By Marc S. Sanders
An Australian post-apocalyptic desert wasteland is the setting of George Miller’s B movie classic The Road Warrior. It’s a film deliberately short on depth, but big on mash ‘em up, bash ‘em up high-speed hot rods, muscle cars, motorcycles and one big rig truck.
Mel Gibson returns as Mad Max, the leather wearing drifter driver who patrols the endless roads. A brief narrative at the beginning recaps some of the events of Miller’s first film in this series, Mad Max, explaining that the governments worked against one another, riots ensued, and a nuclear holocaust left little of the population to survive with a shortage on the most precious commodity, fuel. Max was a policeman whose wife and child were slaughtered by the way, but that’s not relevant here.
The center of the film focuses on a small community of people dwelling in maybe the last known functioning oil refinery. However, barbarians led by The Humungous (Kjell Nillson) who wears a hockey mask and S & M straps over his bare body are intent on taking over the precious area. The Humungous’ second in command is a red mohawked freak named Wez (Vernon Wells). Everyone else in the gang is dressed in the same thematic sex play costume wear with their ass cheeks on display.
Following some episodes of havoc, Max, along with his dog named Dog, form a contract with the oil refinery dwellers to get the big rig, fuel it up and attach it to a tanker for a journey across the wasteland towards a paradise of ocean blue oasis.
Max has sixteen lines in the whole film. I’ve expounded on this movie more than he ever could. In fact, Dog has more dialogue. George Miller knew he wasn’t writing anything of multi dimension or fleshed out characterizations. You can hardly understand anything that The Humongous has to say or bellow. It doesn’t matter.
What’s important is the demolition derby footage contained in The Road Warrior. It’s thrilling. Bodies get bashed by metal and caught in barbed wire. Explosions go off in huge fireballs against a scorching sun. Max fires his sawed-off shotgun at these gonzo gangsters. They fire crossbow arrows in return. Some of them use inventive gladiator kinds of weapons with sharp blades and spikes.
Miller’s frames per second accelerate the various chases. Multiple collisions end up in a sand dune or turning someone’s ugly sunburned face into hamburger. The editing of these scenes is magnificent. Every crash is pieced together cohesively. Zoom in close ups are spectacularly orchestrated and the cinematography holds up for welcome daylight action where you can easily make out who is who and what is where.
The inventions of these junk machine jalopies are quite fun too. Syd from Toy Story must have taken inspiration from this movie when he assembled his freakazoid toys that tormented poor Woody. Other than Max’s black muscle car and some motorbikes, everything else looks drilled and fused together for relentless mayhem. Sedans, SUVs, and station wagons would never survive.
George Miller’s world may seem a little prophetic these days. It’s not that there’s such a rarity of gas, but the need among the masses to hoard fuel is there considering the inevitable price hikes spread around the globe. Oil will always be a precious dependent. Environmentalists, I feel for your crusade but be damned. Oil powers so much in and out of this planet. Electric cars and the few power-up stations are not the dominant alternative yet and won’t be for a while. Their longevity has not been proven. Even the disposal of their expired parts has not yet been considered. So don’t hate me Elon Musk. I’ll happily eat my words one day, though, I’m sure.
As thin as the storyline may be, George Miller created this dystopian era for Mad Max to drift through and I commend the imagination of the MacGuffin. Oil is what we rely on, and the setting of The Road Warrior may not be so far-fetched if it ever came to be that we were short on it. However, I’m not running out to get my masochistic leather body armor just yet.
Wez, The Humungous and their bandit barbarian warlords may be fearless nut jobs, but I get their motivation. You never know when rush hour may rear its ugly head in a post-apocalyptic age. So, you better fuel up your Harley, BMW and Toyota because the boss is still gonna want you sitting at your desk by nine.
