Hot Rod Apocalypse 3

Who's the guy who keeps Mister Dead in his pocket? That would be Max, our intrepid hero of the Hot Rod Apocalypse, that's who. He's kept busy since we last saw him. He is not the ruthless road warrior we recall from the last episode. Having traded in horse for camel power and his dog for a monkey, the man has let himself go and resembles a hungover Michael Bolton. Fortunately we are spared hearing him sing "Sitting On The Dock of the Bay."


While we know that Mr Dead likes to spend his free time in pockets, a larger question remains: who runs Bartertown? A hive of scum, villainy and pawnshop thrift, Bartertown has solved the fuel crisis. Cultivate sufficient pig exhaust and you've got biodiesel beat. The folks down at Bartertown certainly think so. But who run the place? Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome provides the answer.

Say hello to Master Blaster. He's liked by everybody but Auntie Entity, who has the idea that she runs Bartertown. Problem is, there's only one of her. She has two enormous shoulder pads, true, but who doesn't? That hardly ranks her as the big dog. Still, she's played by Tina Turner. We know she'll end up on top.

In this third part of the saga, we have to wait for a long time for hot rods to show up. It's all camels, pigs, shoulder pads and a monkey until then. Oh, and a lot of kids living down by a green pond.


Max is exiled from Bartertown. He and Auntie Entity can't agree on who is more stylish, and off to the wasteland he goes. Fortunately a tribe of children are waiting to rescue him. They live by a nice deep pond in a chasm and are waiting for Max to fly them away to Tomorrow-Morrow Land. Really. It's more interesting than it sounds.

Amidst talk of the poxyklips, Mr Dead getting the jumps of people, highscrapers, and Tomorrow-Morrow Land, it becomes evident that this gang of adolescents has cobbled together a new mythology of the world. The stories they tell and sing and chant are culled from the cultural ashes of what came before. Neat stuff. It also gives Max the opportunity to enlighten the new generation about the whereabouts of Mr Dead, taking a siesta in his pocket.

We get to see the softer side of Max. He is forced to deal with the kids now that he doesn't have a hot rod. This gives him gray hair, but he emerges a better man. Still alone at the end, but content nevertheless that there is more to life than road trips. The saga ends on a positive beat, teaching us that not every apocalypse has to be the end of the world.

In sum: Mad Max introduced us to a post-apocalyptic world where hot rods reign supreme and Max showed himself King of the Road by proving his hot rod was hotter than yours. His leather wardrobe had yours beat from the start, mate, so it was a fixed contest.


In The Road Warrior, Max proved to have the best car (and dog) in a pinch. He might have gotten banged up a bit along the way, but it made him a better driver. Go, Max, go.


Finally, he convinced a new generation there is a better way to carry on the human race than by driving hot rods; to raise pigs, for instance, and wear less shoulder pads. Though we leave Max to an uncertain fate at the end of Thunderdome, he exits on a grace note.

Hot Rod Apocalypse 2

When the Hot Rod Apocalypse arrives, you'd think people would have a lot to say. After all, it's the apocalypse. What isn't there to talk about? There's no fuel to be found anywhere, for starters, which definitely puts a crimp in hot rodding. Does anyone complain? Do they talk at all? Not through a majority of The Road Warrior, they don't.

No complaints from this department, either. It was refreshing to revisit my favorite film as a teen and discover that it has very little dialogue. What's there is sparse, economical, and goes directly to the point. There's no small talk in this vision of a dystopic future. Of course, the roaring engines of every manner of hot rod can really put the kibosh on conversation; you can barely hear yourself think, let alone carry on a meaningful exchange.

Our hero is still torn up over events in the first movie, which explains why he is so short in the tooth. Kind of unusual for the actor, when you think about it. Mel Gibson didn't become one of the leading actors of his generation (remember when he did Hamlet? Okay, bad example...) by keeping shtum. Audiences love him for being that gregarious, blue-faced guy you cheer for but want to keep your daughters away from. Seriously. Martin Riggs is the ideal prom date? I don't think so. He is great as Mad Max because of his restraint.

Max doesn't travel alone. He has Dog along to brighten up the desolate, atomic dust-choked roads. That is the resourceful pup's name: "Dog." Doesn't seem like they are on a first name basis, but it is a sight better as a name than "Gyro Captain." This second companion, when he is reluctantly made a member of Max's little trio, brings something hard to come by: dialogue. His gyro copter, telescope and pink low-top Converse are essentials for surviving in the wasteland.

Lord Humungus is a name you won't soon forget. The film's heavy sounds like Arnold Schwarzenegger's twin brother. Though we can't see the Humungus one's face behind his hockey mask (The Road Warrior was made years before the first Jason movie), his physique and vaguely Teutonic accent evoke California's governator. But he is no governor, he is Lord Humungus. Other honorariums include Warrior of the Wasteland and, my favorite, Ayattolah of Rock and Rollah.

The Road Warrior is the second of three Mad Max films. I'll be watching the third and report back to you from the Hot Rod Apocalypse shortly.

Hot Rod Apocalypse

In the future there will be... hot rods.

I fulfilled a years' long dream yesterday and watched Mad Max. Not to see the film itself, which made a huge impression in my early teens, but to hear the original performances. When Mad Max was released in the US, distributors thought the Australian accents were too thick and overdubbed all the actors with voices straight out of Super Friends. Really ridiculous voices. Mel Gibson has never sounded more like an animated monkey in his entire career.

If you've seen Mad Max, you know what a disastrous effect the overdubs have. So, it was my dream to hear the film as it was meant to be heard. In 2001 a special edition dvd was released that includes the Australian version, and only yesterday, nearly a decade later, I finally got around to watching it.

I'm not a leather fetish kind of guy, but there is plenty here for anybody who likes it. Also, there are hot rods, and how.

Mad Max is the first post-apocalyptic western. Instead of horses everybody rides a hog or a hot rod. There may not be enough food, fuel or love to go around, but when it comes to highways there is an embarrassment of riches. This is like a high-octane predecessor to Cormac McCarthy; an alternate title could have been The Roads.

Anyone with even a passing interest in hot rods (me, for instance) can feel the love. Cops roar around in MFP V-8 Interceptors with genius paint jobs. Seriously, I want to paint my car yellow and stripe it in blue, white and red -because it looks so damn awesome. Of course, if I carry it further and drive like post-apocalyptic police do, I'll be serving a life sentence at San Quentin in no time. Those suckers really tear up the landscape.

Sadly, everyone in the future seems to live on the shoulders of the highway. Parents have also lost all control of their toddlers. How else can you explain the wee ones toddling down the center of the road when it is most inconvenient? There's got to be a better time to let infants play in the road than when bandits are about with jet-powered cars. To their credit, cops and baddies alike have excellent skills and never hit a single baby. Caravans, on the other hand, are open game: we see no less than two totally demolished within the first ten minutes of Mad Max.

As for hearing it properly, I can't say there is a profound difference from what I remember. How distributors ever concluded that the accents were too thick is beyond me. It isn't like they're speaking English as a fifth language. The only plausible explanation is envy, pure and simple. Yanks have a knee-jerk opposition to anyone who speaks English with more flavor than we do.

It doesn't help when their hot rods are more yellow than ours, either.