Drive Fast Crash Furious
This piece is about the films The Fast and the Furious & Crash. There will be spoilers ahead.
Cars are a contradiction on wheels. They’re heavy yet fast. This makes them potentially exciting but mostly just mundane. You can’t watch a movie while you drive, at least not if you want to keep your licence. It’s tough watching a film on a phone screen while your passengers scream in the back — although noise cancelling earphones help.
But if I had to dig deep I’d say my fundamental problems with cars is that they’re both noisy and isolating. Unless it’s an electric car in which case they’re just isolating, and you can mull over existential dread in peace. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to drive, but I’ve seen proof that there are people who do in fact enjoy cars. And if you own a supercar, you’re definitely one of these people. Sometimes I’ll see a supercar driving around central London, open-top and sitting so low in the road that you can taste the next driver’s exhaust pipe. But supercars are more than practical, they’re proof that sometimes enjoyment outstrips the essential. They’re like stamp collecting or podcasting in that they’re a harmless way to numb the pain of existence. It’s hard to stop and smell the flowers while hearing “EYES ON THE F****ING ROAD!!” So I like to think of cars as petrol-fueled valium for the Jeremy Clarksons among us.
The Fast and the Furious (2001): written by Gary Scott Thompson & David Ayer, directed by Rob Cohen.
Undercover police officer Brian O’Connor must infiltrate a crew of LA drag racers to investigate their leader, Dom. It turns out he has more in common with his new racing partners than his colleagues in the police. Time’s running out for his investigation, what will he choose when his back’s to the wall?
Everything about this story is efficient. Drag racing is going in a straight line as quickly and cleanly as possible, so it’s fitting that the drama here does the same. Start. Top speed. Brake. Line up for the next race. Repeat.
But efficiency comes with sacrifice. Character-driven scenes get cut, subtle plot points are dropped. Brian is investigating Dom, and is convinced of his innocence despite his bosses’ convictions. We never see or hear the reasons why for either side, but they presumably existed in the screenplay. There are a sprinkling of scenes rich in character psychology, and one can only assume more got cut so as to hit a desired runtime.
Crash (1996): written and directed by David Cronenberg.
After a near-fatal car crash, producer and emotional husk James Ballard gets involved with a car crash reenactment society. Are they just sex and adrenaline addicts? How close will James’ new obession take him to the edge?
This film opens with establishing that James is in a boring open marriage so you would expect the wife to be the second major player in this story, but in fact it’s Vughan; a car crash reenactor who is at the center of his own little world. Together they stagger from one wreck to the next. Both literally and figuratively in their personal lives.
Surreal films tend to leave people in two states: confused or smitten. Being smitten is worse. To go on like a lovesick teen about how meaningful the whole experience was is nauseating. Truth be told, neither group understands surreal films because they’re not made to be understood, they’re made to be experienced: look at the pictures, feel what you feel. Don’t look for meaning.
Which goes for both films. The Fast and the Furious just as much as Crash.
Your first clue should be the nonsense the characters spout: “I live my life a quarter of a mile at a time”, and “the crash is a fertilising, not destructive event”. These phrases are meaningless scraps of poetry, written for their evocative potential.
Humans are copycats, but very few come out of a film quoting it line for line. So it makes more sense to watch for what is copyable (even in a film about near-suicidal adrenaline junkies) rather than the fluff they pull out of their mouths. So instead of looking for meaning in events, look for their significance as shaped by desire.
The heart of these movies are characters in an uncaring world, drawn to each other by the thrill of driving dangerously. This isn’t spoken, it’s shown. We may never look at a car the way the characters mentioned above might, but we can recognise their collective gaze. Each and every person knows what it is to meet a kindred spirit, and that’s what these films are about; the cars are just a vehicle.
Details keep you in the story, but as time goes by specifics will fade. Your memory of a story will ride or die on the strength of human connection. The rest is noise.
This piece was written to accompany the podcast Bigger Pictures season 3 episode 4“Drive Fast Crash Furious”, available here and through your podcatcher of choice.
