Three stars
TORN between its petrolhead obsession with cars and its apocalyptic warnings on the environment, Mad Max: Fury Road comes across like the terminally confused lovechild of Jeremy Clarkson and the Greens' Natalie Bennett.
George Miller's reboot may be very silly at times - make that barking mad - but there is just enough in the way of gutsy, pedal to the metal action to return the franchise to rude health.
This is the fourth in the series begun by Miller in 1979. Back then, the part of Max Rockatansky, traffic cop of the future, was played by a fresh out of drama school Mel Gibson who fitted the biker jacket of doom as snugly as he would one day wear the kilt of vengeance in Braveheart. But different times call for different heroes, and here the lone ranger is played by the effortlessly charismatic Tom Hardy.
On first encountering Hardy's Max, after a blistering half hour action feast start, he is trapped in a metal face mask. Having suffered the same indignity in The Dark Knight Rises, Hardy might be in danger of getting a complex. This time, though, the good news is that his character is intelligible. He doesn't speak much, as is Max's taciturn style, but what he does say can be understood. Phew.
Going his less than merry way in the dust bowl world of the future, Max crosses paths with a warrior by the name of Imperator Furiosa (Charlize Theron). Furiosa by name, narked by nature, Imperator is a women on a mission. Can Max help her, and the clutch of scantily clad goddesses she is transporting across country, reach their destination? Having suffered so much in previous movies, can he push aside the demons of the past? And why in the name of laundry tablets have Imperator's passengers chosen to wear white for this trip?
One need only ponder such existential quandaries in the nanoseconds of quiet which find their way, like sandwich filling, between the blood, sweat and sand action sequences. In the spirit of if it ain't broke, why fix it, Miller has returned to the original formula of mayhem plus spectacle with a vengeance, and 2015 shows the special effects boys and girls to have some nifty new toys in their boxes.
For all the visual pizazz, though, it is the old school stuff that works the best - Max, lying in the dust, his body resembling sand dunes only for him to shake himself off and reveal himself to be a Gulliver; or the odd moment when the tough guy mask slips and a human connection is made. There is humour too, though not nearly enough of it, and the film cannot quite make up its mind whether it wants to be a kick-ass feminist actioner or a women's underwear shoot. Theron, sporting a GI Jane buzz cut, certainly does her best to make it the latter, with Rosie Huntington-Whitely (Transformers, M&S knickers) adding more than an air of the latter. You can't win them all.
Miller wins just about enough battles, though you will have to excuse the dodgy dialogue and slabs of action which go on so long they become limb-gnawingly monotonous. The Mad Max franchise has come a long way from the small, perfectly formed, and recognisably human original, becoming more way out with each picture. In heading back to basics ever so slightly, Miller should please enough fans of the original. His real target market, though, will be the gaming generation who can get this stuff on their computers any time night or day. Will they want to hit the road with the new, 21st century Max? If they don't it won't be for want of trying on the part of Hardy, Theron and Miller. If nothing else, Clarkson will buy a ticket.
Out in cinemas on May 14. Full review in Thursday's Herald.
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