Anyone who misses the peak shenanigans of the nifty Fast Five (2011), when a bank vault was dragged through the streets of Rio, will be reminded of that heist by a recapping prologue – a good way to show where the bar was set, then start leaping over it left and right. In recent instalments, there’s been a danger of bloated earnestness, nicely curbed by the lunacy this time. The series pursues no logic except what’s new, who’s available, and how to pack out the multiplex screens. ![]() Characters return and arbitrarily switch sides, introduce themselves out of nowhere as the peeved relations of major baddies who died 10 years ago, or try rolling a spherical megaton bomb into the Vatican, just for the hell of it. This time, all bets are off in terms of plausibility. ![]() ![]() From its inception in 2001, the series has long since devolved from hot-rod street races into a kind of globe-trotting demolition derby, doing for explosive pile-ups on stretches of highway what Twister did for tornadoes. To call Fast X one of the most ludicrous action films ever made would be a borderline tautology for any instalment in the Fast and Furious franchise.
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