Review of Mad Max (1979) by Brandon S — 16 Jun 2011

Before Mad Mel - that is, the middle-aged Mr. Gibson prone to uncomfortably homophobic misogynistic, and racially charged outbursts - there was, is, and always shall be Mad Max. This is the film that set Gibson speeding off toward international action-hero superstardom, and it's not hard to see why. He's baby-faced here - then again, he's always looked boyish - but, like a young Steve McQueen, he fills the screen with badass charisma. I specifically mention McQueen because Mad Max's automotive fury seems like a direct successor to the vehicular fetishism of McQueen's Bullitt, which set a new standard in the late 1960s for the art of the cinematic car chase. Just over a decade later, in 1979, Mad Max would up the ante further, as Australian director George Miller - working on a miniscule budget, no less - staged several peddle-to-the-metal sequences that still have the power to whiten knuckles today. I've always said this: when the world's supply of gasoline is depleted and adoration of the Oil Age replaces steam-powered Victorianism as the retro sci-fi genre de jour, two bits of 20th century cultural detritus will be held in high esteem by geeky petrolpunks - Bullitt and Mad Max.

When most people think Mad Max, they probably imagine the increasingly sand-covered, post-apocalyptic, biker-punk fantasy-scape of the film's more popular sequels, The Road Warrior and Beyond Thunderdome. In this first outing, though, the world is still teetering on the brink of catastrophe - energy shortage, relevantly - and society has not yet tumbled into complete disarray. The Aussie landscape looks fairly normal, but the backcountry has been given to lawlessness, with roving bands of biker gangs descending on small towns to terrorize, rape, and pillage.

As the film opens, one of these thugs, Nightrider (Vince Gil), has just made off with a police interceptor, and he's speeding down the highway, screaming about how he's a "fuel-injected suicide machine!" He's being trailed by some bumbling members of the Main Force Patrol - the leather-suited cops in this gone-to-shit world - but the maniac doesn't get the fear of God in his eyes until hotshot officer Max Rockatansky (Mel Gibson) edges up behind him in a souped-up Ford Falcon. Nightrider loses his cool - what little he has left - and crashes into a jackknifed semi-truck, triggering a massive explosion. This is all in a day's work for Max, who goes home to cuddle with his wife Jessie (Joanne Samuel). The next morning, as Max gets ready to head back in for another day of crime fighting, we see his toddler son in the background, playing on the floor with a pistol. There's visual symbolism here - the film is fully loaded and it's about to go off.

And boy does it ever. While most of the film's violence is merely suggested, rather than explicitly shown, director George Miller's choppy, rule breaking editing style makes Mad Max an undeniably intense experience. There are scenes where eye lines are broken and continuity goes right out the window, but it doesn't really matter. Miller has us hooked on a taut line of suspense. There's a strong sense that anything could happen, and it often does, as Miller isn't afraid to break traditional filmmaking taboos - like putting small, defenseless children directly in the line of danger - if it gets his audiences to grip their armrests with sweaty palms.

Revenge is ultimately the name of the game here, as the oddly-named Toecutter (Hugh Keays-Byrne), the hirsute leader of the late Nightrider's gang, wants to put the hurt on "The Bronze," as he calls the police, for causing his buddy's death-by-fireball. And so Toecutter, lieutenant Bubba Zenetti (Geoff Parry), and young effeminate protege Johnny the Boy (Tim Burns) lead a cadre of Kawasaki-straddling misfits on the asphalt warpath. When the gang, in retribution, torch Max's overconfident partner, The Goose (Steve Bisley) - leaving the poor guy barely recognizable - Max decides to take some time off, lest he resort to the same barbaric, tit-for-tat tactics. It's only after Toecutter threatens Max's family, in a sequence of bravura tension, that our hero decides - screw it - to go whole-hog after these ruthless bandits. He steals his iconic V8 Pursuit Special from the police fleet and goes rogue, barreling down the highway with vengeance on his mind. In the end, the viewer is left to decide whether or not Max has gone too far.

Well, I say that, but of course he goes too far - deliciously too far. This is, after all, the premiere Ozploitation movie of the late 1970s. (I can't help but wonder if the creators of Saw stole their I'm giving you the option to either cut through your ankle with a hacksaw or die premise from Mad Max.) Like most exploitation films, Mad Max was made for next to nothing, but this is in no way a shoddy production. It's clear from every frame that Miller used what little he had to work with - a handful of police cruisers and 18 bikes donated by Kawasaki - to maximum effect. There is a certain improvisatory quality to the camerawork - and the acting - but this only adds to the film's manic energy. And Mad Max is all energy. There's no loafing around here, nothing extraneous, no dillydallying. The film bolts off the startling line at 180mph and the pace relents only for the few character-building scenes necessary to establish our empathy. What's more, looking back from an age of tame, CGI-assisted stuntwork, Mad Max's insane car crashes and road rash-including motorcycle fall seem legitimately dangerous. For one scene, the stunt coordinators even rigged up a rocket from the Australian Navy to a car, sending it boosting and fishtailing into oblivion. Now that's bang for your buck.

What's the Australian equivalent of a Sergio Leone-esque spaghetti western? A vegemite western, maybe? Well, whatever it is, cross that with an anarchic bit of the old ultra-violence - courtesy of A Clockwork Orange - add some pre-post apocalyptic flavor, underscore it all with a throaty V8 rumble, and you've got Mad Max, the rubber-burning exploitation film that launched a franchise and up-shifted Mel Gibson's career from obscurity to superstardom.