Mad Max and the Apocalypse

Reading Revelation with Furiosa

Apocalyptic is a popular cultural genre these days, from the post-nuclear “Fallout” TV video game adaptation to the latest “Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga” movie. I’m not exactly recommending you watch Mad Max, because, well, it’s brutal, outlandish, set in a desert “wasteland,” and many of the readers of these newsletters tune in for contemplative-themed writings. But as a culture-watching movie lover and a chronicler of apocalyptic meaning, I can’t help but share that I view the previous “Mad Max: Fury Road” as an apocalyptic, action movie masterpiece.

I still remember curiously meandering into a showing of “Fury Road” in 2015 without knowing anything about the 1970s and 80s films of “Mad Max.” Actors Charlize Theron, Tom Hardy, the promise of action-packed, desert chase scenes, and the reputational lore of director George Miller’s brilliance piqued my interest. I watched, jaw gaping in joy nearly the entire run time, in disbelief at the wildness, weirdness, ingenuity, and utter thrill of it. I’m not a “car guy,” but it’s hard not to revel in the sheer punk rock strangeness of souped-up vehicles chasing a “war rig” (that carries fuel, a precious wasteland resource), one of which carries a costumed man playing a flame-throwing guitar. The guitar riffs, echoing drummers and horns of wars before, provide the soundtrack for the battle. What?

I loved “Fury Road” so much that in expectation of the newest “Furiosa,” I watched all the previous “Mad Max” movies. Apocalypse in the Mad Max movies is a shifting, mythical archetype: in the original and bleakest “Mad Max,” society is beginning to crumble while marauding biker gangs murder and thieve. In the second and classic “Mad Max: The Road Warrior,” the world runs out of oil, disarmed nations are unable to resolve their conflicts diplomatically, and chaos and violence ensue. In “Fury Road,” it’s water and “guzzoline” that are the hoarded resources by the ever-more nefarious few.

Photo by Ivars Krutainis on Unsplash

In the new “Furiosa,” the titular heroine played by actress Anya Taylor-Joy is kidnapped from a hidden, Edenic green space and forced into the company of evil, roaming desert-bikers. There are three population centers in “Furiosa,” each centered around their resource: Gastown (where people fill up on fuel), Bullet town (yep), and the Citadel (where water is kept and vegetables are grown for the ruling villains). The director George Miller seems to understand the symbol of apocalypse—as the years go on, the plot settings shift to comment sideways on current crises. To be sure, the main purpose of the Mad Max movies is to orchestrate elaborate, seemingly impossible action set pieces—but the apocalyptic settings nevertheless unveil the injustices of our time.

The biblical scholar Bart Ehrman, in his helpful book Armageddon, has summarized that ancient apocalypse as a genre typically contains several characteristics. These include the following, with the parallels I see in Mad Max (my partial paraphrase from Ehrman, 120):

• First person prose narratives that consist of visions and dreams and often involve a divine intermediary. John of Patmos narrates his vision quest in the Book of Revelation, but the visions that take place in the Mad Max universe are often tormented and traumatic memory flashes from life in the wasteland. Furiosa’s purpose in the newest film becomes revenge and survival—but the deeper dream of returning to her green and growing haven and home is what gives her the will to survive.

• Wild and strange images, beasts and creatures. Revelation is full of beasts, dragons, and mythic creatures—and in Mad Max the people become strange, beastlike and creaturely. The evil sport face and body paint, some wear grotesque costumes, and even their dialogue is different and guttural, as if books have become a thing of the past. When a character like Chris Hemsworth’s comedic villain Dementus shows up speaking in an aggrandized Shakespearean-inspired dialogue, it sticks out and says a lot about who he might have been before the Mad Max apocalypse.

• Symbolic descriptions of the future or “peeks into the realms of heaven itself.” Along with glimpses into the “throne room” of divine presence, John gives symbolic visions of future cataclysm. In Mad Max, other than Furiosa’s birthplace—a secret place guarded by women where trees and plants still grow—there are no realms of heaven. Only the hellish desertscape, the hellish hearts of humans who have lost their humanity, and the very few who resist.

• Attempted explanations about why this world involves so much suffering. Between “guzzoline” and water hoarding, viewers of Mad Max know why the crises became as dire as they did. John’s symbolism is filled with so many obvious references to the Roman Empire that it becomes clear who is to blame for the apocalypse—forces of evil and doomsday horsemen gallop alongside Emperor Caesar Augustus’s armies.

• Often involve a cosmic battle between good and evil. Revelation has a showdown between Satan, angels, evil beasts and God while in Mad Max, it’s one or two people such as Furiosa or Max who have barely held onto their humanity battling evil, fighting, and surviving.

I initially began commenting on the book of Revelation during COVID and the racial justice uprisings of 2020. As I continue to peel back layers of this extremely challenging book, I am more deeply embracing apocalyptic as a helpful genre through which to view reality. How do we live, survive, and even thrive when systems of injustice are laid bare? As the best zombie films explore, how do we keep our humanity when horror strikes? What does it mean to stand for good when evil seems to be winning? How can we find joy in creativity and the unabashed weirdness of our lives?