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one of the few films that demand undivided attention not just because of its breakneck speed and nonstop kinetic energy, but because of how absolutely gorgeous every single frame is from the immediate second it begins right until the very end. the complementation of blue and orange is highlighted in magnificent allure, painting a scrolling landscape of dirt in an eye-popping coat of illusory wonderland before wasteland. Mad Max: Fury Road has a metallic death grip on the viewer dragged along for a ride equal parts scenic and unsavory, hooked up to an IV of unyielding elemental chaos that jerks in an emotional whiplash where brief, intermittent shades of somber peace sneak their way in. illuminated by Tom Hardy’s tough vigor but driven by Charlize Theron’s implacable opposition to the destructive male hierarchy with feminine craft and redemption, never once showing signs of weakness. visual dynamism oozing with confidence, knowing that it exists as the pinnacle piece of post-apocalyptic cinema with enough “one-of-a-kind”-isms to fill a museum, George Miller’s vision of the Fury Road is teeming with ferocious life and lunacy that marries its props and effects with triumphant mechanical and technical splendor. a one hundred and twenty-one minute battle cry that somehow images itself as a slow-burn victory beneath a whirlwind of grandeur - a moment in cinema unlike any other.
“we’re not to blame.” “then who killed the world?”
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