2 Fast 2 Furious, John Singleton's sequel to the entertaining street-racing mini-epic The Fast and the Furious, is awash in Miami South Beach neon. The movie's automotive stars are wicked bits of pop-culture eye candy that end up being far more interesting than the film's dull-as-Datsun story or the bad acting by virtually everyone on board.
A freshly domesticated Nissan Skyline GTR and the seething Mitsubishi EVO 7, driven by ex-cop-turned-racer Brian O'Connor (Paul Walker) and pal Roman Pearce (Tyrese), are apparently the only things on earth able to put an end to the career of wealthy South Florida crime lord Carter Verone (Cole Hauser). When O'Connor and Pearce are approached by the feds with an offer of expunged criminal records if they can help set up the Man, they jump at the chance and get to manhandle turbocharged rides for the rest of the film. Lucky them. The audience, however, has to sit through one of the silliest car flicks since Herbie Goes Bananas.
The good guys are reformed toughies, the toughies are cardboard cutouts with bizarre on/off Little Havana accents, the babes are busty, and the cops are clueless and loud. Singleton shoots the speeding cars as though this were some sort of Hot Wheels commercial on acid ' all speedy blurs and snaking tail-lights and zero sense of what's going on. Real-world road racers ought to be incensed that one of the great American underground anti-sports is getting such shabby treatment.
Only Chris "Ludacris" Bridges' appearance as a garage owner isn't downright, well, ludicrous. Everyone else appears to be as befuddled by the script as I was, even sultry Storm model Devon Aoki, who, in a sop to the emerging feminization of street clubs, plays an overripe racer grrrl with a cast-irony pout. It's all very nice to look at, sure, but 2 Fast 2 Furious is about as exciting as a Yugo in quicksand.