Rock It Like You Stole It: The Bling Ring and Its Killer Argument for Sociopathy

"Yeah, we're hot shit. You don't have to like it. We don't care. We love it."

Rebecca Anh is a badass.

As the head of the eponymous Bling Ring in Sofia Coppola's fictionalized account of the smash-and-grab queens and king of Calabasas who stole millions in clothes, trinkets, and trash from Young Hollywood between 2008-2009, ice water doesn't run through her veins because those suckers are probably beyond frozen.

Rebecca, played wonderfully by Katie Chang, is cool in the way that I haven't seen since, maybe, Denzel's performance as Frank Lucas, truly his most glorious riff on Alonzo Harris since Training Day. She is the heartless, ambitious, amoral gangster fantasy reshaped into a delicate frame that cares more about Louboutins than Pinstripes. She is unflappable. She is confident. She is sociopathy personified. And I love it.

We don't see characters like Rebecca as much as we used to in the days when the gangster film ruled the screens. Great work like Goodfellas and the Sopranos humanized organized criminals to the point that they became so relatable that they were no longer threatening.

Shute, the last time we had a character even remotely close to Rebecca Lee was Denzel Washington's Frank Lucas. Now, there was the definition of a smooth operator, at least on film. Neither Frank Lucas nor Rebecca Lee are particularly accessible or relatable to the average moviegoer. They're too detached, too above it all. They're probably not even be aspirational figures to another segment of the audience--again too reticent, not pretentious or flashy enough--but they are something else. They are not what any of us want to be but something we all wish we could be at all times: cool.

Yes, they do terrible things. They steal. They poison. They destroy. But these are actions borne of an an understanding of the world that is simultaneously deeper and lesser than any of us will ever know. They understand that nothing's fair and rules are inconveniences. They comprehend the simple fact that taking what they want is more than acceptable its essential. It is a sad truth that so many of us know so wheel, but mostly as victims. Yet, to see these characters do such things, often at the expense of the self same members of society that would do the same to us, and to do so without blinking an eye, well, that taps right into an ugly little truth at our core: if we could take what we wanted and hurt nobody, or at least those who can take care of themselves, we would probably do it.

That ethos is what makes The Bling Ring such a great film. The teens thieves in The Bling Ring are vapid, shallow and obsessed with things that absolutely don't matter, but I'm typing this on an iPad that millions of people have or want because luxury, however ephemeral, is intoxicating. The Bling Ring is our id, but trendier. It reflects a part of us that some of us don't want to acknowledge and others actively rail against. But, that part of us is in there, creeping right along the edges our psyches anytime we see a free dollar in the street or a bargain basement sale of designer brands or high-end electronics. To see that story writ large-ish, is unquestionably cathartic.

Much has been made in various articles about Coppola's view of her subjects. Does she deplore these kids who she swears she didn't want to make any more famous? Is she ambivalent? Is she mad as hell that they managed to get one over on her and the other 1%? Is she ashamed that she probably would have done the same thing if given half the chance when she was their age? She is possibly all of these things, and so are we. That is why it works. It taps into the fact that many of us feel equally ambivalent, reviled, and entranced by these kids. The fact that it is more cohesive, detached, and low-key than Harmony Korine's Spring Breakers doesn't hurt, though Spring Breakers clearly benefitted from James Franco's dynamite performance as a more electric version of the sociopath who leads a handful of misguided teen girls astray. The Bling Ring emanates cool, the kind these kids would want to be, the kind we don't often get amongst the over-eager bombast of the summer. 

The Bling Ring is the second film I have seen this summer that I have desperately wanted to see more than once. The first? Fast and Furious 6. Another flick about cool, but decidedly more hotblooded and noticeably less hip, criminals living life by their own rules, even if its a dumb rule like living life a quarter mile at a time, and taking what they want (though less so in this entry than the last). 

