Leave ‘Fast & Furious’ stunts to the pros
MUCH hype has been generated over the screening of the eighth instalment of the Fast & Furious franchise, The Fate of the Furious, with Durban cinemas putting up “sold out” signs at the recent premiere.
Motor enthusiasts love living the dream of engine revs and thrusts, exhaust fumes and screeching tyres. And 4D cinema brings the experience to life with viewers on the edge, gesticulating animatedly after years of simulation on Playstation consoles and arcade machines.
But movies like Fast & Furious and Mad Max have the tendency to influence young, impressionable minds.
Motor fundis do engine conversions and modifications with turbos and superchargers to enhance performance and optimise speed.
Now they are installing microchips. It is like changing your DNA. Thousands are spent on this as spares shops and motor accessory store owners smile all the way to the bank.
It has also become de rigueur for affluent parents with deep pockets and gonzo bank balances to lavish luxury motor vehicles on their sons as birthday gifts.
These youngsters are wet behind the ears. Latest to join the hierarchy of wealthy, whacko gift givers is the Mpisane family, who gave their son a R2 million vehicle for his 16th birthday (Sunday Tribune, April 2).
What they should know is that our teenagers engage in illegal drag racing to prove who is the “boss of the road”. Their premature deaths leave a trail of heartache and misery.
Instead of getting the “key” to the world on their birthdays, they get a key to a deadly, mean machine and carte blanche to play out their Mad Max and Fast & Furious fantasies.
And so a new breed of spoilt brats cruise our streets in polished convertibles, hiding behind the veneer of dark, designer shades and more heavily decked in gold than a Dubai jewellery shop.
The boot serves no storage purpose as the entire space is taken up by bass speakers, which generate a terrifying boom.
It is a fact that speed kills, especially when coupled with a few potent cocktails and a sniff of nose candy. All this gives them a pre-paid, premium booking at their nearest graveyard, where all that “souping-up” is in vain.
We should rather sit back at home and watch Michael Knight or James Bond do the stunts. KEVIN GOVENDER
Shallcross