There’s one obvious reason to reject Fast & Furious: it glorifies the idiotic and frequently fatal practice of metropolitan street racing. Of course, criticizing an installment of the decade’s most gratuitously gear-headed movie franchise for its flashy advocacy of traffic violations is a futile endeavor, so it serves to mention that, on top of its lack of social conscience, F & F is absent of any credible action choreography or compelling characters. This is ironic considering that the film’s advertising pivots on the return of the entire original cast. (If you’ve been missing Jordana Brewster, now’s your chance to get your fix.)

As for Michelle Rodriguez, she figures in exactly two scenes before being unceremoniously done in off-screen. This incurs the wrath of ex-con/master-driver boyfriend Vin Diesel and the professional suspicions of loose-cannon cop/master driver Paul Walker. Following this set-up, you’ll forgive me for reporting that these two old rivals are on a collision course… at least until the (shocking!) moment where they decide to pool their stick-shifting gifts to take down the Mexican drug lord (of course) who authored Rodriguez’ demise. Engines are revved, clutches are pulled, laws are circumvented, red lights are ignored, hot-pantsed girls make out with one another desultorily amidst rows of gleaming machines and Diesel looks typically uncomfortable while trying to essay alpha-male cool. Par for the course, really.