These two movies are worlds apart, but at their core they are about criminals who are patently, unrealistically unafraid to live outside of law and society's rules. Criminals who are supposed to be deplorable, despicable, but are oh so enticing because they are a little bit of who we don't want to be and a lot of who we are. 

Man of Steel, Superhero Cinema, The Fun Police, and the War on Hope

"Your girl sent you to Glamour Shots too?"

I liked The Dark Knight, and I'm pretty sure that's only because I loved Heath Ledger's Joker.

The Joker was a livewire who brought more life  to The Dark Knight with his batshit rumblings than any other character or plot development. He was the clown prince made "real"in a way that never betrayed the characters roots as a four-color creation. He made The Dark Knight far more entertaining than any other entry in the trilogy.

In fact, The Dark Knight is the only entry in the Dark Knight trilogy that I own. Not that the other entries aren't thoughtful, exquisitely crafted films; it's just that they're a tad...boring. They're so adult, so cerebral, so overpopulated with pontification, so crippled by an attachment to "reality" that it makes the more fantastic elements seem silly and the narrative shortcuts glaringly obvious. Worst of all, they elevate plot so high over character that the driving force behind these narratives--the iconic characters and their specific characterizations--get lost in the shuffle.

Case in point: Man of Steel.

Man of Steel is, despite some crucial chaos in the climax, a perfect example of a similar type of 

experience because it spends about fifty percent of its runtime on long shots and speechifying from Supermans multiple fathers designed to convince the Superman and the audience that he is destined to be Space Jesus. the whole destiny angle robs Supes of a lot of agency and pushes the "Supes-as-an-outsider" angle to the forefront. While this would likely be a prominent conflict to young Kal-el, it is not the most uplifting or aspirational or entertaining conflict for Superman to deal with. It is so internal and hard to visualize that it makes Superman appear more mopey than he is.

Then, as if to reward viewers for sitting through a dour hour, director Zack Snyder and company send Supes out to play Dragonball Z with a bunch of bad guys on the streets of Smallville and Metropolis. Hundreds, thousands, probably millions of innocent lives are lost, and Superman only seems to care about six people: a random family of four, Ma Kent, and of course, Lois Lane. Poke around the net and you'll see that this is a major source of consternation to fans, critics and creators, especially the folks at Badass Digest and Superman Birthright writer and modern comic writing legend Mark Waid. 

"Yes, that's a building coming at you. No, this isn't Transformers."

I can't blame them for being concerned. I'm no purist, but I know that Superman always goes out of his way to save lives and -- SPOILER ALERT -- he does his best to avoid killing.

Most importantly, he smiles. He's not as funny and quick as Spidey or as snarky as Shellhead or as exasperated as the Thing--no, the Marvel heroes don't take themselves that seriously that's just the sourpusses at DC, Flash excluded.

"Dude, you can fly. Lighten up."

But, in Zack Snyder, David Goyer, and Christopher Nolan's Man of Steel, Supes comes off as glum, reckless, and slightly vengeful mostly for the sake of the narrative they want to tell. And that is their right, but I wonder if maybe movies like the Avengers, which isn't that much better in mitigating casualties, can't open film makers eyes to a different way to approach the comic book narrative. One in which character comes first and reality is left behind.

Superhero movies are based on source material that is so inherently fantastic that it requires a suspension of disbelief on par with the suspension of disbelief applied to pro wrestling. Short of abandoning all pretense of super heroics and daring-do, there's no way filmmakers can make superhero flicks that aren't fantastic to the point of silliness, so they may as well embrace the amazing, the spectacular, and the uncanny. 

There's little to no chance of grounding something like this in reality, so why try?

Seriously, despite Nolan's best interests with the Dark Knight series, the fact that Bruce Wayne dressed up like a bat rather than dressing like the Punisher shows that there was no way to avoid a very silly conceit and still have the series be considered a Batman adaptation. Ditto for the story of alien space Jesus who can hurl mountains or the man in roboarmor or the green super-Jekyll or the kid in the spider outfit.

