimal brain activity will be able to figure it out.  Brian decides to infiltrate the inner circle of LA's racing kingpin – one Dominic Toretto (Vin Diesel, Pitch Black) – by sniffing around the convenience store he runs with his younger sister, Mia (Jordana Brewster, The Faculty), who seems to be receiving the majority of Brian's sniffing. To show how painfully un-street Brian is, the script has him order a tuna sandwich on white bread, with the crusts cut off, no less.  He also lands a job at a high-end auto parts store in the racing district.

After a testosterone-bathed scene that depicts him earning his street cred and the respect of Dominic, Brian is accepted into the in-crowd, which includes, but is not limited to, characters played by October Sky's Chad Lindberg, Get Carter's Johnny Strong and Girlfight's Michelle Rodriguez, the latter of whom could probably kick the crap out of any of Furious' men.  The scene also features a shot of Diesel running down the street at the speed of a glacier.  Brian provides reports back to his boss (Silence of the Lambs' dick-tucker Ted Levine) and an FBI suit (Thom Barry), neither of whom are happy with the progress of the case.  But none of it seems to stop Brian from flashing those blue eyes and pearly whites.  One might even get the impression he's mildly retarded.

But the plot barely matters here.  It's all about the cars and the driving scenes.  Heck, even the girls (even the unattractive ones, like Brewster) have spoilers of their own.  Laugh, if you must, at the gearheads inconspicuously traveling everywhere in packs of juiced cars.  It looks cool, so it doesn't have to make sense. Come to think of it, I think that's how we ended up with our President.

Diesel, who is a horrible actor but has somehow managed to land in three underachieving films with decent buzz (like Boiler Room), logs in his career-best at overacting (and that's quite an achievement).  Walker is eye candy, and it looks like he could have been one of the sons on Home Improvement, or maybe in one of the incarnations of Saved By the Bell, or, at minimum, Mark-Paul Gosselaar's inevitable replacement on NYPD Blue for the 2002/2003 season. Snow Falling on Cedars' Rick Yune plays The Bad Asian Guy, and MTV tough-guy Ja Rule makes an appearance, too.  Yay!

Furious contains some of the worst dialogue ever written, and I'm saying this less than two months after seeing Driven.  The highlight is Dominic's elegant soliloquy, in which he bravely utters the line, "I live my life a quarter-mile at a time."  Straight up, D?  That little gem, and all the others, come courtesy of Gary Scott Thompson (Hollow Man), David Ayer (U-571) and newcomer Erik Bergquist.  Furious was directed by Rob Cohen, who recently directed Walker in The Skulls.

1:45 –

for violence, sexual content and language