Mad Max: Fury Road (2015) — Riley Cross Reviews

The Blockbuster Counter Recommends

Look, I’ve been ringing you up for six years. I’ve seen what you go for. Usually, it’s the romantic comedies or the Oscar bait that hides in the bottom of the rentals. But sometimes, you don't want a deep emotional arc or a plot twist; you just want noise. Big, messy, glorious noise.

This is for that. When this hit theaters, people lost their minds because they couldn't believe George Miller, a man who looked like he should be dealing Bingo cards at a retirement home specializing in arthritic joints, had made a movie that shook the walls. You don't need to know exactly when the world ended to enjoy this; you just need to enjoy watching these people wreck every inch of the Outback.

Put your phone on Do Not Disturb, make sure the dog can't reach the remote, and double-check that your neighbors aren't throwing a rager. When you hit the stretch where they’re rallying the war rig like it’s a失控—sorry, a失控 skate park and a chorus of desert women is throwing flamethrowers while hanging off the side—your jaw is going to hit the floor. It’s a chase scene, sure, but it moves like a fever dream.

This is the definitive movie for a Tuesday night that sucked, or a Friday night when you’re still recovering from the week on a fake couch. It is a palate cleanser for your brain. You do not have to think while watching this, not even once, and I highly recommend that state of being. It’s like a heavy metal concert for your eyeballs.

Bottom line: It’s two hours of men screaming in cars and fire breathing, and you never want it to stop.