I'll never forget how the first Arkham video game, despite its occasionally brutality and grotesque "grim and gritty"-ness, was such a welcome counterpoint to the Nolanverse. While Nolan's approach to the Batman legend is as welcome as any interpretation, Rocksteady's Arkham games did such an excellent job of melding the fantastic and the "real" that I couldn't help but prefer them over the Dark Knight films, mostly because the developers at Rocksteady were limited only by their imaginations, the limits of the technology, and the DC Comics vanguard. 

Rocksteady acknowledged the fantastical properties of Batman's world and embraced it. They recognized the importance of the characterization of the cast, granted Batman will always be a stick in the mud, but that's his way, and emphasized those outsized qualities when creating solidly entertaining  characters. Rocksteady's vision may not be perfect--a little less misogyny would be nice--but it is a great example to creators of all stripes, particularly filmmakers on the next swath of superhero flicks.

Grounding this in reality is only slightly easier, but not by much.

To the filmmakers who are working on or will work on superhero flicks, I encourage them to embrace the silliness. Embrace the fun. And let the heroes have some fun to. Let them smile, like Christopher Reeve did. Let them snark like Tony or sling jokes as fast as webs like Spidey. Let them banter like the Avengers. Let them be more than soapboxes with dish towels around their necks.  Let their words flow forth like humans not philosophy treatises. Let their burdens be based on the struggle to do the right thing when it seems like their bodies or minds or spirits wont let them. Let them be human, like us, so their moments of sacrifice mean so much more to us.

Superheroes are great as aspirational figures, but if they lose the fun and the humanity then they will lose the audience. These are fantastic myths, plain and simple. They are metaphors for reality. They are not reality. They are stories that allow the storytellers to show humanity how great it can be, even if it uses crazy tropes like mad scientists, giant robots, aliens, and super soldiers to do it.

On that note, there's something else that gets lost in the translation from the four color realm to the silver screen: these are tales of heroism. They should be treated as such. 

I realize spectacle and bombast are par for the course in event movies these days, but at some point all parties involved, from the studios to the filmmakers to the audience have to really take a look at what these flicks are saying. We have to examine how close they hew to the aspirational and, yes, instructive nature of superhero fiction. These stories will last, and hopefully not always as corporate properties ( one can dream), and will exist as narratives that will show future generations how to rise above their limits and be better people. 

That said, can we cool it on the massive loss of life in these movies, or at least deal with it thoughtfully and responsibly. Yes, it may drag the fun down and shift the tone dramatically for more than a few moments, but having heroes stop punching and start protecting, or having them mourn the loss of people they will never know, will show that these heroes are compassionate, a key quality of a hero, and better than their enemies.

Now, this may be a hard road to travel for filmmakers as the very nature of filmmaking requires spectacle, bombast, and resolution, especially the modern blockbuster. But, the destruction in these flicks has to be tempered with the idea that superheroes are metaphors for virtues like selflessness and sacrifice. Those virtues are hard to see when superheroes are causing so much collateral damage that the body counts are as high as lottery pots.

"See, nothing wrong with a smile, as long as you're cool about it"

These heroes and their stories, however they are told, are some of the few weapons we have against cynicism and selfishness. They are some of our last weapons in the war against hope that the world keeps losing day by day. Don't let them fade away.

Our Avengers - Why The Fast and Furious is a Superhero Series for Everybody

"No. We don't need spandex. Our shirts are tight enough."

Last week I gave Furious 6 a bit of a hard time. Mostly because of the concentrated ridiculousness on display and the hammy writing, but that's to be expected from a Fast and Furious film. I still mostly thought it was an entertaining experience, and I have amended the review to reflect that.

I also mentioned that Furious 6, with its assemblage of heroes, is pretty much the multicultural equivalent of Marvel's Avengers. Indeed, as several reviewers have noted, The Fast and Furious is essentially a superhero series. And as silly and over the top as it is, I am glad we have it.

