Fast & Furious 9 review — absurd nonsense, but defiantly funny24 Jun 2021 11:42
????? The Times
Halfway through this uproariously brainless smash’em-up, a key character muses: “When the improbable happens again and again and again, it’s something more than normal.” The line is a tongue-in-cheek critique of the preposterous progress of the film so far, which has included a multi-vehicular minefield death run, a jungle gunfight, and the sight of a low-flying stealth bomber catching a jet-powered Dodge Charger in midair.
Yet it’s also a reference to something wider in the entire Fast & Furious franchise (now an unlikely nine movies old) and to the essence of a series that has taken more than $6 billion (£4.3 billion) at the global box office, and is only increasing in popularity with each successive and more outlandish instalment. These, if we need reminding, are movies about LA drag racers turned globetrotting super-spies who have been known to chase Russian nuclear submarines across Siberian ice floes (in F&F 8). Improbable? Yes. Repetitive? Certainly. And more than normal? Definitely. Yet they’re also defiantly entertaining.
The tone here is late-era Roger Moore Bond (mostly Octopussy), where the awareness of farce is never far away and even brief moments of sobriety are infused with camp. The movie opens with a flashback to the tragic past of drag racing super-spy hero Dominic Toretto (Vin Diesel, who has slowly morphed into, and acts with the range of, a smooth rubbery CGI testicle). Here we learn that “Dom” has a brother called Jakob (John Cena), and that both were traumatised by a fiery trackside crash that killed their bona-fide racer hero pop, Jack (JD Pardo).
These scenes, set in 1989, are lovingly shot and recall the best bits of Tony Scott’s Days of Thunder, but are still titter-inducing for their cornball machismo and the portrayal of Jack as the Yoda of speedway. “It’s not about being the stronger man, it’s about being the bigger man,” is one of his mystical, and frankly nonsensical, pronouncements, whipped out mere seconds before he’s consumed by a ball of flames. That one started the communal chuckles at my full-house (socially distanced) screening. Why? Because that’s how you watch an F&F movie. On the cusp of giggles. And that’s how the franchise exists: on the cusp of self-parody.
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The climax is an idiotic delight that takes the action and the series, hilariously and very literally, out of this world. A post-credits sequence introduces a fan favourite and sets up both F&F 10 and the idea that this franchise could very well run for ever. Which, on present form, is no bad thing.