Fury Road

(2015)

It all began in the desert. A very dry desert. No donuts, no coffee, just dust, sweat, enough leather to upholster a football stadium, and turns into the most aggressive carpool in history. Max Rockatansky, an ex-cop with a 1000-yard stare and the conversational skills of a startled possum, gets captured by a gang of pale bald men who look like they were raised exclusively on protein powder, engine grease, and treat chrome spray paint like Gatorade. Enter Imperator Furiosa, who has both the coolest name and the best eyeliner for 400 miles, who, deciding she’s had enough of her boss, Immortan Joe, hijacks a War Rig full of rebellious women trying to escape his clutches. As Max is turned into a human hood ornament, strapped to a car like a Mardi Gras decoration with trauma, what follows is a two-hour vehicular therapy session conducted at speeds that would make Sammy Hagar anxious. Max eventually escapes his role as blood donor-on-wheels, grunts his way into Furiosa’s circle of trust, and together they lead the fight against tyranny, toxic masculinity, and overuse of flame decals. There are crashes, explosions, and one man playing a flaming guitar on top of a monster truck. In conclusion, Fury Road is a heartwarming tale of friendship, feminism, and flipping over armored semi-trucks, while being chased by pyrotechnic cultists. Buckle up, stay hydrated, and never trust a warlord with a milk hose farm.