Hard as it is to believe, The Fast and the Furious franchise is the most important superhero franchise of the summer because its success can show Hollywood that audiences, both foreign and domestic, are far more colorblind and diverse than the studios care to admit.

In its decade plus existence, The Fast and Furious series has elevated the presence of people of color (POC) in franchise flicks by simply presenting "heroes" on screen who are not uniformly white males between 18 and 50. Granted, Paul Walker's Brian O'Connor was the audience surrogate and point of entry for the earliest entries, he is, by no means, the focal point of the series. Instead, Vin Diesel's ambiguously brown Dominic Toretto is unarguably the series anchor and one of its main draw. With 2 Fast 2 Furious, the series added an African-American lead in Tyrese's Roman and gadget man Tej (Ludacris). The third entry, Tokyo Drift, brought Asian character Han (Sung Kang) into the fold. Fast and Furious may have refocused on Dom and Brian, but it also added Hispanic characters played by Don Omar and Tego Calderon as well as reminding audiences about Michelle Rodriguez's Letty, one of the few Hispanic characters to remain present in some shape or form since the 2001 original. That's not even counting Eva Mendes' Monica from 2 Fast 2 Furious and Gal Gadot's vaguely Middle Eastern Gisele. Fast five brought most of these characters back together and added another major non-white character in Dwayne Johnson's Lucas Hobbs, and to a lesser extent Elsa Pataky's Brazilian cop, Elena. Now Furious 6 brings most of these characters back together, just as Fast Five did, in way that is not dissimilar to Marvel's Avengers with the main difference being that 90% of the team is non-white--the series' inclusion of women is not exceptional but it's a far cry above the average for big budget blockbusters, which makes the series significantly progressive by Hollywood's unremarkable standard. 

Truthfully, just getting one or two substantial roles for POC in a tentpole is a victory. Seven to nine substantial roles for POC in an multi-million dollar franchise is some kind of miracle. And what's particularly reaffirming about the characters of the fast and furious franchise is that, while they may have started as "criminals", they have evolved into full blown outlaw heroes, with a reasonable, mind you not Marvel level, cultural cache. That's important because non-white moviegoers can leave the theater after seeing a Fast and Furious movie as energized as they may have been after seeing Avengers but with the added bonus of seeing people who look like them and not having to think about what a Hispanic Thor, Asian Tony Stark, and Black Captain America might look like.

For all the strides the series has made in promoting diverse characters, it has also expanded its scope under Justin Lin's direction in a way that allows it to rival blockbusters like Avengers. Since the first entry, the series has gradually increased its scale, coming from a local story of LA drag racers to the misadventures of globe-trotting super Robin Hoods. The scope is so oversized that most recent entry offers as much destruction as the Avengers and Dark Knight Rises. The expanded scope has been and boon and a curse. In some ways, the increased scope has improved the focus of the later entries, giving each a unique genre flavor. On the other hand, the movies have become increasingly divorced from logic and reality as they embrace audacious, ridiculous stunts and set pieces. That may make the movies a bit of an affront to high-minded cineastes, but these movies were never designed to be insightful examinations of the human condition, and neither, despite our rose-colored instant nostalgia, was the Avengers. Movies like the entries in the Fast and Furious series are primed to make audiences pump their fists and enjoy a few hours of mental auto-pilot, and that's more than enough for most moviegoers. But making a big, ridiculous, profitable tentpole with massive set pieces, and doing so with a cast dominated by POC, is still a remarkable, reassuring feat, and it's more than we usually get.

What's the Use?: Star Trek Into Darkness and Mainstream Titillation in the Age of Free Porn

"No, I didn't like that scene one bit. Even in the 23rd century, the boys know they get a better peek online"

I have no idea who Carol Marcus is. 

All I know about her is that she dropped trough in front of Capt. Kirk for no good reason.

