Jason Momoa Joins the 'Fast & Furious' Franchise, Which Has Officially Achieved Peak Stupidity
Los Angeles, CA — In a move that shocks absolutely no one and yet somehow still manages to disappoint, Universal Pictures announced today that Jason Momoa—yes, the guy who played Khal Drogo, Aquaman, and basically every role that requires more bicep than brain—has officially joined the cast of *Fast & Furious 10*. Because apparently, the franchise hadn't yet exhausted every possible combination of cars, family, and Vin Diesel whispering about "respect" into a wind machine. Now we get to add a man who can crush a car with his bare hands. Because why not?
Let me guess the plot: Momoa plays a rogue ex-special forces driver who has a beef with Dom Toretto’s cousin’s mechanic’s dog walker. They race through a volcano. Someone says "family" 47 times. The car does a flip. Roll credits. I’ve already seen this movie, and it hasn’t even been written yet.
But let’s back up. Jason Momoa. The guy who made his career by grunting in a fictional language, then grunting in a wet suit, then grunting in a Netflix adaptation of a video game that nobody asked for. He’s the human equivalent of a protein shake: all mass, zero subtlety. And now he’s joining the most ridiculous film franchise since *The Fast and the Furious* decided that driving cars into space was a logical character arc.
You can practically hear the pitch meeting: "What if we took the most aggressively masculine actor we could find, gave him a mullet, and had him drive a Dodge Charger through a nuclear explosion while delivering a monologue about loyalty?" And the execs, of course, said yes. Because they always say yes. They’ve been saying yes since *2 Fast 2 Furious* introduced a car that could outrun a helicopter on a runway.
Now, let’s be real: Momoa isn't joining this franchise for the "art." He’s joining because he needs a new house in Malibu, or maybe a fleet of vintage motorcycles to crash into a swimming pool. The *Fast* saga is the Hollywood equivalent of a cash grab at a Vegas slot machine—you know the odds are terrible, but the lights are pretty and the dopamine hits just keep coming. And Momoa, bless his heart, is about to cash in his "I was in *Dune*" clout for a paycheck that probably requires a forklift to carry to the bank.
But here’s the thing: the *Fast* franchise has crossed the line from "fun action schlock" into "what the hell is even happening anymore." We’ve had cars parachuting out of planes. We’ve had a car dragging a giant safe through Rio de Janeiro. We’ve had a car fighting a submarine. We’ve had a car that can literally go to space. At this point, the only logical next step is for Dom Toretto to drive a car through a black hole and into a parallel universe where he fights his evil twin. And you know what? I’d probably still watch it, because I hate myself and my standards have been lowered to the level of a wet tire.
Momoa’s casting is just the latest sign that the franchise has achieved a state of self-aware absurdity. They know they’re making terrible movies. They know you know. And they don’t care. Because the box office numbers don’t lie. *Fast & Furious 9* made over $700 million worldwide, and that movie featured John Cena rocking a mullet and a prosthetic hand that could literally hack into anything. It was less a film and more a fever dream generated by an AI that had only ever seen images of muscle cars and Vin Diesel’s bald head.
So what will Momoa bring to the table? Probably a lot of shouting. Maybe a scene where he arm-wrestles a car. Definitely a scene where he looks dramatically at the camera while a car explodes in slow motion. And he’ll do it all while wearing a leather vest that shows off his chest, because why cover up the goods when you can remind everyone that you’re the guy who played Aquaman and also that one weirdo from *Game of Thrones* who wore a leather diaper and ate a horse heart.
The internet, of course, is losing its collective mind. Reddit is already flooded with posts like "Jason Momoa in Fast & Furious? Honestly, this is the best timeline" and "Unpopular opinion: The franchise was better when it was just about street racing." And then there’s the inevitable wave of AITA-style hot takes: "AITA for still being excited about Fast 10 even though I know it’s going to be garbage?" Yes, you are. But so am I. We’re all assholes here.
Look, I’m not here to pretend I’m above this. I will absolutely watch Jason Momoa drive a car through a skyscraper while Vin Diesel says something about blood being thicker than nitrous oxide. I will pay my $15, I will eat my overpriced popcorn, and I will leave the theater feeling vaguely entertained and slightly ashamed. That’s the *Fast & Furious* experience: it’s like a drunken one-night stand with a franchise that refuses to take a hint. You know it’s bad for you, but the ride is fun while it lasts.
But let’s also acknowledge the sheer hubris of it all. Momoa is joining a cast that already includes Vin Diesel, Michelle Rodriguez, Tyrese Gibson, Ludacris, John Cena, Charlize Theron, and like 47 other people who have somehow survived multiple car crashes, explosions, and betrayals. The cast list is now so bloated it’s basically a Marvel movie, but with more tire screeches and less coherent plot. At this point, they’re just throwing actors into a blender and hoping the smoothie tastes like "family."
And speaking of family: Dom Toretto’s definition of family is so broad it now includes a literal fish-man
Final Thoughts
After a decade of commanding the screen with a volcanic intensity that could level a city, Jason Momoa’s career arc reveals a canny survival instinct: he’s learned to weaponize his own mystique, from the brooding Khal Drogo to the buoyant Arthur Curry, proving that even a brash, larger-than-life star needs to evolve or risk being typecast into quiet extinction. His pivot from blockbuster spectacle to more intimate projects—like the poignant *Sweet Girl* or his fierce advocacy for indigenous representation—suggests a man trying to reconcile the primal charisma that made him famous with a deeper, more mature artistic hunger. Ultimately, Momoa isn’t just riding the wave of franchise fame; he’s actively reshaping it, reminding us that the most compelling Hollywood careers are built not on pure muscle, but on the quiet, deliberate choice to keep the audience