One Paragraph Movie Review: Mad Max

Three hundred and forty-second film: Mad Max, the 1979 original. I have little time for cars and no time at all for Mel Gibson, but this is obviously a cracker of an action movie. Set a few years from now (then), Max is a road cop who causes the death of a bikie gang member, which pisses the head of the gang — Toecutter, who does not cut a single toe — right off. Toecutter mows down Max’s missus and son, and makes Max mad enough to pinch a hotted-up police vehicle and head out for revenge. It’s no wonder that after this, production companies just sprayed money at George Miller. You can see the futurism, costuming, locations, stunts, and modified nightmare vehicles all in baby form, hinting at the Tina Turners and the iOTAs-playing-flaming-truck-guitars of the future. It’s a very bloody good time, if you don’t mind a bit of gravel rash and accidental amputation. Yep. Four saxophone-playing wives out of five.