About five years ago, during those trying Covid months, my aunt invited my brother and I over for a movie marathon. I was hesitant, as the movie franchise she picked just never interested me. Still, I agreed to go because family is family, and I can almost always enjoy a film if the snacks are right.
Little did I know, I was about to be introduced to one of the most entertaining series of action packed thrill rides mankind has ever produced: The Fast and the Furious. Although these films weren't as serious as the other ones I was getting into at the time, they knew how to pull in an audience and satisfy them completely. With iconic characters like Dominic Toretto (Vin Diesel) and Brian O'Connor (Paul Walker), an assortment of dream cars, and action that progresses from street racing to fighting submarines, the Fast franchise won me over with little resistance.
Still, as a cinephile, I felt a bit of lingering shame over my love for the Fast films. I'd certainly recommend them to others, but only because they were guilty pleasure films, cheesy joyrides with no cerebral thought necessary. Even as I enjoyed them, I still maintained my stance of pretentiousness, admitting that Dom's increasingly ridiculous adventures didn't count as real cinema.
However, last year, one of our finest working directors, Christopher Nolan, professed how much he adored the Fast franchise. On The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, Nolan said that he doesn't feel guilty about loving them, as he considers them tremendous action films.
For some, this was a shocking admission. Nolan's films often garner critical praise and the Fast film's don't. He even won on Oscar just over a year ago for his epic historical biopic, Oppenheimer (2023).
However, Nolan's guiltfree love makes more sense from his perspective. Nolan is notoriously a stickler for practical effects, up to the point that people seriously thought he'd detonate a nuke for Oppenheimer (he didn't). While he's not that unhinged, he appreciates this realistic approach to filmmaking, one that the Fast franchise often uses for its action scenes. Afterall, these scenes have fostered a large fan base, so why shouldn't Sir Christopher Nolan be included?
Well, Nolan's admission likely shocked people because of something called cinematic pretension. As film communities grow online, more people strive to ensure that their tastes match what's considered the best. The more arthouse, obscure, or awarded the film, the more points you get for including it among your favorites. Thus, it's easier to just admit that the Fast films aren't cinema and enjoy them as a lower cut of film.
Of course, this looming pressure only comes from the overarching cultural consensus, which itself grows more divided each year. These days, the difference between what critics like and what audiences want to see is as wide as a canyon. For instance, only a small percentage of people actually watched this year's Best Picture Winner, Anora (2024), while almost no blockbusters received many nominations this year at all.
As such, pretension in cinema has reached an all time high. It's the reason why many people wouldn't consider the Fast films on the same level as Nolan's work, even though he probably would. It's also the reason why I patronized the franchise, even though I've been a fan for years.
Of course, that line of thinking is pure rubbish. Feeling shame for liking certain films or turning your nose at entire genres are poor ways of being a cinephile. Although award shows have their place (I'm usually a fan), as do critics, we shouldn't let this looming cultural snobbery dictate what counts as cinema.
This leads me to a book I read recently, strikingly titled Why It's OK to Love Bad Movies. In it, author Matthew Strohl argues that bad movies are not only enjoyable, but provide a worthwhile contribution to cinema discourse. Ultimately, Strohl says that bad movies transgress cinema norms, offering an alternative to the universally praised, but often unremarkable films of the popular cannon. He doesn't argue that these popular films are poor. Rather, he says that bad films offer alternative ways of telling stories that challenge the medium's limits. He even compares them to the Avant Garde, saying that they make similar creative decisions, but aren't taken as seriously.
Most importantly though, Strohl reminds the reader to love bad films. Many people who enjoy watching bad movies do so to ridicule them, such as those quick witted robots in Mystery Science Theater 3000. While most bad films are technically bad, their directors strive to tell stories in unique and interesting ways. Thus, Strohl says we should enjoy bad films for their unique style, transgressive storytelling, and entertainment value, even if they exhibit many flaws.
I won't give any more away because it's a truly fascinating read, but Strohl's book really struck a chord with me. Movies that are often considered "bad" are just different modes of storytelling. As flawed as they may be, these bad films represent filmmaking at its rawest form.
Of course, this idea of bad cinema has to include the Fast and the Furious franchise. At their core, the Fast films are about capturing the most entertaining action scenes with an excess of cars. The franchise's various directors, which have included John Singleton, Justin Lin, and James Wan, have always known this, upping the racing scenes and stunts with every installment.
At first, this mostly involved street races, with perhaps a car jumping in front of a train or onto a yacht. However, these stunts now defy all logic and laws of physics. Some recent ones include Dom surviving an explosion by hiding behind some cars, Agent Hobbs (Dwayne Johnson) tossing missiles with his bare hands, driving down the side of an enormous, exploding dam, and launching a car into space.
To ensure that everything makes sense though, the stories have also increased in lunacy. For instance, the first film is about then cop Brian infiltrating a street racing gang who are stealing DVD players. From there, the franchise has jumped to many genres, including buddy cop, racing, gritty crime, heist, and lastly, spy/superhero.
As is evident, the Fast franchise hasn't done anything normally. It doesn't stick to one genre, nor does it abide by any logic. The best three films are generally agreed to be five through seven too, which is rare for any film franchise. While other action films are brought down by a plethora of rules, the Fast films only have one: put on a show.
For some, that ludicrous mindset is just one of the reasons this franchise should be impounded by now. Many will argue that the films aren't grounded anymore, and the street racing gang is so far from home that it's too off base to enjoy.
