Gone in 60 Seconds is the story of Randall "Memphis" Raines, a retired car thief who is totally retired and now doesn't want to steal cars anymore. Not one bit. He's done stealing cars. Got it? He's a new man. Now he's a productive member of society, running a filthy little go-cart track in the middle of the desert somewhere. He doesn't steal cars anymore, but he's happy. I don't think you get it yet. That's okay, we'll bring it up every ten minutes for the rest of the movie. You'll catch on.

Despite Randall's protests, his little brother Kip continues to steal cars. He's good, but he's not as good as his big brother. No sir, back in the day when he used to steal cars, Randall Raines was the best, the king, the el grande gordita of grand theft auto. But he doesn't steal cars anymore.

Kip is reckless, careless, a loose cannon. He's got weird facial hair and he throws bricks. Just as surely as Indiana Jones is going to be chased by a boulder and Drew Barrymore is going to be stabbed to death, the minute you see him you know he's going to be delivering an Action McNugget to nullify your brain into sitting through the next forty-five minutes of pokey, dialogue driven exposition without complaint. And he does. Vrooom! Stealing a Porsche never looked so easy.

But in satiating our tastes for broken glass and fast cars, Kip gets his dumb ass in a lot of trouble with his crime boss, a wussy looking British soccer-player type with big teeth and a fetish for wood. This guy is supposed to be a big time criminal who strikes fear into the hearts of smaller-time criminals and law enforcement officers alike, but when he speaks, all you can hear coming out of his mouth is "Cripes, gov'nah! I jolly well think I might aught to go down to the pub and pick me up a coupla pints and snog me best mates right on thei'a bloody lips!"

But even though he is a limey fruit, he still has henchmen, and I suppose anybody with henchmen has a certain degree of threatenocity behind them. Before you can say "tea and crumpets" poor Kip has been captured and stuck in a Batman-style slow death scenario involving a car crusher, a pair of knickers, and a plate of jellied eels.

The only thing that can save him? His brother Randall, the ex-car thief. He'd be willing to do anything to save his brother, even though he doesn't steal cars anymore.

Brit - 'Allo, Mista Raines. It sure does jolly suck to be in the colonies, what?
Randall - What?
Brit - Naturally, what?
Randall - Can we start again?
Brit - Awlright. We've got your brovah, and we're goin' to kill him into tiny pieces and frow 'im in the Thames, on account I paid 'im and his blokes 6663.11 pounds for a job he didn't neva' complete.
Randall - I'm sorry, pounds of what now?
Brit - 10,000 dollars.
Randall - Oh, why didn't you just say that in the first place, Spice Boy? Here ya go, I have that kind of money in my pocket for some reason. Now I'll take my brother and be...
Brit - Naught so fast, Yankee Doodle Dandy. You 'ave to steal some motacars for me.
Randall - Oh no, no sir. I don't steal cars anymore. I'm done with that. I used to steal cars, but now I don't. Not anymore.
Brit - Crumbs. Oh come on, please?
Randall - No.
Brit - Um… if you don't, we'll kill your brova!
Randall - Well, crap. Okay.

And so the race is on. Four days to reluctantly steal fifty cars. Start the clock, and put the brake on the movie. Screeeee!

You would think that Randall would leap into action and steal at least two cars on the way home. Maybe later go out for a burger, some fries, a Cadillac. You know, warm up. But no, not Randall. He doesn't really want to steal cars anyway. He's going to spend the first two days reminiscing and looking at photos. Ahh, the memories. Oh yeah, let's steal some cars, too.

But that's material for the spoiler lounge. What else do I have to put here...

Considering she's on the poster, Angelina Jolie really didn't have that big a part in the movie. Although she did give me a bigger part in the movie, which I suppose, is what she was there for anyway.

I'm sorry. You know what? Despite this review, I really really DID like Gone in 60 Seconds. Even though it was silly, contrived, predictable, lame, and slow at most parts, the parts that I DID like were so incredibly kick ass that they gloss over all of the rest. It's no Rushmore, but it is a fun ride. It's the kind of movie that when you cheer and clap, nobody gets mad at you. In fact, I haven't had this much FUN in a movie since Viva Rock Vegas.

Check your artsy-fartsy hat at the door and go and see Gone in 60 Seconds, but for your own safety, be sure to bring a designated safe driver who watches Center Stage instead. Your auto insurance company and your local law enforcement will thank you.

Okay, so it took long enough to get to the car chases, but once they came, weren't they fun?

We're with good old Nick Cage, cruising at two MILLION miles an hour down the LA river, jumping over conveniently located ramps, eluding helicopters through conveniently located airports, and then *yerk!* abruptly switching to little brother and old partner in the hospital bullshitting about old times.

Screeeeeeee! BANG!

It was like being bitch-slapped by the director. It's like if Luke Skywalker had shot his little orange glow-balls into the Death Star ventilation shaft and then the scene cuts to Emperor Palpatine telling us his favorite marmalade recipes.