All of which subverts the early praise for the series as journeyman genre work. Director Justin Lin, who also chaperoned the last installment, here probes the significant thrills of outrunning or outwitting a flying burning chassis (though a preview audience seemed just as excited by the reappearance of reggaeton stars Tego Calderón and Don Omar in subtitled bit parts). Unlike in Tokyo Drift, Lin doesn’t dig into his locations enough (though, hurray, Bendix sign!), and seems to be at that awkward stage where he believes that what a Vin Diesel actioner needs is more lugubrious dialogue. Dom’s regretful flirtation with Campos’s assistant (he likes a lady who’s “20 percent angel, 80 percent devil, down-to-earth . . .”) and other interludes are DOA, and once O’Conner has actually broken the nose of his jerkwad FBI co-worker, scenes at the Union Station–size department are likewise deadweight.
A movie whose second spoken line of dialogue is, candidly, “Let’s make some money” at least ends with a satisfyingly ludicrous desert pile-on, with (wholly unnecessary) provisions for a sequel. But whether you blame the Part Four blues, the Dom-O’Conner stalemate, or Diesel’s distraction by the prospect of starring in and making a video game of Carthaginian general Hannibal, Fast & Furious reconfirms that car-chase movies—good, bad, or mediocre—all assume the future employment of the quaint old fast-forward button.