This Easter Weekend, the seventh film in the Fast & Furious film series (which began fourteen years ago, in 2001), will open in theatres across North America. There is no denying at this point this is a bonafide film phenomenon, yet one I’m almost entirely ignorant of. Recently one of the film’s stars and Rihanna tribute act, Vin Diesel, proclaimed Furious 7 will “probably win Best Picture at the Oscars, unless the Oscars don’t want to be relevant ever.” Shots have been fired. More than ever, I feel this gap in my action film knowledge is something that needs to be immediately remedied.
Here’s the thing: I don’t know how to drive. I have no real interest in cars, and never managed to snag my driver’s licence. My driving experience extends little beyond Outrun and Crazy Taxi. On the other hand, Drive is one of my favourite movies of all time. When I was a child, my sole career goal was to become a cab driver. Plus, I unabashedly love Vin Diesel, and feel similarly strong towards The Rock (who shows up in the films later installments), so my ignorance of the movies seems unconsciously willful. Likewise, the movies have been compared to the Step Up series (possibly my favourite film franchise) in a number of favourable ways: the films persist whether or not the actors (and characters) return, and it’s entirely possible the sequels improve as the numbers rise. So why have I been avoiding these heartfelt, action-packed paeans to muscle cars and the brother- and sisterhood of the streets?
Wait, that’s not Vin Diesel! (Or is it?)
Things changed for me last December. I attended my friend Emily‘s holiday party that doubled, inexplicably, a Fast-and-the-Furious-themed party. Because I am serious about fun, came dressed as Domenic Toretto, Vin Diesel’s character in the films, but I had literally seen not a single movie in the series. I was an impostor! Like one of Holden Caulfield’s enemies, I travelled through the party, deathly afraid my phoniness would be uncovered. (I think I managed to fool everyone.) The holiday party, however, did allow me to witness a little sampling of the Fast and Furiousness, as the movies ran on a loop in the background. But it was a party situation, so I was left with more of an impression or tone poem of the Fast & Furious films than any real knowledge. At this same party, another friend, Naben, sort of a Fast & Furious acolyte and expert, revealed to me the nuances and idiosyncrasies of the series. For instance, the films don’t follow in chronological order. One character was transplanted from one of the film director’s previous films into the Fast & Furious universe. This was not just a ridiculous action movie series (which was all it needed to be and all I really wanted it to be), but was instead an intricate puzzle box of street racing and rugged individuality.
And so, with Furious 7, the final Furious film to feature the late Paul Walker (and possibly the final Furious film altogether), opening this coming weekend, I have decided to initiate a Rapid Week of Rage: A Daily Screening of the Fast & Furious Movies. Join me as I follow our valiant illegal drag-racers as they tokyo drift across the speed bumps and barricades life throws at them.
Each night, I’ll watch one Fast & Furious movie, leading up to a theatre screening of the most recent Furious 7 this Easter Sunday. Each day following, I’ll report on my viewings. Much like the horror movie watch I did in April, I plan to report on the plot and themes (as most typical movie reviews do), as well as other aspects, like fashion, the depiction of masculinity, unintentional double entendres, and more. Follow the hyperlinks below, which will be updated as the screenings proceed:
The Fast and the Furious
2 Fast 2 Furious
The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift
Fast & Furious
Fast Five
Fast & Furious 6
Furious 7
Get ready to live life a quarter-mile at a time. Or since I live in Canada, nearly a half-kilometre at a time.
Note: my enthusiasm for watching all the Fast & Furious movies in rapid succession is in no way an endorsement of real-life street racing.
