Terribly acted (Charlize Theron being the notable exception), woefully scripted, coiled turd of a film. So many flaws I hardly know where to begin.
The one thing that struck me most though when watching it is how this film and the two Maxs' preceding it are all set in a post apocalyptic world where the remaining supplies of petrol are the world's most valuable commodity and the people that are left have formed into gangs that kill each other for the precious liquid.
Right, fair enough, it has been speculated that the future will bring conflict over energy supplies, so that's not the issue, what did occur to me is that in all of the films, the characters spend their time covering vast distances looking for fuel in massive V8 engined oil-bastards that would be south of 10 MPG on a good day. The self-fulfilling illogicy of it is brilliant:
"We need the petrol for our massive cars so we can take them east!"
"What is to the east?"
"Possibly more petrol."
"What will we do with it?"
"Fill up our cars!"
And so on. I was amused thinking that a more realistic film, instead of having huge, supercharged, giant-engined machines of carnage would have a fleet of Toyota Prius quietly humming across the desert landscape.
Admittedly, rather than the marauding death squads traditional to the 'Max films, it would look more like a procession of dissatisfied Guardian readers on their way to complain about local schooling standards, but much more fuel efficient. The leader would have a suitably Guardian/Mad Max name, probably something like 'Organicus Tofu'. He would be visually striking due to the number of sternly worded Owen Jones articles tattooed across him. His deputies would include:
Lord of Paine: Reads the work of Thomas Paine to the group's children to ensure they have an understanding of early opinion formers.
Hash-Slash: Ensures the group's pious deeds get maximum exposure through social media and associated 'soft branding'.
Carnage: The one who's a bit muscular due to his grandfather having been a manual worker. Doesn't feel greatly comfortable with it though, so wears oversized, ethically sourced, non-gender-specific, sack-garments.
Lesbonica Outrage: Writes the group's weekly scroll about wimmin's issues within the non-traditional, matricentric framework of post-nuclear communities. Shit tattoos, even by apocalypse standards. Massive pubes.
Fucking hell, as a proud leftie and frequent reader of The Guardian, I feel traitorous having written that. Still, that paper does need a massive kick in the smug, so all's fair.
Oh yeah, anyway, the actual film's shit.
"Prepare my warriors! At dawn we go to war! ...Lunches will be provided."