Some American westerns inspire a tepid rehash of the formulas they produce. There is the burdened drifter, the lowly outcast, the cynical townspeople, the rowdy bandits, and of course, enough indians to go around. But in the annals of movie knowledge, the Japanese may have already lended an unknowing hand. It's a fact that's clearly trivial in its significance, because both sides may have already constituted the origins of the formula equally. Truth be told that there is a fond interest East and Western cultures share, a fascination with under-shaven men who straggle a fine line between duty and reason, hope and lost love, honor and glory, or more likely, a remorseful past and a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is a soundless style the Western genre and the Japanese have. From "The Seven Samurai" to "The Magnificent Seven;" from the great samurai warrior epics to the ballads of John Ford and Peckinpah, the two areas spark on a similar degree of narrative.

As a parallel note, George Lucas, a long time admirer of helmed Japanese director Akira Kurosawa, took some components of Kurosawa's 1958 adventure film "The Hidden Fortress" to make his own sci-fi/fantasy epic titled "Star Wars." So I take the liberty to say it, that "The Road Warrior" is a feastful byproduct of the familiar western genre coupled within the lore of Japanese storytelling. It has all the playful ingenuity of "Star Wars" as well as the inspiration of the films that came before it.

This is a bleak yet densely colorful post-apocalyptic future. There is a weasely and scrawny fellow named The Gyro Captain who wears pink tennis shoes; A caveman-like child who brandishes a deadly metal boomerang; And two different brands of people that resemble something out of a certain William Golding novel. The director, George Miller and co-writer Terry Hayes wanted a film that could be set apart from "Mad Max" (the previous installation). So the pair rummaged through old movies, picking up on classic westerns and old samurais', and thus laid the way for "The Road Warrior." It follows much of the same formula as any other: an outsider, cynical townspeople, and, you get the point. There is even a bad guy character suspiciously dressed up like a Mohawk indian (true to old fashioned cowboys-and-indians sensibilities, he even sports his own little war cry).

Through a series of old black and white newsreels and footage, the introduction explains that, for reasons long forgotten, two great warrior tribes (nations) clashed and quite possibly started World War 3. Destruction swept across the globe and ultimately gasoline, modern man's most essential resource, is in short supply (especially with the absence of refineries). With civilization in decay, the universe of "Mad Max" encompasses a diverse blend of road pirates, scavengers, and good-natured innocents all in a vast desert aptly named the Wasteland. It's a place where a poisonous snake makes for a handy anti-theft device.

The scarred anti-hero Max Rockatansky (Mel Gibson), now with a brace on his leg from an earlier injury, wanders the desert as an aimless loner. He's still with his rare black V-8 Interceptor and his Main Force Patrol outfit. Along with a loyal canine companion he calls Dog, life is just a long unending quest for gasoline. That is until he discovers a tribe of hard working individuals who have managed to operate an oil refinery. They're good people, appropriately dressed in angelic white rags and led by a man whose name is Pappagallo (Michael Preston). But they want out of the Wasteland.

That's because a horde of road pirates want their refinery. Round after round of them come, causing long spells of sieges and even showcasing some disastrous stunts. Their favorite hobbies include pillaging, murder, and the occasional tortuous raping. Leading them is a muscular brute whose wardrobe could scare off any fledgling dominatrix. He's "The Lord Humungus," a title so honored among the bad guys that he has his own owl-eyed announcer named The Toadie (Max Phipps). Pointed out by an old man, their destination is an idyllic sandy beach up north and as a way to escape the tribes people devise a plan to haul out their precious gasoline and set up a new village elsewhere. Though to their luck, finding a vehicle large enough to haul the gas is like finding a needle in a haystack. For Max, this is an opportunity to get some tanks of gasoline, and he strikes up a deal with Pappagallo to join them in their cause.

I’ve heard many compliments about the movie, most being in relations to how restrained the borrowed formulas are. There are some small things that can be handpicked while the action flies by like: the Mohawk haircut, the use of vehicles, the caricature-ish oil derrick people, and major things like Max himself. But there is one thing that most of them tend to leave out or forget altogether. They forget to take into notice the setting of the movie, the pure ambience of the surroundings. It may be a post-apocalyptic wasteland, but it’s more in tune to the outskirts of an existential southwest where a lonesome cowboy can sleep out in front of a campfire. Just like the private eyes finding refuge in a sunless metropolis in film noir, sun-scarred deserts are like havens for westerners: outlaws use it as a hideout, stray heroes use it to roam in their pointlessness. Max wanders because it fits his lifestyle after his wife and son are murdered.

The world that Miller has crafted ranks in the same league of depth and photography as the Los Angeles 2019 in "Blade Runner" or more likely to Tatooine in "Star Wars." The visions are of endless strips of dirt paths carved on a geographic landscape of dust and browned scrap metal. Automobiles inhabit the outskirts and the camera gives us large panoramic shots of autos gliding along the planes, belittled by the vast nothing that surrounds it. This is a world that exists on bedrock of stretched asphalt roads and all the junk it could salvage. There isn't really much spent on props (except for an outlandish fort), but there is a surreal quality to the movie likewise to that of a hazy sunbaked mirage. After the introduction reel, we're given a scene with totaled cars and a vandalized truck that ominously reads: The Vermin Have Inherited the Earth. Watching the movie over and over, a sense of dimension is to be felt, vague -yes, but complete. There is an utter weirdness of taking a thoroughly plain backdrop and breathing into it a life of bold atmosphere.

Much is to be said about the film's climatic ending. Juxtaposed with most other action films and it would put them to complete shame. That's because it's a frenzied montage of what action could be if it were to rely only on a paper and pencil. The scene is without a doubt a remarkable one indeed. It involves a diesel engine outfitted with spiked barricades and barbwire being pursued by vehicles of all sorts. From above, a gyrocopter zips around in the air while dropping firebombs onto unsuspecting baddies. One situation has a paraplegic trying fruitlessly to put out a fire he accidentally set on his lap, and another has a motorist idiotically being pulled under the wheels. In a build-up like this you either have A) Injured stuntmen B) Remarkable skills with choreography and planning, or C) A devastating collision. The answer?

D) All of the above.

The climax works as an upgrade over "Mad Max" and as an inspiration to its next entry "Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome." With this crowded collective of rusted vehicles and a hulking big rig, I was reminded of a scene in a western where the bandits would try to hijack a steaming locomotive. In fact, the front end of the diesel is equipped with a metal nose probably taken off of an actual train. Or more likely, from an old fashioned steam engine.



Recommended:
Yes

Viewing Format: DVD
Video Occasion: Fit for Friday Evening
Suitability For Children: Not suitable for Children of any age