Damon Lindelof knows the same thing now. Months after filming and editing wrapped on J.J. Abrams Star Trek Into Darkness (STID).

Lindelof tweeted an apology and admission of misogyny to the public yesterday, and even emailed esteemed media news source MTV, with regards to a scene in STID where the aforementioned Marcus (Alice Eve), the Enterprise's new science officer who specializes in advanced weaponry (that from someone who was barely paying attention by the time Marcus hit the screen), drops her regulation Federation mini-skirt and abrasively chides Capt. Kirk for sneaking a peek at her 23rd century Victoria's Secret underwear set.

The scene has been jumping out at me since it showed up in a trailer a few months ago. Not because I was gobsmacked by Alice Eve's impressive physique or her lack of a flirty, impractical retro number, but because it seemed so out of place with the tone of the trailer, which was all vengeance, Zimmer horns, and quick cuts. I thought, "that's odd", and nothing of it beyond that. Then, I caught the Abrams 2009 Star Trek reboot on FX a few days ago, and it all made sense. In 209's Trek, no female character with a speaking role, save Krik's mother (Jennifer Morrison), made it to the end without a scene in their underwear. To be fair, Capt. Kirk also stripped down to the ol' BVDs at least once in both films, so at least there's some attempt a balance. However, the scenes from 2009 Trek and most of the scenes where Kirk has disrobed have clear, if flimsy in the case of the Uhura strip-down in Trek, context. Carol Marcus' scene, where she is changing into a deep space exploration suit lacks any. 

With Lindelof acknowledging what most clear-eyed viewers already know, the gratuitousness of the scene is widely, if not completely accepted. What is more baffling and distressing is that Lindelof, Abrams, and their collaborators think, or did not stop to think as it were, that this type of gratuitous titillation is necessary in era where any kid with an ipad can google Maxim, download the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, and find uncensored clips of lesbian threesomes online without even trying. Their injection of a gratuitous scene hearkens back to an era where the only way to see some skin without skipping down to the Red Light District or slinking out of a corner store with a paper bag over a playboy was to catch it in movies like Barbarella or on TV shows like Star Trek. This line of thinking also recalls a time when there were no voices of discontent outside of the occasional editorial or snail mail letter to studios that was more than likely lost to the bottom of a canvas bin.

Granted, the Carol Marcus scene, as well as the three-way undie scene in the 2009 entry, could be viewed as a homage to the sexual undertones that permeated the original series, it falls flat in an era where audiences have easy access to titillation at a far more extreme and theoretically discrete level. It also appears distressingly tone-deaf in a time where audiences expect more from their entertainment. More and more, audiences are expecting even the slightest of entertainment to be intelligent and culturally competent. The voices that raise up against entertainment that falls short of these requirements is far from homogenous and, thankfully, far from silent. They recognize that, for decades, entertainment has catered to the whims of straight, white males between the ages of 18-50. While that demographic deserves entertainment, so do the rest of us. Not only do we want to be entertained, we want to be respected and acknowledged as intelligent, cognizant, capable consumers of entertainment. Fail to respect us, creators, and you'll find yourself apologizing on twitter.

Now, this is not to say that creators should avoid including scenes where characters traipse around in their underwear or strip down to their birthday suits, but please give these scenes context, give these scenes purpose. Most importantly, think before you do so that you don't appear like a tone-deaf, out-of-touch caveman after the fact. I want creators to succeed. I want them to take moments to cherish the human body and show that physical intimacy is best experienced through body to body contact, but I don't need to experience those moments through the, often white, male gaze all the time. Most importantly, and this goes out to those lovely folks in marketing and advertising as well, that demo that you're trying to reach with such gratuitous scenes like the Carol Marcus scene, they have desktops, laptops, and tablets, all of which allow them to stream porn and download lad mags anytime they want. They don't need you to provide them with cheap titillation, and they haven't for a very long time.

