When it comes to action filmmaking, “Mad Max: Fury Road” upped the game in 2015. If anything can be universally agreed upon by critics and audiences alike, it has to be this. George Miller’s action opus is a thrill ride like no other, a nonstop chase movie of post-apocalyptic proportions that roars with a fury fitting of its name.
So, “Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga,” Miller’s follow up to “Fury Road,” had a lot resting on its shoulders. And from the jump, it’s clear Miller has no interest in simply repeating what he achieved in 2015.
Instead, we open with a different sort of chase. “Furiosa” follows the story of its titular character before she embarks on her “Fury Road” mission, before she attempts to rescue Immortan Joe’s wives from enslavement. We meet her as a young girl in the green place, an oasis hidden amid empty desert. But we don’t spend too much time languishing in its abundance. Furiosa is quickly captured by a rogue gang who aim to bring her to their leader across a wide expanse of sand – she’s proof this place of beauty exists, proof there is something out there that can support life, not just survival. Her mother (Charlee Fraser) follows Furiosa’s kidnappers, and a western-style pursuit unfolds – one woman slowly, but surely, gaining ground on her enemies, methodically taking them out one by one.
From this focused opening sequence, “Furiosa” expands into a story that operates on a much larger scale than “Fury Road,” not just following one woman’s mission via car chase, but attempting to unpack that woman’s history, her trauma and her life over the span of roughly two and a half hours. As impressive as the scale of the film can be, sometimes the sheer colossal ambition of it all can overpower the film’s emotional core, particularly in the film’s midsection. But through the relationship between Furiosa (Anya Taylor-Joy) and her biggest foe, a warlord name Dementus (Chris Hemsworth), Miller gets to the crux of our relationship to hope – why it disappears, why it perseveres, and what we’re willing to do to keep it.
It’s difficult not to compare Taylor-Joy’s performance to that of Charlize Theron in “Fury Road,” but the two are asked to do such different things, it feels fruitless. The characterization, however, is worth the comparison. After Furiosa is abducted and taken to Dementus, we then track her through every move before the events of “Fury Road,” from being Dementus’ ward, to one of Immortan Joe’s (Lachy Hulme) wives, to a builder on the war rig, to a driver herself. All the while, she vibrates with a rage that seems on the precipice of bursting out of her, waiting for the moment she can exact revenge on Dementus – the man who kidnapped her and murdered her mother.
Rage is the primary motivator for Furiosa in this film, while in “Fury Road,” Theron has a bit more nuance to play with. By that time, the anger we see in “Furiosa” has simmered to determination and sorrow, and when we see her let loose that famous primal scream, it’s a moment of payoff, her anger finally rising to the surface. In contrast, this younger version of Furiosa is trapped in a constant state of anger. Taylor-Joy is very good in rage mode, her eyes searing with hurt and fury, but she never has much of an opportunity to play with much else besides survival and rage until the film’s final confrontation.
If one thing is constant, however, it’s the sense of isolation that permeates the character. The earlier sections of the movie with young Furiosa (played by the startlingly arresting Alyla Browne) feel more like a memory, aggressively unreal and ethereal, not at all like the practicality of “Fury Road.” That might have been a decision of necessity, but as Furiosa ages it’s almost like the picture becomes a little more clear, her quest for vengeance sharpening her vision, cutting out everything else. Taylor-Joy has spoken about how alone she felt on set, and that feeling of loneliness is everywhere. Every single shot of Furiosa in the desert – running away from something, driving toward revenge, stumbling through the dust holding her stump of an arm – punctuates just how alone she is.
“Furiosa” sags a bit in the middle under the weight of the vague political machinations running amuck between the leaders of the Citadel, Gastown, and the Bullet Farm. There are stunning action set pieces in this section, including the film’s best as Furiosa stows away beneath a war rig under attack before teaming up with the rig’s driver and her reluctant mentor, Praetorian Jack (Tom Burke). The visuals here further prove how adept Miller is at creating an exhilarating action set piece, once again putting images on screen that I would never have imagined in a million years. But the moments of political intrigue that pad the action don’t go far enough to be anything but filler, stalling the high that the action – as well as the connection between Furiosa and Dementus – provides.
The film is at its best narratively when it focuses on that connection. From the moment we meet him, Dementus’ primary motivation is to take Furiosa’s hope and turn it into ash. But Hemsworth delivers a performance that’s far more complex than a simple villain. In a lot of ways, he has the toughest role, given the task of embodying so many of the film’s major themes, being the comic relief as much as he is the heavy, and instilling in the audience some sort of sympathetic note by the film’s end.
Physically, he’s preposterous – dressed in BDSM-style harnesses and leathers, a cape billowing out behind him like a cheap imitation of a Roman God, the teddy bear of the children he has lost strapped to his person. He speeds around the desert on a chariot of motorcycles and never goes anywhere without his legions of hype men and a microphone. He is pro wrestling personified, charismatic and powerful when he is posturing, but lacking when there’s anything of substance to be done.
In true pro wrestling fashion, Hemsworth hams it up, quips flying around like arrows. But there’s something a bit off about the humor, lacking any real conviction. In his best scene, he lambasts Furiosa for daring to hope for something better, lamenting that she is breaking his heart by doing so – and you believe he means it, his voice laden with a grief that permeates through the rest of his body. He despises her hope above all else, not because he doesn’t want her to be happy, but because he views it as a fruitless endeavor. In his twisted mind, it’s a kindness to dash Furiosa’s hopes to dust rather than let her believe.
Dementus hides behind a mask of nihilism to hide his own pain, much like Furiosa hides behind her vengeance. He is rage fueled by grief – says as much himself – and isn’t that what started this whole nasty business in the first place? In so many ways, “Furiosa” feels darker than “Fury Road,” the latter’s madcap energy and humor replaced by a bleak imitation, because that’s all “Furiosa” can stomach. But as bleak as things are, Furiosa doesn’t succumb to that darkness – we know that about her. She will not let herself be consumed by her rage like Dementus. Her final blow to him is a punishment fitting of a man who lost hope, who tried to take it away from her. Strangely, in the process, they both might be able to give some to others.