"My name is Max. My world is fire...and blood."
Having seen the gobsmackingly over-the-top trailers, I went into "Mad Max: Fury Road" worrying that it would be review-proof. And it is, in that my review could consist of me pointing at the screen for 2 hours and going, "AAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGHHHHHTHISISAMAAAAAAZZZIIINNNG!"
"Fury Road" jams the pedal to the metal and keeps its foot down for a breakneck 120 minutes of vehicular carnage, a jawdroppingly beautifully painted demolition derby streaked through with humour as dry as the desert in which it's set and hearts as black as the precious "guzzle-ine" that fuels it. Cracked lips and sandblasted faces leer from the ochre nightmare of a world fallen to rust, flame blossoms from speeding war rigs, twisted metal and bodies crash and tumble -- the mayhem is viscerally, exhilaratingly real, making the glossy CGI heroics of "" look like a Saturday morning cartoon.