That might be fair, but I do believe it to be a misreading of the franchise. While street racing was important in the first four films or so, they were never exactly grounded. The entire tone of the first film reflects the excessive style of the 2000's. The cars are garish, but expensive, the music is pumped in loudly, and the whole scam is to steal a device that's technologically outdated. Sure, it's more believable than driving into space, but The Fast and the Furious (2001) cannot be taken seriously.
So, if races don't define the franchise, then what does? What really makes the Toretto family worth revisiting in spite of their flaws?
First off, they exhibit excellent filmmaking. I don't mean this in terms of beautiful cinematography or moving stories. Rather, the Fast films know how to capture impressive action sequences.
For instance, their last film, Fast X (2023), debuted to incredibly bad reviews, many stating that the franchise had run out of gas. However, the one thing that every critic agreed on was that the film had delivered one of the year's best action scenes. I won't describe it all here, but it starts with Dom's crew chasing Dante Reyes (Jason Mamoa) on motorcycles in Rome and it ends with Dom rolling an enormous bomb with his car to save the Vatican.
Again, it's ludicrous action, but it's also must see filmmaking. Even after two decades of car chases, this franchise knows how to craft an action scene that'll please even the sternest of critics. Part of this comes from leaning into the ridiculous, tempting us with stunts that are impossible and then pulling them off before our very eyes.
At its core, this sentiment defines filmmaking. We can't go to other planets in real life, but in Star Wars (1977) and The Martian (2015) we can. We can't relive most historical events, but in Titanic (1997) and Saving Private Ryan (1998) we can. Delivering the unbelievable is filmmaking.
Now, the Fast films aren't completely transformative, nor do they make be believe I could actually drive down the side of a dam and survive. However, they do commit to what we wish we could or what our cars could at least.
I mention commit specifically because I do feel that the Fast franchise is committed to delivering the best action possible. Although the franchise started in the 2000's, they've remained dedicated to using practical effects as much as possible. They don't abstain completely from VFX work, especially when they need an explosion. Still, they don't rely on CGI as heavily as other franchises like Marvel or Star Wars, resulting in actions scenes that hold up pretty well.
Despite the higher budgets, and many more cars that were trashed as a result, the Fast films have always put the action first. Their filmmaking is a rarity these days, harkening back to the pre CGI days where you had to just crash a car for real or audiences wouldn't buy it.
But for all of their glorious action scenes, of which there's really no shortage, the Fast films are about one thing: family. Even if you've never seen a second of this franchise, you probably know how important family is to their mythos. Like everything else in the franchise, the family theme isn't subtle, but repeated robustly until you feel like you're part of the family too.
The best part though is that it actually works. I don't mean to suggest that these films represent the complex social and emotional dimensions of a family like a Wes Anderson film might. Instead, the Fast films indoctrinate you with their culture and characters until you care about them in a genuine way.
Afterall, the only way to generate truly exciting action is to give us likable characters and then push them to their limits. Otherwise, the cars would just be meaningless metal crashing before us.
The Fast franchise has given us a plethora of cool, likable characters, such as the uber macho lawman Luke Hobbs, the calculated killer Deckard Shaw (Jason Statham), the fun duo of Roman (Tyrese Gibson) and Tej (Ludacris), and the head of the family, Dom Toretto. However, none quite embody the charm of this family like Brian O'Connor.
O'Connor was not only the first film's main protagonist, but he remains the series' most likable character, even after Walker's passing. Throughout most of the franchise, O'Connor works as the group's moral center, knowing when to follow the law, when to break it, and how to best take care of the family he's amassed. While Dom is the familial protector, O'Connor ensures that their hearts are in the right place.
Alas, this takes me to the very best scene of the franchise, the emotional capper to Furious 7. After a wild plot involving assassins, a terrorist organization, and a great street fight, Dom watches his family enjoy a day on the beach. He leaves without saying goodbye, but O'Connor follows in car, to bid him one last farewell. It's an emotional scene, as it represents the culmination of Dom and Brian's rocky relationship and Walker's time in the franchise.
Of course, there's an extra heaviness given the tragic and untimely death of Paul Walker, who died before the film could release. As O'Connor gives Dom one last look, he also bids farewell to an audience who has adored his work for decades. It's a simple scene with some weird CGI glaze, but it's incredibly hard not to tear up a little when "See You Again" plays into the credits.
The fact that Furious 7, a film that shows the Rock flex an arm cast off, was able to pull off such a sincere goodbye attests to its quality filmmaking. While this franchise could have sold many tickets with just some great car chases, they gave fans an substantial reason to keep returning to theaters.
I'll never pretend that these are high art films with complex representations of the human spirit because that's not their purpose. They're not even perfect action films, as they have lines that don't make sense, logic that curtails with every film, and a cast of characters who are apparently invincible.
However, they are pure, unbridled filmmaking that knows no limits, and it's privilege to watch that happen. No matter what genre they roll through or what unbelievable stunt they attempt, the Fast franchise delivers tangible action and a wide array of fun characters to root for.
Alas, I'm not sure whether the Fast films are genuinely good or so bad that you must have fun with them. There are moments in every film where I feel that each side could be true. But they do epitomize what it means to shoot something with a camera and have it affect people, not only to entertain but to foster a consistent audience and, dare I say it, family.
