![]() ![]() ![]() 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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