Review of Mad Max (1979) by Jason H — 31 Aug 2012

"Mad Max" is just scratching at the back door of the fourth wall. Even from around the corner, it's a movie with smarts enough to keep mapping a new way inside. Give it up for director George Miller for letting the beast run rampant. If the first 20 minutes has you scraping for an IV of adrenaline, get out while you can. "Mad Max" may paint itself into a corner, but baby, is it a freaky ride. Framed in a hungry outlook of a not-so-distant future, Miller seems to suggest an entire lost era where time is only a concept, and it's the fast and furious left to fend off their personal and public demons all in the hum of a ghostly throttle.

The title role would still be perfect for the analog Jew-hating Mel Gibson we know today. Gibson hams up in a leather jacket zipped too tight, eyes and mane bulging from his skull like a post-apocalyptic Tarzan. His Jane comes in shape of Jessie (Joanne Samuel), the babe rocked on his knee while blasting metalhead and bloated Bowie impersonator Toecutter (Hugh Keays-Byrne) and his flying-monkey gang of fools. Max's house of cards crumbles, fast. And while it's a tough flick to spoil, mum's the word on details. Miller, who also co-wrote the script with James McCausland, totally nails a new breed of noir at the finish line to a dime bag of rainbow weed. Outside the skin of the bikes and cars, Miller notes the vulnerability in the inability to outrun an open world. Come for the thrills, but stay for the vision.