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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