Furious Six and the Careless Propagation of The Ridiculous

"Are they serious?"  "I think so, but just keep smiling until we cash the check."

The guys behind us were the bullseye in the center of the target audience.

Two of them escaped from the set of COPS, with their gaunt frames, toothless grins, and oversized dayglo Akademiks hoodies and jorts.

Their benefactor was probably well outside of the coveted 18-34 demo, but mentally he fit right in. The only thing holding him back from being as raucous and garroulous as the knuckleheaded tagalongs beside him was the likely heart condition he was nursing, as signaled by fits of wheezing and a minute of labored breathing every time he climbed the steps to corner of the top row.

They were they type to ask for their money back from a free screening when the movie started to play sans sounds or subtitles tailor made for eighth grade readers. They were also proof that my cousin was right, "acting out and acting stupid has nothing to do with color and everything to do with class."

Once the sound was fixed and the cars, a black 2012 Challenger (that will always pale in comparison to the 70' original) and a silver GT-R, blared through the tunnel, speeding down a single-lane highway that winds around the mountainous landscape of the Canary Islands, they were hooked.

Of course that's how The Fast and The Furious 6, or Furious 6 as the title card at the end of the flick's TV-show style opening states, starts. With a growl. It continues with a succession of loud shouts and doesn't stop until midway through the credits.

Furious 6 grabs the attention of audiences like the folks behind us by excising cohesion, logic, or narrative intelligence and becomes the famed Set Piece showcase that cinephiles have prophesized since the rise of the blockbuster. Where Fast 5 was light, silly, generally focused, and vaguely purposeful. Furious 6 is the same, but far more audacious albeit much messier and far sillier. Does it tread into the realm of "so bad it's good"? No. It goes beyond such a distinction and rolls right into the realm of being so ridiculous that there's no way it can be anything other than entertaining.

This time, Texas Rocky (Dwayne Johnson as Lucas Hobbs), or Samoan Thor as Ludacris' Tej considers him, and Haywire (Gina Carano) conscript Dominic Ocean (Vin Diesel) and his band of merry thieves to help him bring down a team of ex-paramilitary "warriors" who are planning to steal a nuclear device with souped-up Indy Cars that with ramps built onto the frame, for the express purpose of flipping suckers. No bullshit.

So, rather than acknowledge that Torretto and his demo-specific rainbow crew--white (Paul Walker's Brian O'Connor); black (the aforementioned Ludacris and Tyrese's Roman, both all stars in this); asian (Sung Kang's Han); middle eastern (Gal Gadot's Giselle); and hispanic (Michelle Rodriguez's Letty and Elsa Pataky's Brazilian cop, whose name is irrelevant because...Letty)--are essentially criminals with hearts of gold who just happened to destroy lives and property in Rio for a cool hundred million, Furious 6 tries desperately to convince us that they are the "urban" Avengers by handwaving the less savory aspects of the characters and highlighting their heroics and devotion to family. In case you're unclear about that, check the slow walk pose poster of the heroes tagged onto the end of the opening.

Eschewing all evidence to the contrary, Texas Rocky believes these guys are heroes and gives them government funding and resources to take down the crew's military dopplegangers (a point thankfully lampshaded by Tej) led by the depressingly shallow Owen Shaw, played by the frighteningly charisma-less Luke Evans, who has proven that he should be kept as far away from Brandon Lee's legacy as possible with this performance. The hook? Michelle Rodriguez's resurrected Letty is one of Shaw's team. The twist? She can't remember anything about her past life.

To catch Shaw and bring Letty back to "The Family", Dom's crew must destroy London, and eventually Spain, with anything on four wheels they can get their hands on. There is a level of wanton death and destruction that surpasses even the climax of Fast 5, which is almost proof positive that few people in the industry, creatives or otherwise, understand that the basic purpose of heroes is to safeguard human lives. In truth, this destruction is limited to two major set pieces and a handful of physical encounters that demonstrate how nobody involved remembers that this movie series used to be about drag racers (see Tokyo Drift for the most on-target Fast and Furious movie about racing and youth culture).

