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.

Oz: The Great, The Powerful...The Pimp

"[It] ain't easy, but somebody's gotta do it"

Sam Raimi's Wizard of Oz origin story may be about many things--the power of friendship, non-violent conflict resolution, the triumph of good over evil--but it's mostly about James Franco's Oscar Diggs, the eponymous Wizard, and his ability to charm every remotely attractive woman in the land of Oz.

First and foremost, Oz: The Great and Powerful is solidly entertaining, balancing just the right amount of razzle dazzle, heart, and humor to almost live up to the legacy of the 1939 original. From the opening frames, black and white with a 1.33:1 ratio, to the first panoramic views of pre-Dorothy Oz, widescreen and blinding color,  Raimi does great things with the story of the once and future Wizard. Diggs is not a man who at all seems destined for greatness, no matter how much he wants it; he is, instead, a louse, a charlatan, and a scoundrel, traits that all, not so incidentally, align with the older Wizard. The new wrinkle to this character, one that I'm sure Franco was all to eager to play up, is the womanizer angle.

Despite all the marketing highlighting the three female leads (Mila Kunis, Rachel Weisz, and Michelle Williams), it's almost a surprise that Diggs is such a ladies man, no less in a Disney blockbuster clearly targeted at females of all ages. This is not to say that Oz is a feminist nightmare or a misogynists dream; it's just such a killer, and frankly unexpected, angle that it becomes positively refreshing. How often, these days, do we get leads in tentpoles that are demonstrably, charmingly flawed, with the notable exception of Tony Stark (incidentally played by Robert Downey Jr. who was thisclose to playing Diggs). Franco does a superb job of playing Diggs, a sideshow magician and proto-Copperfield/Blaine/Angel, as the type conman who believes enough of his crap to be dangerous. He's also a bit of an ineffectual dolt, an angle that allows the female leads to dominate the film in ways that females rarely do in blockbusters.

Yet, for all the girl power on display, Oz is primarily a film about a man so enamored with his own myth that he practically wills it into actuality. On top of that, Diggs is a man whose mythmaking is fueled with an insatiable appetite for the ladies that he inadvertently--I hope--creates the engine of his "doom". This is played out with Mila Kunis' naive Theodora, a character who learns some very hard lessons about the callousness of charming men, a lesson that will be new to kids, the few who care, but painfully obvious and kind of humorous, in a skeevy way, to anyone over the age 16. The writing is on the wall as soon as Oscar and Theodora "dance" under the stars, a scene that kicks off the amazingly brash and consistent sexual innuendo that runs through the film in much the way double entendres were par for the course in classics like Breakfast at Tiffany's. With that masterstroke, Raimi does three things: he makes the female characters more vital to the narrative than they would be in a similar genre flick; he honors the charming, lighthearted, screwball style that was infectious to Golden Age cinema; and, he grabs the attention of adults in the audience who may have erroneously dismissed this fairly fantastic flick as kid's stuff.

Indeed, Oz the Great and Powerful is far from kid's stuff--the chuckles from the adults at every dirty-ish line that slides in beneath the radar are evidence of that--but it is still a fascinating and wondrous tale that hearkens back to an optimistic era where violence was not the sole source of conflict resolution in filmed narratives. It also recalls a time when Hollywood glamour meant something more than red carpet walks on Oscar night. Oz drips with the style and sensibilities of a bygone era, and it is better for it. i wish I could say I was surprised that Raimi pulled this off with such aplomb, but I'm not. He has shown audiences, since Evil Dead, that he has a deft grasp of genre and a true respect for the trappings of genre as well as a healthy respect for the classic notion of making films enjoyable and heartfelt, see Spider-Man 2, without delving into condescension and cynicism, something his contemporary, Tim Burton, could stand to remember. In fact, Burton and his much-maligned uber-blockbuster, Alice in Wonderland, will probably be on your mind as you leave the theater after seeing Oz because you'll be wondering will we see more of Raimi's Oz or Burton's Wonderland. Hopefully, we'll see more of the former and no more of the latter.

Stop Snitching or Don't - The Bosses Don't Care: A Look at Snitch

Omar smells what the Rock is cooking, but does he dare say anything about it?

WARNING: DISCRETION ADVISED - THIS POST CONTAINS MATURE LANGUAGE.

The kid in front of me clapped loud enough for everybody in the theater to hear as he yelled at the teen on the screen facing jail time for holding a few pounds of ecstasy for his friend:

"That's right. Don't be no fucking snitch."

It was the eighth thing he had yelled at the screen, and we were only ten minutes into the movie. He didn't stop until the four girls he came with forced him to leave ten minutes before the movie ended.

He was that guy. The loudest nigger in the room. The reason people, ourselves included, don't like to go to movies with us. Truthfully, he was to be expected. The theater was a few miles outside of Baltimore, and the movie was Dwayne Johnson's (Rocky, as us old-school smarks call him) latest, the first in a four-month stretch of Rocky actioners, Snitch, as divisive a topic as any in the cradle of  post-Mafioso Omerta. 

