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The Guardian describes Mad Max: Fury Road as “like Grand Theft Auto revamped by Hieronymus Bosch”, and I’d add, a solid foundation in Margaret Atwood. The feminist bar has been raised very, very high.
I don’t generally enjoy action films but although the violence in this film was constant – there were maybe 15 minutes at most when someone wasn’t attacking someone else – it was never gratuitous, misogynistic, or disgustingly graphic. It was weirdly beautiful and often witty. It was the Platonic ideal of cinematic violence. George Miller is a poet.
Hours later, I’m still reeling from the visual eloquence of a skull-faced steering wheel spinning high above gasoline tank explosions, of the blind War Boy guitarist chained to the speakers. Even the grotesquerie, all those facial deformities, was exquisitely and lovingly rendered. The science of this world falls apart when you probe past the visual – none of the physics or politics withstand scrutiny. Mad Max’s world makes no sense. But just like Snowpiercer, that’s not the point. What matters is the imagery. What matters is the dust and the sweat and the blood. And the rage and the heat and the revolution.
Has there ever been such a testosterone-charged car chase film that passes the Bechdel Test so many times? Charlize Theron plays Furiosa with far more subtlety and empathy than this genre of film usually requires, and her fighting puts Black Widow to shame. She’s no Strong Female Character; she’s a protagonist. (Note how short and practical her hair…) Tom Hardy gives us a perfect balance of muscles, grunts, and derring-do, seasoned with just the right amount of pathos. I love that new!Max is still a lone wolf, but one who can take orders and share battles.
Nicholas Hoult and Zoe Kravitz continue to shine in everything they do, however secondary. Mad Max’s big flaw is in not featuring enough characters of color, but it earns some of my highest and most unexpected praise: a work of art so complete, I need no fan fic. The plot is riddled with holes, but they’re not errors, they’re deliberate choices. Hold that narrative fabric up to the light, and it’s not ripped and torn – it’s lace.
