Mad Max Fury Road is the best because it screams in your face “HEY LOOK HERE’S A V8 INTERCEPTOR AND A MASSIVE FUCKING TRUCK COVERED IN SKULLS AND A GUITAR FLAMETHROWER AND BIG ACTION SEQUENCES AND EXPLOSIONS, ISN’T THAT COOL??????” and then it gently takes your shoulder and whispers in your ear “but you know what’s cooler? respecting women & dismantling the patriarchy”
WHY WOULD YOU POINT THAT OUT. but no like at first she looks up like “goddamn these naive idealistic youths” but then her gaze drops for a moment like “yea we’ve all thought that at one point. but thats not how the world works” and she looks back to the dag and eventually gives her the seeds like “i hope you’ll be able to stay above it”
I was just gonna reblog this without commentary for its inherent badassery, but…
There is a lot of direct gaze in Fury Road–characters looking directly into the camera lens so that they appear to be looking at you, the audience member. This is a stylistic choice that lots of filmmakers avoid because it breaks the fourth wall and can be unexpectedly jarring or challenging to the audience, but in Fury Road it’s used sparingly to create a very striking effect. It’s almost always (always? quick someone rewatch the entire movie for me) Furiosa who’s looking at us in this way.
This is the first direct gaze shot in the movie, so it really jumps out at us, and it’s cool and striking on its own. But when we cut to the next shot, we see what Furiosa was looking at when it seemed like she was looking at us:
She’s looking at the Citadel in the rearview mirror–her prison, the stronghold of her enemy. So that look of…contempt? cold disdain?…whatever expression you think she has on her face, is for the Citadel and everything it represents. So the first time she looks at us, we see the way she looks at her enemies.
What’s the last time she looks directly at us? Oh right.
This painting is the opening scene of my story, Feels Like Hope.
“While the Citadel revels in its first night free of tyranny, Capable leaves its safety to make a perilous journey alone across the Wasteland. Her purpose is simple: retrieve Nux’s remains or die trying. When she finds not a body, but hope, clinging desperately to his last thread of life, Capable’s future is unexpectedly filled with new promise… and unforeseen consequences.”
Has anyone written Mad Max: Fury Road in the form of an epic poem of some kind?
… give me a few weeks
Speak, Teller, of the mad wanderer, the wastes-man, the driver, Rockatansky; Thirst-mad, solitude-mad, angry at the sky and the dust and the world mad; Humungus defeated, Thunderdome fled and burnt, Sky-Tribe flown to Sydney Savior and unsaved, alone and now hunted, fleeing toward nothing!
In the hands of Joe Immortan his madness does not free him Hung for blood and bleeding, wanderer-trophy, fury futile-fading Who is madder than the wanderer? Whose fury surpasses the madman’s? Furiosa Iron-Handed! Furiosa Woman-Thieving!
With cunning the war-rig taken with stealth the five wives stolen; Waste-crossing bravely fleeing to the wet-place nigh-forgotten; War-boys all shouting, pursuing and flaming Doof loudly playing; Blood-bag Max still hanging, car by thieves still driven chains still unbroken.
… showoff
*grumbles*
(do some more :D)
Into the storm drove Furiosa flaying sand would not deter her; A single war-boy flush with Max-blood for his master chased the bride-thief; Nux his name and short his half-life, Immortan’s glance his heart’s desire; Max-car Nux-car chased the War-Rig half-life hands could not control it.
Free’d the wanderer barely man now bound in muzzle tongue unspeaking; Found the Iron-Hand working iron saw the water in the wasteland; Gazed on Cheedo Dag and Toast then, Angharad Capable also; Stole from Wife-Thief then the War Rig did the Wanderer in his madness!
Fury and cunning both together were the marks of Furiosa; Barely stone’s-throw did he drive it; hopeless when the War-rig stopped; In her mercy brave Furiosa made a compact with the Madman; All for freedom: them, the clean girls, leave the war-boy let him die.
Thank you everyone for your stories of Wasteland Weekend! @flamethrowing-hurdy-gurdy‘s photos, art, and search for the Boltcutter group among the crowds inspired me to write this story. I’m posting here with Gurdy’s approval.
It’s both fanfic and fandom fic.
You’ll see phrases and moments from Gurdy’s story here, transposed into Mad Max’s Wasteland. Hope you like it – thank you all again, especially @flamethrowing-hurdy-gurdy.
He saw the sigil more than once in the Wasteland.
The way his life had worked out, he was a scav. His people had fallen
away. He had the dented small car, his name, Sydney (they all missed Sydney,
his people said) and his keen, hungry eyes. The Wasteland, cruel and beautiful
in its sand and stone, greys and browns, and rare rusted buildings, was his
home.
For all the vast and curving contours of the Wasteland, he craved
colour.
I thought I was out of tears after yesterday and the night before. I was wrong. This was just lovely, thank you thank you. (And thank you for finding us @flamethrowing-hurdy-gurdy, letting us see you and share with you and drink with you. As was the theme of the weekend: I am glad I got to experience this with you. ♥)
I mean one of you did legit say to me ‘So you’re our Max?’ when I admitted to identity problems and becoming nonverbal when things got too rough and I did NOT tell @thebyrchentwigges that so, man, how?
This is so fucking close to reality it’s not even…I don’t know how to process.
Thank you, Boltcutters, for being welcoming. Thank you for being encouraging even when I wasn’t very responsive. And, you know, thank you for…understanding and respecting certain things.
