You will ride eternal, shiny and chrome

Rating: 8/10 (21 July 2015)

"My name is Max," trembles the opening scene of Fury Road, and that is about as much exposition as you will get. A few sound bites hinting at a nuclear wasteland and a harsh voice-over establishing the persona of the title character tell us plenty. Yet the film could even do without those; the two headed lizard that Max chews hints at both these without being too overt and there is subtext without need for a immediate answer in the ghostly whispers of Max's deceased daughter and wife. George Miller's post apocalyptic world is immediately engaging with barely any expository dialogue or explanation. It's a film buzzing with strong imagery, mythology and mood that elevates it beyond pure action.
The production design is spectacular; in particular the art design of the various vehicles of the barren wasteland that run on the precious guzzoline. There's battered Falcon Coupes, a huge double reared Gigahorse, a Merlin V8 adorned with caterpillar tank tracks, Buzzards covered in spikes, a doofwagon entirely for serenading the warriors on the brink of eternity in Valhalla and the centre-piece, Furiosa's immense war rig, which hums with as much rhythm and intensity as the many action spectacles of the film. It's reminiscent of the equally menacing vehicles in 2008's Death Race, but whereas those racecars embellished with machine guns and missiles feel like a juvenile fantasy within a futuristic dystopia, Mad Max's feel more like an organic result of a desperate society and a crazed leader. Death Race, like most post apocalyptic films, is awash in muted and gritty grays and provides an excess of eye candy in female assistants for the racers. Mad Max is visually vibrant in a genre where this is out of place, as designated by Miller and cinematographer John Seale, overseeing a post production process to digitally ramp up the highly saturated landscape of reds, oranges and ochres. The night scenes were actually shot during the day, then washed in murky and atmospheric blues. There's no gender imbalance (even though a post apocalyptic setting might suggest one and even though 2 of the wives are portrayed by supermodels) - the wives and Furiosa are given as much weight and agency as any of the characters, as are the females of the Vuvalini clan (again, The Valkyrie portrayed by a supermodel, but the point is Mad Max never objectives them).
That's half of what draws you into the world of Mad Max - the other is the mixture of Norse and mechanically derived religion which brainwashes the horde of War Boys and Pups at Immortan Joe's command. Kamikaze-like attacks promise an eternity of feasting with heroes in Valhalla, referred to as a second life (I live, I die, I live again). Joe sprays a shiny mouthful of chrome paint and inexplicably, Nux rushes off with anticipation of the other life, imploring others to witness his sacrifice. It's all absolutely absurd, but it works because in addition to all the other fantastical elements of the aged future, Mad Max doesn't overreach in setting, premise or stakes. It's a tightly confined narrative which rides on its action sequences instead of trying to overpower them with tangents of emotional catharsis (one glaring exemption is the slightly ridiculous scene where Furiosa collapses silently on her knees when hearing of the greenland's demise).
Simply, Mad Max is one long car chase that reaches a wide expanse of salt flats (formerly the ocean) and turns around for the same thing. The sequences of car-combat and sabotage are tightly edited and shot; frenetic without allowing for excessive shaky-cam or jarring rapid cuts. Seale centres the action squarely within the middle of the frame, which makes the spectacular choreography all the more thrilling and easy to eye trace. They are brimming with rhythm and character interest, as the Vuvalini clan fit seamlessly into the scene with an air of competency yet desperation as the setting decides: one man, one bullet. They are accompanied by the doof warrior guitarist and several drummers which make up key areas of the soundtrack; the percussions builds in intensity with each beat with a gritty, distorted electronic twist.
Miller touches the grotesque and absurd without ever having to expand or explain. There's the complicated breathing apparatus and armour pieces Immortan Joe dons as he addresses the people of the citadel as their saviour. There's his stunted disabled son wheeled around in a chair and his equally imperfect brother Rictus, the paragon of imposing strength and brutality. There are curiously malformed creatures upon stilts in the wet marshland, formerly the green pastures of life and freedom for Furiosa. Mad Max doesn't just suspend your disbelief, it actively seizes your gaze.