Just when the Fast-and-the-Furious-on-Ice finale threatens to drag on past the point of action-setpiece endurance, director F. Gary Gray has the grace to send a supercar from heaven as an actual answer to prayer.
The Fate of the Furious offers everything you might want from the series, but those offerings are beginning to look ever so slightly stale.
You know what you're getting before you go, and you get it.
If you're not interested in seeing a fleet of cars get chased across a frozen lake by a Russian submarine, that's between you and your maker. As long as you are, [Fate] is a wildly entertaining thrill ride that never lets its foot off the gas.
If the fate of the Furious series is to grow somehow both wearier and dumber with age, then the eighth film is proof of a mission firmly accomplished. And there's no shame, Vin, in hanging it all up after a job well done.
"The Fate of the Furious" begins and ends with adrenaline-spiking scenes - a drag race through Havana, an airplane brawl - that remind you why this gear-head franchise is still purring along. As for the two hours in between . . . not so much.
[It] will earn zillions of dollars during the first nanoseconds of its global opening this weekend, so who am I to call it soulless, graceless, witless, incoherent -- even for the franchise -- and, not incidentally, brain-numbingly long at 136 minutes?
It feels like the movies have gotten as big as they can get, and the gleeful absurdity that drove them is losing ground to the specter of obligation.
One of these decades, Dom and company will be saving the world in turbo-powered wheelchairs.