A Better Job of Conveying Gravity

Wow. ‘Fast and Furious 8’ sucked.  I knew it would suck.  I had no expectation than it would result in anything other than a feeling of having been exposed to something that sucked, badly.  I was right.  I hated it and it made me wonder how on earth it could have been anything other than an expensive farce for the vast majority of Americas who seem to have made this the top grossing film of the year.

My younger one wanted to see it.  I acquiesced.  We headed over to the cinema at 10:00PM to catch the only evening showing.  The tickets were expensive.  But I expected that.  The popcorn is only available in sugary caramel coated flavors and it expensive, but I expected that.  I had to buy my own 3D classes, which were not expensive but now I’ve got a pair in case I need them next time, which I was not expecting.

Oddly I think I was hoping for some horrible advertisements and enervating previews at the outset so that I could yell annoying things as one does when one is in the dark, in public.  But no, we got right into it.  Soon we were drag racing across Havana where the police state had apparently decided to take the afternoon off. Vin Diesel taught the tuff but tender Cuban thug a lesson in what it means to keep your word.  Fred Flintstone does a better job of conveying gravity.  Then, suddenly Vin is manipulated into becoming a bad guy by a blond woman.

Every fucking bit, every plot twist hit the teeth like last month’s bread loaf.  No way; the feds are coming to ask the only guy in the world who can help to put the band together again to forget the past and come to save the world.  But he’s torn, because he wants to spend time with his family.  No way; there’s a straight white guy who needs to learn how to break the rules.  No way; it all comes down to family for Vin aka Dom aka Dim.  Look at how Vin pulls he teeth back and smiles.  That’s so cool.  Oooh.  Now he’s angry.  Someone’s gonna get what’s coming to them.  Who the hell is the other bald jackass that looks like a half a dozen walnuts throated into a ribbed condom?  “That’s The Rock,” my daughter informs me. I see.

The Rock faces off in prison against a guy with an Aussie accent who is cast as British.  They trade the most tired insults all night long.  Dear Mr. “The Rock” watch how Muhammad Ali insults people.  Cultivate pith, man.  There’s a brevity, and a flow to the way Cassius Clay lacerated opponents with words.  He didn’t need to explain what would happen after teeth were shoved down the adversary’s throat.  He was done by then.  The verbal wound was already raising a welt.  These clowns make Trump seem eloquent.  Who’d care, except for the fact that this has gone from being a speculators high expectation ('we only need to destroy 350 cars or so to make this a hit') to top grossing.  It could only happen, if the word of mouth spread was basically positive, right?  It was?  Really?  How could an adult find this entertaining?   Sucked.

In fairness, my daughter liked it, which was the point.  I tried to stew quietly.  

Saturday 5/06/17