I'm not too proud to admit that Fast & Furious is on my to see list for this weekend, even if it's behind Adventureland and the still unseen Duplicity. I'm also not too proud to admit that my main interest in the film is Michelle Rodriguez, whose blunt instrument acting style would surely shift the balance of power on Lost this year. This review makes it sound like F&F is about what I'm expecting. (National Review)
Like all the previous films in the series, Fast & Furious plays out as a crude parody of urban masculinity. It’s packed with violence, cars, buff bods, bravado, and babes, and, whenever possible, it tries to have all at once. The various permutations result in a film that essentially has only three types of scenes: car races and chases, macho one-upmanship between competing alpha males, and sultry flirtations with scantily clad young women. (Sample male-female exchange: “Something interesting about this car?” “Just examining the body work.”) All of this is cut to a thumping rock and hip-hop soundtrack, and interspersed with what seem to be more or less random shots of sub-Maxim model flesh (the film’s title actually blinks rapidly in and out of shots of gyrating female bodies). As gender roles go, the film’s not breaking any barriers: Women are almost exclusively treated as objects, and the only one with something like a real role is continually shown buying and preparing meals for the two male leads.