F9 (aka F9: The Fast Saga, Universal, 5.22) is the work of the devil, by which I mean one of the most shallow and aesthetically reprehensible hack directors on the face of the planet — Justin Lin.

You can smell the bullshit right away with a brief montage of Vin Diesel (Dominic Toretto) and Michelle Rodriguez (Letty Ortiz) living on a green, serene, tree-shaded country farm and showering their young son with gentle TLC. FORMULA WHORES!

And then along comes John Cena as Jokob Toretto, Dom‘s bad bruthaahh! And over they go, tumbling into space, falling and landing without hurting themselves.

If I was Diesel, Rodriguez, Cena, Ludacris, Jordana Brewster, Helen Mirren or Charlize Theron, would I appear in this thing for the sake of a stinking paycheck? I hate to say it but I probably would. Money is money, bills are bills, etc. That doesn’t change the fact that if Bob Dylan of 1964 could foresee the the Fast & Furious films, his response would be “can you find me a hole to get sick in?”