Those set pieces are all that matters, and as the product of Justin Lin's wild imagination, they are the best evidence that he should be sending his reels to Kevin Feige and Marvel so he can get a shot at contributing to their blockbuster assembly line. This doesn't make him a great auteur--in fact, many of the action scenes raise more questions about Lin's ability to examine human consequence of such destruction more than anything else, but what action director hasn't made the same fundamental error--or anything like that, but any director who can come up with multiple stunts where mere humans jump from speeding cars across fifteen to twenty foot chasms deserves to play with bigger, flashier toys.

Screenwriter Chris Morgan, on the other hand, should really sit in a public place and just listen to people talk rather than reading the index of the Christopher Nolan Guide to Weighty Dialogue in a 21st Century Action Film. Expository to a fault, the script explains everything, even when the same information is shown within the same frame. The best example is the return of Nucky's brother (Shea Whigham) as a FBI agent and colleague of Brian's who gets his nose broken by Brian again in a practically unnecessary yet purely fanservice-y subplot. The character literally says "again", to help viewers whose memories and attention spans can't even reach back to last week's showing of Fast and Furious on USA. Unfortunately, the script structure works perfectly for audience members like the jolly fellows behind us, who repeated every moderately clever line, guffawed at the adolescent ribbing, and were absolutely flummoxed by the obvious turns in the narrative.

Despite its faults, Furious 6 is unquestionably a critic-proof crowd pleaser, and an astounding amount of credit goes to Tyrese and the usually wooden Ludacris for making Furious 6 far more palatable than it had any reason to be. They double-handedly saved this farce from devolving into pure, unadultered fandango. These guys deserve a buddy movie where they are a pair of good natured, ne'er-do-well thieves with a love for the high life. Tyrese, moreso than Luda, exemplifies the perfect response to the concentrated ridiculousness around him by laughing at the insanity and carrying on like a man who left his marbles at the door. Both he and Luda are quick with generally funny one-liners, followed by what appears to be an honest laugh at the silliness on display, yet Tyrese's Roman, with his insatiable hunger and toothy grin, hews closer to glib braggarts found in better criminal team-up movies like Ocean's 11. He and Luda stand in stark contrast to stone-faced Diesel, Walker, Rodriguez...almost everybody except for Rocky, on occasion, who are so busy playing phony tough and crazy brave to ever find a sliver of humor or inanity in their circumstance. And really, thank goodness for them. Granted, it kind of sucks to see the brothers reduced to comedy relief, especially with so many POC in the film, but without them, this would be an excruciatingly dour, yet still unintentionally hilarious, experience. 

Ultimately, this elaborate diatribe is meant to say one thing: this is a silly movie (maybe the most unintentionally hilarious flick this year). Take it for what it's worth. It's targeted at the back rows. The loud folks in the jorts and dated urban gear who spent fifty bucks on a small heart attack at the concession stand. The ones who aspire to ball in tricked-out super cars and stuff massive amounts of overdeveloped muscles into smedium tees while punching Renegade GI Joes into oblivion. In no way will this ever be confused for something designed for  the cineastes, but neither was The Avengers

Yet, Furious 6 is also aimed at the 13-year old in many of us who is absolutely tickled at superheroes in. If you can sit amongst the crowds described above, witness such ridiculous wonders as a man jumping from a moving car and catching another person then slaming into the windshield of another car, laugh, and cast them aside as adolescent diversions then enjoy. If you can absorb the audacious ridiculousness of Furious 6 and smile, like I did after I had a week to let it sink in, then have as much fun as you can with it. But, be warned, don't over analyze this flick. Don't even analyze it.  Leave that to silly people like me, who should know better. If you think to much about Furious 6, you will find yourself arguing with an idiot, and we know how that argument usually ends.