When the sun gets high and hot and the days get longer and longer, we reach the glorious time when the IQ of movies drop sharply leading to a multitude of things either blowing up or falling down – or blowing up and then falling down. It’s been referred to in the past as cinema’s silly season and over the last couple of years or so, one of the most reliable ways to usher it in is with the sound of burning rubber and roaring engines as questionable violence and antisocial behaviour is crammed into a weirdly lenient 12A rating for thr long awaited Furious 7. Held back by a year due to the tragic (yet painfully ironic) death of star Paul Walker, it seemed that for a while there that James Wan’s entry into the world of vest wearing spies and indestructible bald men might not ever see the light of a projector, however, more sensible heads prevailed and the result, for many varied reasons, may actually be the best ride yet for the irrepressible franchise.
Angered over the fact that Dominic Toretto and his barbeque loving family slam-dunked his supervillain brother Owen Shaw into the coma ward, bristled and bristling uber hardcase Deckard Shaw vows to get some payback. Starting strong by putting mountainous lawman Hobbs in the hospital and murdering Han with a timely retcon that simultaneously brings Tokyo Drift finally into the official timeline, Shaw then sets his sights on bigger fish by sending a bomb to the Toretto residence that not only narrowly kills Dom, but nearly gets his sister Mia, her ex-con himbo hubby Brian and their young son Jack.
This obviously won’t stand and so, reunited by Han’s funeral, the remaining gang decide to take the fight to Shaw, however, things aren’t going to be quite so simple as a straight forward face/off. After Dom’s first punt at revenge nearly ends with him compacted within his muscle car with a bullet in his chest, he’s hired by shady government type, Mr. Nobody to assemble his team, become fully fledged super spies and go after God’s Eye, a computer programme that can find anyone on the planet in no time at all – something that will obviously be hella useful when tracking down the man hunting them.
All they have to do is liberate shapely hacker, Ramsey, from the clutches of a maniacal Nigerial terrorist who also wants the eye and their progressively more far fetched adventures sees them sky diving their cars over Azerbaijan, jumping cars between buildings in Dubai and leveling a third of Los Angeles in the frenzied climax with Shaw nipping at their heels the entire time with the tenacity of a scitzoid attack dog armed with a grenade launcher. Can Dom and family survive long enough to drown more Coronas, rev more engines and finally get Letty’s amnesia to go do one?
Anyone who has resisted the F&F franchise’s main draw of scattered ass, hot cars and sweaty male bonding isn’t gonna be swayed by this at all, but while old fans might continue to grumble about how far the franchise has stayed from its car racing roots, convert from the fifth installment should guzzle this up like a Detroit muscle car relentlessly consumes fuel. Let’s be honest, over the last couple of installments the gang has gradually become more like some sort of Mission: Impossible gang from “Da Streetz” (in fact the M:I gang has already conquered high buildings in Dubai without feeling the need to drive fucking cars out of them) but by the time we get part way through THIS movie they’ve fully graduated to full superhero status with no mistaking that we’re squarely now in full-on Avengers territory here. Not only is this is apparent by the fact that the main characters are now not only immune to the laws of physics but also to fire, concussive blasts and getting pummelled by massive bloody wrenches, but the ever-more-dense continuity demands a full rewatch of parts 1-through-6 for most of this to make any sense whatsoever. People casually drive off cliffs like it’s a national pastime and emerge from the wreckage looking vaguely dizzy without nary a trace of whiplash, let alone being mashed to testosterone flavoured jelly and it’s truly exhilarating stuff, bringing forth as many honks of belly laughter as it does gasps of disbelief.
Considering that he’s entered a franchise at its arguable peak, James Wan does something of an awe inspiring job managing to keep all four wheels on the road despite the fact he has to juggle a ton of established characters, reference 14 years of continuity, introduce at least four major new characters and cram in a noticably aged Lucas Black from Tokyo Drift while still trying to make all the malarkey remain accessible. He wranglers it all with consummate skill (possibly an offshoot of trying to keep the equally convoluted Saw continuity in check, perhaps?) and it helps that ths cast are as reliable as ever as they all slot back into their various roles.
Vin Diesel growls his lines as unintelligibly as a bear who has just been taught to speak English as he nonchalantly and repeatedly shrugs off near-death experiences like a cold, while Michelle Rodriguez is essentially she-Diesel, but still struggling with the amnesia she contracted from part 6. The rest of the crew – Tyrese Gibson, Chris Bridges and Dwayne Johnson fulfil their parts as joker, quartermaster, and human juggernaut, but again it’s the later (in a lesser role this time) who steals it whether bicep flexing out of an arm cast or Rock Bottoming Jason Statham through a glass table. Ah yes, The Stath. Adding admirably to the already heady levels of bald in the franchise, he comfortably emerges as the film series’ finest villain to date by dropping in and out of the movie at the worst (read: best) moments and acting like a folically challenged Joker, or if the shark from Jaws was a SAS trained, broken nosed geezer. Also having the time of his life is an entertainingly game Kurt Russell, although these days he’s looking about as leathery as a crocodile’s armpit.
Then there’s Paul – sigh. His actual death is felt in every scene as he flashes that kilowatt smile and fretting about not being ready to settle down in that Johnny Utah drawl that culminates in a last act farewell that is genuinely moving yet somehow totally respectful and borderline iconic.Yes, I shed a manly tear. Be warned, you may too.and it’s rare a franchise this dumb can get such delicate beats so right – so congrats.
And as for the action in this movie? It’s so huge you begin to wonder where the Hell the series could possibly go now short of strapping a car to a rocket and jumping a canyon on the moon. I’m not gonna spoil anything (I’m lying! Final reel wrench fight!!) but take my advice. Sit as far back from the screen as you can. Your retinas will thank you for it.
As Vin is already touting a part 8 and it’s becoming obvious that this part will take more money in a short amount of time than God being a contestant on Catchphrase, I’d suggest buckling in for a wild ride, cos there’s still a long explodey road ahead.
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