Listen, remember. This is important. Driving is a privilege we enjoy and share with our fellow bipeds to get from point A to point B. Restaurants, cafes and lounges were designed as spaces where ultra intelligent entities like ourselves would congregate, sip beverages and discuss the impact of dangerously low hemlines on global warming. The department of motor vehicle or any equivalent authority does not test your precious intelligence because they like sitting next to you, coloring little white boxes and perfecting the art of grocery lists. Nor does the government want to squander away taxes over Neanderthals who want to ride with the pack.
In most instances (statistically proven to be 9,999 out of 10,000 instances) your eyes need to be on the road, hands on the wheel and your undivided attention engaging the traffic patterns. You need to shut your mouth and stay focused, except for the allowing the occasional cuss to depart your lips as a reaction to callous idiots who think they're racing chariots. Apart from such unpredictable spasms of conforming disgust, your ass needs to melt into the bucket seat and you better stay alert.
Then there is the cell phone user. Who on earth gave you the impression that you would successfully let your tongue wag while you're trying to exercise control over a 300 plus pound machine at 70 miles per hour, that depends on you for all decisions. Every little decision you make steers this amazing invention called the motorcar. Even a monkey high on organically derived acid from guavas would tell you that it's simply stupid to engage in polite conversation while you're at the wheel. Why do you want to risk my life while you ponder on about which 'superfuriiouslyhotchick' didn't reciprocate to your primal vibes or which 'ohmygaadhessocute' guy didn't drop to his fours to serenade you by doing his impression of the quintessential Pomeranian woo. So, drop it.
Try and spend a minute to breathe life into those brain cells which I'm sure will crackle with life like an incandescent light bulb under the influence of low voltage. Your driving affects my life too. I don't want to die young. If I wanted that, I would've joined a street gang or maybe beheaded Omar Sharif. I want to drive safe without worrying about you making a meal out of your cell phone while you greedily drool on it over silly gossip. Everything else is just peachy.
Six on Ten. Brett Ratner's direction definitely varies from Bryan Singers', which makes the movie different. By that I mean, he's not tried to make the movie a sequel in the same cinematic style as Singer. Which ostensibly would've been the final helping of the trilogy. This one is, although it moves away from the conventional story telling of the first two. A good watch. A lot of factors play a very strong role in curbing the plausible notion of a sequel, some very ironic and a few shocking. I will not criticize Ratner's attempt, it's a very good one. The Human factor is played down. Go see it, anyways.
