Any complaints of violating laws of traffic, common sense or physics are left in the dust.
Given it’s the sixth instalment of the franchise, you’d think everyone would know what they’re strapping themselves in for. Apparently not. The couple behind me in the cinema spent the runtime huffing and tutting their way through every physics-defying leap, gear change and mid-air grapple like they’d wandered in expecting Drive and got Wacky Races with a protein powder budget. Me? I went in wanting dumb, testosterone-soaked, turbo-charged nonsense where gravity is more of a suggestion than a law, and characters communicate mostly by revving engines and flexing muscles. No tutting required, that’s exactly what Fast & Furious 6 gave me.
By this point, the Fast & Furious saga has settled into its own peculiar groove: part soap opera, part superhero ensemble, part automotive fever dream. The days of boosting DVD players feel like ancient history. Now it’s all about globe-trotting heists and vehicular warfare. In Fast & Furious 6, director Justin Lin leans in hard, gifting us set-pieces so gloriously ludicrous they feel like they’ve been scribbled on the back of a matchbox during a Red Bull-fuelled dare.
London takes a turn in the spotlight this time – another jewel in the capital’s 2013 cinematic crown after G.I. Joe: Retaliation and Star Trek Into Darkness. The city scrubs up well under Lin’s lens, even if its geography bends almost as much as the laws of motion. A high-speed chase that somehow meanders from Piccadilly to the South Bank with no traffic or congestion charge cameras in sight? Sure. And if your idea of fun involves pointing out continuity errors or impossible logistics, you’ll have a field day. But why waste breath when you could just sit back and marvel at a tank rampaging down a motorway or a cargo plane runway that seems to stretch the length of the M25?
The cast continue to be the franchise’s secret weapon. Vin Diesel grumbles and glowers like a sentient muscle car; Paul Walker’s earnest, eager energy keeps the chaos grounded. Michelle Rodriguez’s return adds a welcome emotional wrinkle, although any film that keeps her and Gina Carano from exchanging dialogue in favour of having them punch each other repeatedly is making the right creative call. Their bone-rattling brawl is one of the highlights of the entire franchise – a brutal, kinetic showdown that reminds you these films might be silly, but they never short-change you on spectacle.
Dwayne Johnson is still essentially playing The Rock in tactical gear, but he does it with such bombastic charm that you can’t help but grin. Luke Evans makes for a perfectly adequate villain, though his icy precision sometimes feels a little too cool next to the roaring engines and fiery chaos.
The plot – insofar as it matters – involves switching allegiances, impossible missions, and the sort of logic leaps that make the stunts look almost plausible by comparison. But you’re not here for narrative coherence; you’re here to see cars fly, bodies tumble, and Dom Toretto glower stoically from behind the wheel of something extremely loud.
A post-credits sting tops it all off, a deliciously fan-serving tease that hints at even bigger madness to come in Fast & Furious 7. It’s as if the franchise knows it’s ridiculous, embraces it, and dares you not to cheer.
For all its bombast and bravado, Fast & Furious 6 delivers exactly what it promises – a gloriously stupid, giddily entertaining night at the movies. The runway might be absurdly long, the dialogue occasionally cringeworthy, but the sheer audacity of it all leaves you smiling. Buckle up and enjoy the ride.
