Mythed it by that much! MAD MAX:  FURY ROAD is so full of both strident and subliminal myth legend proto, arche and stereotype that it can’t help inveigle the viewer in a dream, albeit a bad one, a nightmare of apocalyptic proportion.

Putrid patriarchy has survived and prospered in post-apocalyptic time and the warlord Immortan Joe, pustule pocked and death masked pseudo saviour of a tribe of feral followers steeped in kamikaze allegiance, keeps a harem of young women as breeders.

Catalyst of the chase scenario that is central to the film’s narrative, these women, one heavily pregnant, are aided in their escape by Furiosa, a one armed Amazon hell bent on getting these females to the green place, a sanctuary of muliebrity from whence she apparently originated.

Director George Miller has compounded his extravagances from the franchise that firmed his place in the filmmaking firmament, with copious carnage of carefully choreographed vehicular violation at its most violent. As with his first film, George Miller accentuates the car in carnage.

Brilliantly photographed by John Seale and devilishly designed by Colin Gibson, there is no denying MAD MAX FURY ROAD is a cinematic spectacle, a gas pedaled genius high octane entertainment that is sensory in both surface and subliminal spheres.

It is truly a motion picture and mostly about the look, the image, the movement, and therefore more important that the actors look the part than play it.

Tom Hardy as Max, Charlize Theron as Furiosa, Hugh Keays-Byrne as Immortan Joe, are all physically imposing, as are the rest of the cast. Vocally interesting too, except for Theron’s jarring American accent which is my major bitch of the picture.

Reliant more on physical stunt than CGI, MAD MAX: FURY ROAD leaves the recent crop of Hollywood blockbusters in the dust.