Furiosa is an engine that starts slow but strong, until it accelerates to one of the most muscular movies I've seen. The difference between this movie and an engine is that an engine runs out of gas. By the time Furiosa ended I could've gone for another hour.
The opening 40 minutes (or was it an hour; I lost track of time) concerns Furiousa's childhood, establishing the backbone of a more complex entry than Fury Road. While the 2015 film is a giant chase of alliances and enemies, Furiosa is a more ambitious piece of work, even if that means less audacious action scenes. (But comparing the action of Furiosa to that of Fury Road is like comparing Central Park Tower to the Burj Khalifa; they both stand tall is what matters) It touches on the subtext of generational trauma that merges into pure feminine rage from Furiosa's adolescence to maturity. It also serves as an alternate coming-of-age movie; at the start Furiosa sees a brutal murder of a loved one, and at the end it pays off beautifully. Meanwhile we watch Chris Hemsworth, who seemed to collect all the resentment he got from playing a hero into one maniacal performance.
Strufturally Furiosa is similar to the 1979 original: More deep dives into the villains, more leather jackets, more empty roads. There's a long shot of Furiosa alone in the middle of nowhere after a long battle. She looks around, she breathes, she limps. Miller expands a badass heroine into someone we identify with.
Cars crash into and out of gates, into motobikes and eventually crashed by them. Far beyond the layers of rubble and explosions, it is the close-ups of Anya-Taylor Joy that is the most breathtaking. History will mention her in the same sentence as the greatest of action heroines. Behind the camera is the true auteur who embraces digital photography to create a product so uniquely dazzling. George Miller is a mad man, and action cinema is all the better for it.
The opening 40 minutes (or was it an hour; I lost track of time) concerns Furiousa's childhood, establishing the backbone of a more complex entry than Fury Road. While the 2015 film is a giant chase of alliances and enemies, Furiosa is a more ambitious piece of work, even if that means less audacious action scenes. (But comparing the action of Furiosa to that of Fury Road is like comparing Central Park Tower to the Burj Khalifa; they both stand tall is what matters) It touches on the subtext of generational trauma that merges into pure feminine rage from Furiosa's adolescence to maturity. It also serves as an alternate coming-of-age movie; at the start Furiosa sees a brutal murder of a loved one, and at the end it pays off beautifully. Meanwhile we watch Chris Hemsworth, who seemed to collect all the resentment he got from playing a hero into one maniacal performance.
Strufturally Furiosa is similar to the 1979 original: More deep dives into the villains, more leather jackets, more empty roads. There's a long shot of Furiosa alone in the middle of nowhere after a long battle. She looks around, she breathes, she limps. Miller expands a badass heroine into someone we identify with.
Cars crash into and out of gates, into motobikes and eventually crashed by them. Far beyond the layers of rubble and explosions, it is the close-ups of Anya-Taylor Joy that is the most breathtaking. History will mention her in the same sentence as the greatest of action heroines. Behind the camera is the true auteur who embraces digital photography to create a product so uniquely dazzling. George Miller is a mad man, and action cinema is all the better for it.
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