Mad Jim: Fury Road
The movie “Mad Max: Fury Road” deserves every bit of the critical and popular praise heaped upon it, including six Oscars. But in one important matter I beg to differ with the so-called “experts” at Academy. It should not have been placed in nomination with the other films, because it’s a documentary. A documentary of the way people drive in my neighborhood.
It’s as if the director and co-writer George Miller moved in down the block without any of us noticing, observing us, jotting down notes for the movie’s storyboard, for his supposed work of “imagination.” Yeah right, George. You came to my town, and probably using your smartphone, filmed my recent trip to Costco. And then you gussied it up with a few special effects like explosions, flame-throwing guitars, and Charlize Theron.
There’s no other explanation, because the film is too true to life. My life.
While Italian drivers, say in Rome, are reputed to be the world’s craziest, followed closely by legendarily bad Boston drivers, they are models of politesse and good sense compared to my part of the tri-state area. The little lane we live on is a cut-through to another town, and people routinely zoom down it at speeds of 45 miles an hour and up. Teenagers, right? Nope. Grown-ups. Moms. Dads. Often with kids in the car, kids just like the dozen or so that live on my street. These are the people that inspired Miller’s post-apocalyptic characters, the bad guys, anyway. They bring distress and doom.
Like Max, I do what I can. In the movie, warriors use “thunder sticks,” spears with explosive tips, to render offending vehicles, how to put this, permanently undriveable. I wish George would lend me a few. After all, they were surely inspired by the fearsome shaking of my fist at these endangering dolts. And yet, what’s my cut of the movie’s $350 million gate? Nada. I don’t have a single point. Not even a film credit, or an anonymous tip of the hat at the beginning of the film, like “Inspired by True Events.” So I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a leftover thunderstick or two.
The film has been educational, almost a step-by-step primer for ideas about controlling traffic, beyond explosive spear-throwing. There’s the camouflaged pit for vehicles to fall into, like the one utilized by the Buzzard tribe. Fortunately, we already have some pretty wicked potholes. Break your axle? Ha-ha. Another group tries to slow down the heroes’ vehicle with harpoons. A nice touch, indicating the existence of Herman Melville readers after the apocalypse. They also use tire spikes. I haven’t got any of those, but what about laying down some explosive-sounding bubble-wrap they run over? Terrifying.
I’m not sure the village code allows for any of this, but they say it’s better to seek forgiveness than ask permission.
Of course, the world of Mad Max is unburdened by laws, like mine is unburdened by braking. It’s not easy to to enforce the speed limit on the Fury Road that passes my house.
Maybe George Miller can help. I understand there’s going to be a sequel, and George this time you’re welcome to stay with my wife and me. Together, we’ll plot out what to do on our little street at rush hour.
But, you’ll have to be out at the end of August. In September, the director of the next “Fast and Furious” flick is moving in with us.
It’s really a documentary, too.
