Dave's Rating:

4.5

Faster and Furiouser

Who's In It: Jason Statham, Amy Smart, Clifton Collins, Jr., David Carradine, Bai Ling, Dwight Yoakam 

The Basics: They named Jason Statham's character all wrong in these movies. It's Chev or Chav or something Brit and in-jokey I guess, but they should have just gone ahead and named him "Crank." It's sort of like how it would have been cooler if Mariah Carey had simply been named "Glitter." Anyway, much like in the last movie about him, Crank has to run and run and run to stay alive because they stole his heart out of his chest and replaced with a temporary plastic one that requires ever-larger jolts of electricity to keep pumping. And this takes place even though he died at the end of the last movie. And that's no spoiler either. It's their ad campaign, like, "Yeah, yeah we know we killed him in the other movie. Who cares?" There's something to admire about that sort of approach but I'm not sure what it is.

What's The Deal: Bourgeois concepts like "good" and "bad" don't apply to filmmaking like this. It's flashy and as much like a hyper-caffeinated beverage commercial as it can be, it follows no logic beyond making Jason Statham look like the man who invented the idea of being the human equivalent of an indestructible iron tank, it adheres to his strict image-control policy of "I must look as though I have not recently shaved or, failing that, like I just shaved but I am so full of testosterone that this two-day stubble just shot through my face seconds after I put down the razor," and it contains more extreme violence and torture than any Saw film but is presented in a way that's as aspirational and fulfilling as that wedding dress montage scene in the Sex and the City movie.

And Why Not Make Everything About The Genitals And Forced Sexual Humiliation While We're At It: As the plot concerns Crank having his organs harvested and sold on the black market--specifically, in this case, the superhuman heart he possesses that allows him to fall off skyscrapers, bounce off the roofs of cars and land without a single broken bone on the street below--then it naturally follows that the rest of the film involves him sodomizing a bad guy with a rifle recently dipped in hot tar, performing insanely acrobatic sex with Amy Smart on the race track at Hollywood Park for a cheering crowd, and having his own scrotum seared with a hot metal cattle proddy thing. But relax, it's all in good fun.

Not For: My mom, the squeamish, anti-fun types who hate superviolence, people who hate the crazy awesomeness of Bai Ling and people who think the culture's already going to hell. Because it kinda is and yes, it is the fault of Grand Theft Auto and movies like this. But so what?

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