directed by George Miller
There have been other driving films, other pseudo apocalyptic future films, but George Miller’s amalgam of the two is bad enough to challenge even toughest stateside indie film to a knock down bar fight. And I’ll tell you what, I’d be hard pressed to place my bet on either side. Before he was hating Jews like a Detroit auto tycoon, Mel Gibson was getting his rage on at a group of bandits and psychos who killed his wife and child. Gibson rules in the Mad Max trilogy, and while I am secretly holding out for another Mad Max film, I sincerely hope it features a Maxless plot line. Anyone out there reading this and turning those little wheels, listen up: Eric Bana (Aussie native and tremendous actor) can play a new Max, who takes up the mantle to fulfill some sort of prophecy. Maybe he makes it to the coast, and maybe he even finds some evidence that life exists across the ocean. I’ll say no more about the imaginary movie that I play in my head from time to time (it rules, btw), but Miller’s Mad Max is a testament to rock and roll filmmaking at its finest. Mad Max’s influence, just like George Roy Hill’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, is far reaching on a very elemental level, infiltrating many directors seemingly idiosyncratic camera work. If you love the works of Tarantino and Rodriguez, Joe Carnahan or even the trash energy of Neveldine/Taylor (Crank 2, the worst piece of writing in recent memory combined with some of the ballsiest directing of recent memory), then you need to see films like this, OG cult hits that broke the mold in all the right ways.