Ripley and Renée Falconetti’s Joan of Arc) deviates from the warpath to make a break for the promised land with five very precious and nubile pieces of Immortan Joe’s “property” in tow. And the same goes for Fury Road’s core plot, which kicks in immediately as Charlize Theron’s imposing Imperator Furiosa (sporting a buzzcut undoubtedly meant to recall both Sigourney Weaver’s Lt. The exposition is as elemental as its visual presentation is saturated. The colony’s vast edifices, columns of rationed water, and class structures pronounced via vertical orientation all suggest nothing so much as a gristly, scatological spin on Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, with the Skeletor-meets-Darth Vader despot King Immortan Joe (Hugh Keays-Byrne, who played Toecutter in 1979’s Mad Max) perched above all.
Pandemonium movie 1966 skin#
With translucent skin (straight out of The Omega Man) covered in plague buboes, the War Boys use Max and other healthy specimens as their human blood bags. No sooner has he finished gnawing on a two-headed lizard delicacy than Max is caught and chained up in the vast catacombs of a large, parasitic race of warriors. Literally from the movie’s second shot on, Miller keeps his own happy feet firmly planted on the accelerator. Though the film fades in on an apocalyptically laconic wasteland vista with Max Rockatansky’s (Tom Hardy) back to the camera, Miller quickly slaps his iconic road warrior’s back to the wall. In his book Film Follies, critic Stuart Klawans perceptively performed a taxonomy of the “movies for people who want to die from too much cinema.” With Fury Road, septuagenarian Aussie auteur George Miller seems scarily willing to take Klawans up on that bet.
What the (per Armond White) Von Sternbergian overtures of The Chronicles of Riddick were to the svelte muscularity of the original Pitch Black, what the battery-acid wash of the overloaded Crank: High Voltage was to the Energizer Bunny first installment-that’s what Fury Road is to the now comparatively sinewy Mad Max films that precede it. Aesthetically speaking, it takes no prisoners. Revving its engines and spurting jets of flame like not just another franchise reboot, but an entire genre makeover, Mad Max: Fury Road is the sort of undeniably bugged-out hot mess-terpiece that would make even the most dedicated glitter spray-paint huffers bolt upright in their seats.
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