Starring: Paul Walker (I), Tyrese, Cole Hauser

Mattel, the toy company, had better protect their intellectual property. They've already licensed their die-cast Hot Wheels toys to be developed into a major film next year, directed by Charlie's Angels director McG. And they've been talking forever about creating a live-action Barbie movie. But in Universal's 2 Fast, 2 Furious Barbie's boyfriend, Ken, moves out of the Malibu Dreamhouse and gets behind the dash of some souped-up cars that look a lot like Hot Wheels. The only things missing? Skipper and a loop-d-loop track.

Actually, there are a number of other things missing in 2 Fast. One of them would be a script. The general story is that Ken…I mean, Brian O'Conner (Paul Walker, we'll get back to him later…promise), the undercover agent from the first film, The Fast and the Furious, has lost his badge. He's now become the king of illegal street racing in Miami. He's busted for same and the local law enforcement gives him one of those movie-world "if you help us, we'll drop all the charges" deals (instead of the usual "help us and you won't spend the next 24 months as a catamite" deals).

Ken…I mean, Brian, has to help them bring in Carter Verone (Cole Hauser, here on a detour to better things) a notorious something-or-other (drug-smuggler? car jacker? cigar smoker?) who has to get his money out of the country. Verone's assistant is actually crack undercover DEA/FBI/Victoria's Secret agent Monica Clemente (Eva Mendes, on a detour to "Fear Factor," more on her later as well), who may or may not be in too deep. O'Conner enlists the aid of his age-old friend, Roman Pearce (Tyrese, the only marginally animated actor in this mess, so there won't be more of him later) to make the run to the waiting plane.

There's another, probably more accurate way, to summarize this merchandising dream film: Three Pepsi product placements are wedged between some direct references to Snap-on Tools before two Mitsubishi cars, the Spyder and the Evo, arrive on the scene to heroically swerve in and out of curves. Put one check mark for Best Supporting Actress for the Honda S2000, whose short but crucial role will not be forgotten by the Academy next year.

Almost certainly forgotten will be the performance of Paul Walker. Walker smirks through the entire film, as if we were having to watch him go up to accept his senior class presidency over and over and over again (when a character yells "Shut up punk!" at O'Conner—it's immediately a high point). Certainly he doesn't have much to work with but he seems to have channeled all of his years of training and experience into ensuring his delivery of the word "bro" doesn't sound too white bread. He fails in this regard. Walker's been shielded before by more flamboyant, charismatic, or at least seasoned actors, but here it's all him, and him in the chrome reflection. And that's not much. He's phenomenally sexless, as if, like the plastic Ken, there was no hair, and no there, down there.

Also plastic, perfect, and petrified is Eva Mendes. Though one suspects that some of her role was left on the cutting room floor, it's not something that one suspects and begrudges. Mendes reacts to nearly everything as if she's recreating her favorite scenes from Nash Bridges; a dash here of the delivery of Yasmine Bleeth, mixed with the mystique of Jodi Lyn O'Keefe. She's also petulant (to continue the alliteration). She could at least be perky. Hell, the S2000 is perky.

But, the most invective has to be reserved for John Singleton; he's the biggest missing piece of the film. The youngest man ever nominated for Best Director by the Academy Awards--for Boyz N the Hood, his debut--Singleton continues to Roto-Root his career. Even this is a slide from Baby Boy, Shaft and Higher Learning.

Many great directors in the past have been handed crap material. Hawks, Wyler, Coppola, even Hitchcock, had great successes from studio schlock that was dumped on their lap, or that they accepted to bolster their career. But Singleton seemingly adds not one ounce of flair, or personality, or himself to this prefabricated kit-movie. One particular scene, where ominous music is layered over a LIGHT BRUNCH BY THE POOL, is just one of many examples of the absolute disregard Singleton has for the material and his meager attempts to improve it or edit it out. It's as if he's already saying, "Hey, it wasn't my fault; it's 2 Fast, 2 Furious for gawds-sake."

What's expected of great directors is that they imbue even silly car movies (or slasher films, or gladiator flicks, or trashy mob tales) with something noble, something worth seeing, something human. But Singleton went with the cars. Because of him, the only reason to see this film is to get an advance peek at what's coming next for this year's local auto show, and perhaps for a better understanding of the "Mattel vs. Universal" litigation.