Need for Speed

Any film that takes its cues from Vanishing Point can’t be so bad, right? A perennial 70s counter-culture classic, influencing everything from Smokey and the Bandit to Death Proof; you’d like to think any film that uses it as a template is off to a decent start. You’d like to think that, but of course, you’d be wrong. Need for Speed is a poor cousin to all of the above. It may bring a sliver of nerdy computer game charm to the table, but on the whole, it’s pretty effing dire. Vanishing Point be turnin’ in its dusty grave.

That said, considering the games themselves are hardly a bastion of narrative genius, you can see why the filmmakers decided to opt for the ‘man drives from A to B’ scenario that Vanishing Point’s Kowalski finds himself in, his desert-bound drive soundtracked by Super Soul, the funk DJ hooked up to police frequencies tracking his every move, fist-pumping the air with all the rebellious joie de vivre of a blind Black Panther. However in the case of Need for Speed, our Kowalski is no longer *just* a driver. He’s car mechanic-cum-street racer Tobey Marshall (Aaron Paul), looking every inch like Jesse having driven away from the set of Breaking Bad, albeit with a sexy new designer wardrobe. But he’s swapped the pains of the meth cook for new improved pains – namely his racing partner’s death caused by one Dino Brewster (a smoulderingly lifeless Dominic Cooper), a fellow racer with some celebrity to his name (he’s a baddie, hence more successful - them's the rules). After establishing all these tropes – throwing in the kooky Brit love interest (Imogen Poots) for good measure – Brewster flees the scene of his murderous crime only for us to fast-forward two years later, Marshall wandering out of prison having taken the rap for his partner’s death. He’s been stitched up good and proper and he’s out for revenge. Oh aye, you heard. Revenge. He be pissed, and he be ready to pedal metal.

Much driving ensues, the checkpoint being a West Coast race to right a few wrongs (because if the police can’t deal with the evidence properly, the only way to solve a problem is to drive a car at it). But Paul’s inadvertent Poundstretcher imitation of the none-more-cool Kowalski isn’t enough for Need for Speed; they had to throw in their own Super Soul. Enter Michael Keaton as Monarch, a video blogger/webmaster/suspect criminal of sorts/DJ (it’s very unclear what he is), a man with his finger firmly on the pulse of the illegal street racing scene from the comfort of his gigantic manchild fantasy apartment. His role, well… it’s bizarre to say the least, functioning as Basil Exposition for much of the time whilst remaining largely unnecessary throughout, other than to add an air of computer-gameyness to proceedings as a commentator of sorts; though this function is already well covered by Paul’s pilot friend Benny (Scott Mescudi) who skims the skies watching for police presence and tight bends. There’s a joke in there somewhere. Let me know if you find it.

All of this, in some inconceivable way, does add up to more than the sum of its parts in places: while it’s easy to laugh at the wooden dialogue and cack-handed ‘emotional’ moments, we’ve had six (count ‘em) Fast and Furious films covering exactly the same ground, only with an even worse grip on the supposed reality of street racing. At least Need for Speed is aware how daft it is, and doesn’t try any harder to be nothing but stupid fun. The (literal) co-pilot MacGuffin is a nice touch too, giving fans of the series a sense that the film was made with them in mind, rather than a wider audience (I’m sure Fox’s screenplay committee couldn’t disagree more). But these moments are far too few: Keaton’s ‘character’ (I still don’t know what he’s supposed to be) is plain annoying, the romantic subplot withered at best, and the rivalry between Brewster and Marshall couldn’t be any less thrilling. By the time we reach the race to end all races, we already know the outcome – watching it unfold is akin to seeing a Lamborghini do 200mph on a test bed: sexy, fast, but ultimately going nowhere.

If there’s one thing Need for Speed has in its favour, it’s the driving sequences – and let’s be honest, if you’ve rocked up for the intricate plot or the stellar acting, you’re simply not the film’s target audience (I should have thought of that before I wrote this review). Eschewing the CGI-enhanced nitrous absurdity of the Fast and Furious saga, Need for Speed pulls off the remarkable feat of having REAL cars doing REAL driving, on REAL roads. With real tarmac and everything. You simply have to ignore its myriad flaws to enjoy what is actually some quality camera and stunt work, at least where fast cars are concerned.

There’s a pared-down, plot-tossing fan edit of Need for Speed that’s surely going to be stunning when someone gets around to trimming it… until then, you’ve got an unexpurgated 132 minutes to wade through. Maybe wear a racing helmet, and pull the visor up every time you hear an engine start. That’d just about work, I reckon.