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The gritty world I stumbled out of is a post-apocalyptic hellscape where the lack of resources has somehow convinced roving bands of ne'er-do-wells there is only one way to survive: make everything look awesome. And they do. Every single prop, costume and character looks insanely cool, like a world war erupted at Burning Man.
This is not to say Fury Road makes any sense, because it so totally does not. In a world fighting over gasoline, the action is a nonstop fight scene between souped-up cars with flame throwers and a tanker truck full of breast milk. One car is made out of speakers and topped with a man bungee-corded to the roof, playing an electric guitar that shoots fire. This seems perfectly normal. And all of these vehicles have riders hanging off them like gun-toting garbage men, because even though there are only a handful of humans left on earth, they're all pretty reckless with their own safety.
The exterior passengers and flaming musician are critical, because the film is essentially just one continuous chase scene. If the characters ever took their feet off the gas, literally or metaphorically, it would become painfully obvious how hollow it all is. First, a group of people needs to drive one way and try not to die, then they need to drive another way and try not to die. That's it. Suddenly Furious 7 seems densely plotted.
Halfway through the movie, the characters actually sit down and ask each other why they're doing all this, as if Charlize Theron challenged writer-director George Miller, "What's my motivation?" and he made something up: "Uh, redemption? Great, let's go with that. Now leave me alone, I have to glue 2,000 more spiky things on this VW Bus."
What's so amazing is that the nonsensical explodey fuckpile didn't bother me one bit. The art and violence kept me in a testosterone stupor the entire time, so the film could get away with almost anything and I'd accept it. Even if, for example, a man was murdered by a flaming electric guitar. Actually, I saw that one coming because, like Chekhov said, if there's a fire-shooting guitar in the first act, it has to go off by the end of the movie.
With that kind of stuff happening, there's no way you could register Fury Road's problems. In the moment, the only thing I had real trouble believing was that this movie was written and directed by the same guy who made Happy Feet. There's no way one human had both of these stories inside himself. It's much more likely he's three tiny geniuses wearing one trench coat.
If you loved any part of the original Mad Max trilogy, you won't be disappointed by it restarting with such vigor. If you don't know anything about it, you'll be thrilled to discover a new series that'll inevitably be run into the ground. Just make sure you take public transit to the theater so you aren't tempted to spit gasoline in your air intake and drive home like a madman.
Critic's Grade: A
GO: Mad Max: Fury Road is rated R. It opens Friday at Lloyd Center, Division, Bridgeport, and Movies on TV.
WWeek 2015