His outbursts recalled the days of Carmelo Anthony and the Stop Snitching "campaign" that made  anti-tattle-telling YouTube clips a viral controversy. But more than that, they reveal a mentality that permeates through every neighborhood where people, of any color or creed, adhere to a code made by people who would use, abuse, and snitch on others without compunction if it meant saving their hide or getting paid. Snitching isn't, as has never really been, the problem. the problem is the handful of disenfranchised souls who think that not snitching is going to make their lives any better in the eyes of a criminal element that treats them much like corporations and government organizations, the only difference being you die instead of getting fired.

It takes Snitch a good hour and a half to get around to that basic point,and when it does, it finally becomes a movie worth investing in. In Snitch, Rocky tries to flex the same acting muscle he did in Walking Tall, that of the decent man pushed into increasingly dire circumstances in an effort to save a young charge from the throes of the drug trade. This time, Rocky plays a Missouri trucking magnate turned government informant after his son gets caught in possession of enough ecstasy to warrant a mandatory minimum sentence of 20 years in the federal pen. With the help of Walking Dead's Jon Bernthal, as an ex-con trying to step lightly on the straight and narrow, Rocky attempts to outwit Susan Sarandon's conservative State's Attorney; the increasingly, egregiously typecast Michael K.Williams' small-time dealer; and Benjamin Bratt's stoic, barely believable Cartel kingpin to save his son.

For most of its runtime, Snitch plays like an extended arc of a "gritty" cable police drama, think Southland or The Wire minus the graphic anything. It is a slow-burn that treads desperately close to being boring because the plot is 80% setup, 20% execution. Director Ric Roman Waugh spends an almost inordinate amount of time imposing indie sensibilities on a late February action flick. Snitch is replete with long, quiet shots, grainy sound filters, and jitter-cam action sequences meant to evoke the realism of a tale purported to be based on true events (the plural is the key there). While this artistry and meticulousness contribute to some adequate character development and add some very necessary gravitas, it runs the risk of losing an audience that has entered the theater with a potentially negative perception of the subject matter.

See, Snitch lives and dies on perception. While the Brahma Bull does an admirable job of playing a man  who is both pushed to his limit and out of his depth, his wall-like frame, undeniable charisma, and the unavoidable perception associated with both prevent him from ever seeming truly outmatched. Rocky fails to seem truly threatened because audiences have been trained to never see him as a victim, no matter how much he jobs for the first fifteen minutes of his wrestling matches. When he walks into a Williams' spot in his first attempt to make a connect he can offer up to Sarandon, he is so massive and reticent that it's hard to believe he couldn't clear the room single-handedly. Perception. It's a mother. Omar knows.

But, there's a more acute issue of perception at work between Snitch and it's target demographic. Ideally, this flick is aimed squarely at males 13-35. Many of those males will be men of color. A fair amount of those men of color will probably come from lower-middle to impoverished neighborhoods. Neighborhoods where snitches are akin the most detestable vermin imaginable. Long story and snappy prose short: it's a bit of a hard sell.

This was obvious from the audience's push-pull reaction to the flick. For every 50 or so people who were quietly invested in the story of the noble father trying to save his son, there were at least two--consistently Black males--who booed or cursed at the very concept of the snitch being a hero. Suffice to say, Snitch will probably do gangbusters in middle to upper class areas, but it'll struggle to gain ground with "urban" audiences after opening week. But opening week is all that matters anyway, right?

What may matter more is the notion that has spread among young boys like the noisy bama in front of me and others like him. The ones who think being tight-lipped guarantees them loyalty from hustlers, bangers, and kingpins. That it will make them any less of a disposable resource to these underground corporations that dump bodies instead of pink slips. That it might give them a leg up in climbing the ladder to nowhere, which is so much more preferable than climbing that same ladder with a pension and health insurance plan attached. Snitching may not be the "noblest" way to conduct oneself in the "streets", but what makes kids like  the mouthy mofo in front me think the "streets" are going to treat them any better if they keep quiet is nothing more than blindness, a blindness that was put on front street most recently in Scorcese's The Departed.

Like Snitch, we are only at our best in these situations when we accept that undeniable law of nature: we are a disposable resource. However, as disposable as we may be to other people and forces beyond our control, we still achieve more when we work and fight for ourselves. It's only when Rocky realizes that fact, that neither side cares and he will have to create his own solution, that he truly becomes a relatable, admirable hero. It's not rocket science. But, kids like the one in front of me aren't rocket scientists. They hold onto to the very same institutions that multiple narratives, fictional and non-fictional, have revealed to be callous and uncaring. And they'll continue to hold onto them until they've been locked up because the dude they didn't snitch on snitches on them.