The Furious isn't interested in gently introducing itself. It kicks the door in, punches three people through it and spends much of what follows finding increasingly inventive ways of damaging the human body.
The martial-arts action is fast, ferocious and frequently spectacular, with enough bone-crunching choreography and enthusiastic splatter to make even seasoned action fans occasionally wince.
And that's unquestionably where the film earns its keep. The fights have personality rather than simply speed, the camera generally allows you to appreciate the performers actually doing the work, and there's a pleasing determination to keep escalating the madness.
Just when you think you've seen the film's most ridiculous piece of combat, somebody arrives with another limb, weapon or conveniently destructible piece of furniture.
Unfortunately, whenever everyone stops hitting each other, The Furious runs into trouble. The plotting is wafer-thin, motivations rarely extend much beyond providing directions to the next fight, and characters are sketched so lightly that emotional moments land with all the force of a feather.
It's difficult to care about revenge, loss or redemption when you're still struggling to remember precisely who half these people are.
As a martial-arts showcase, then, there's plenty to admire; as an actual movie, considerably less. Inventive choreography, hi-octane energy and buckets of blood successfully paper over the cracks for a while, but eventually you notice there's not much underneath. Great fights looking for a better film to happen in.
