Bald and buff fantasists couldn't ask for more from this collection of explosions, motorized mayhem and sweaty, sweaty men staring each other down with barely disguised passion in their eyes.
Fast Five just might the most impressive baldness-fetish film of all time. Forget Superman's Lex Luthor, forget anything made by Bruce Willis in the last ten years – if you love big, bald men, then you are going to cream your jeans after seeing Fast Five.
Bald and buff fantasists couldn't ask for more from this collection of explosions, motorized mayhem and sweaty, sweaty men staring each other down with barely disguised passion in their eyes. Yes, it's true: two of the world's most popular beefcake baldies, Vin Diesel and The Artist Formerly Known as The Rock take some time off from their Harlequin Romance cover model jobs and get their grind on in the streets of Brazil for this ridiculous, but unfortunately not final iteration of the street racing epic.
Outside of a skinhead beatdown, men and other men who love ultra-masculine bald boys won't find anything to dislike about Fast Five, other than perhaps the amount of camera time that is devoted to actors like Paul Walker and his shameful head of pretty blonde hair. Even junior baldie Tyrese Gibson gets to put his lack of locks up against the incredible, perspiration-beaded skull crowns of Diesel and Dwayne as they parade through the streets of Rio like some kind of transplanted Fire Island parade.
Maybe you are confused at this point in the review, wondering when I am going to mention the cars, the bullets, the blood and the action that no doubt lurk within Fast Five's more than two hours of screen time. If you were expecting some continuation of the car culture spirit embraced by earlier Fast and Furious franchise entries, then you are in for a huge disappointment, my friend. This series is now all about huge muscles, bulging brains and the foreheads that barely contain their incredible majesty.
If you love men who are bald, bald men, muscular bald men or just enormous muscles topped off by a shaved head that has been tanned by the heat of Brazil's merciless sun, then run, don't walk to the theatre to see Fast Five. If you are an ostensibly normal human being who has no particular aching desire to see the exposed epidermis of a man who not too long ago was oiling himself up before stepping into the ring with similarly greasy steroidal freaks, then what the hell are you doing reading this review in the first place?
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