But by then, the movie's not about logic or sense anymore it's more about seeing what you wouldn't in ages. Nothing seems to justify Max & Furiosa's relationship, mutual combats, strategies, certainty of plans, and stuff like that. Even the over-editing has that medieval, darkly comical feel to it, just like 300 for example (can't think of another movie with such aberrant effects, but such positive response.) But like any other movie, there are points where you start questioning yourself. The stunts, the effort, the don't-care-about-ourselves-just-love-the-movie-please pledge, and the extraordinarily enormous-480 hours of footage into 120 minutes of freaking-awesome warfare-blows me off of my seat in the cinema to the pale, scorching blaze of the sun, amidst the crazy-eyes of this action-genre Orange is the New Black. More than anything-Max's deafening seriousness, Furiosa's bald-grace, armless-attraction, sense of responsibility, and and absolute congeniality to the role (always imposingly remarkable,) religious affirmation, banging, puffing, booming, clatter, splash, tick-tick, boom-the "fantasized-realism" behind all the get-off-my-property-you-crazy-lunatic is what gives you the honesty-chills. It has a bizarre feeling-you're dredged into the modernity of Prometheus and antediluvian era of the Exodus.
The sport-arena action is complemented by prayers in Citadel, banging of drums, skeleton-wheels, and skeleton-feels. Miller puts his tribal culture in the crux of action, which reveals an unorthodox, authoritarian, and devout portrayal of enmity. Here's a hint as to what it was like: Bane and Miranda beating the beep out of war-painted, anti-Christian, Hulu tribe-only this time, it's some dark, full-raged action with mountain bikes, and trucks, and springy tentacles moving idiotic half-Willy, half-Wonka The Da Vinci Code Bettany's horrendous versions. They're not afraid of the porcupine-trucks, maybe a little on the edge of madness, but that goes without saying. For all I know, the audiences spoil themselves with "cinematic orgasms," if that's a thing, throughout the movie. George Miller revises his ideological construct in the most exhilarating, dreadful, and striking manner this time. With everything red, orange, and yellow, it seems like you're viewing 300 blended in Saw, and over-the-top F&F. He's Rango-like, reflective of the quest to solve the water-mystery. As for Max, it looks like he's the same archetypal Bane, only this time, he's more immune to "I'm not afraid, I'm angry." He's silent, and angry, and frustrated. Cold-blooded, botanically medieval, crusades-like, and horrifically thrilling-that's Fury Road.
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