Mad Max - Blog Posts
ok but imagine
Tom Hardy + dogs = Mad Max + the War Boys
My Etsy: LINK / My Ko-Fi: LINK
“If you replace Dementus’ gang with muppets it’s still the exact same movie”
So
After watching the entirety of season 3 with my grandma (we started at, like, 9:00 PM and it's now 2:10 AM), I can conclude a couple of things:
-It was great
-I loved it
-You should know by now that I'm a very emotionally unstable person
So
Naturally,
-I cried
-A lot
I have this thing where I number my OCs and a bunch of concepts, then roll dice to figure out what to draw, I call it the dice challenge.
This is the product of the Dice Challenge.
1. “Taxidermy” in Hogwarts AU (She’s in Ravenclaw)
2. “Songtune” with facial hair.
3. Marina Church as a mercreature (she’s a Jellyfish)
4. Siren in a Mad Max AU (she drives a truck that carries water)
5. Yuki with facial hair.
Review: Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)
Rating: 9.0 of 10
First and foremost, I might be the only person in the world who were torn between Pitch Perfect 2 and Mad Max: Fury Road. You see, I loved Pitch Perfect. I had been waiting for the sequel for a while and Anna Kendrick is kind of my spirit animal. I have never even seen any of the Mad Max movies and know practically nothing about it except the broadest overview (I know, I'm a bad geek) and the trailers for Mad Max: Fury Road didn't quite move me. BUT then everyone and their grandfather started raving about Fury Road up to the point where I can't ignore it. As you might have guessed, after a brief moment of soul searching, I decided on Fury Road.
And really, I basically dropped my jaw to floor for the whole 2 hours, it was insane. In a world where action movies (or even non action movies) are frequently big and loud, Fury Road was BIG and LOUD. Fury Road was non-stop—it was basically 2 hours of Max's (Tom Hardy) life, and that life ain't quiet. But most importantly, it was also beautiful. A lot of movies are beautifully shot (heck, if nothing else, even the Transformers movies are beautifully shot) but Fury Road brought everything to the next level. Every scene is like a painting. The movie didn't even have proper script for its shooting, it had a mountain of storyboards instead, and it shows. Basically, Fury Road was an artwork. It wasn't just pretty, it was poetry—if poetry can be made of gasoline, greased wheels, and dirt, that can only brought upon by George Miller, the original creator of Mad Max.
In Mad Max's world, the world had ended and the ones left were living under tyrant named Immortan Joe. I honestly don't know if he were supposed to have backstory in the previous movies or not, but I know jackshit about him and the War Boys, and I loved it. Fury Road has this enormous, enormously rich world where everything is crazy and nothing is explained, and actually I love that about the movie. It made me feel like we literally have only seen one second worth of glimpse at its madness—and looking at the amount of creativity in it, we definitely only have seen so little of its world. Every inch of its character designs told a story, and there were plenty of story to tell: Citadel, War Boys and War Pups, Breeders, Gas Town, Bullet Farm, Many Mothers, we really are just scratching the surface.
But the main spectacle were definitely the fights and chases, and boy, what a spectacle it was. Almost everything were done with practical effects instead of CGI and you just can see the effort and detail that went into it. The cars were rigged with spikes, poles, and grenades, and you have never seen anything more beautiful than them. The chases were batshit crazy and complicated, that it made Fast & Furious 7's scenes looked like they were made with your niece's toy LEGO cars. But honestly, as R-rated and artful as it is, we can't really deny that Fury Road is basically a 13 year old's wet dream in which cars explode randomly on contact, and rock music during battle is the pinnacle of coolness. In short, it was nothing but full-on gloriousness.
One thing, though: Charlize Theron was a capital-B, bold letter Badass. With a buzzcut and a warpaint, Charlizes Theron's Imperator Furiosa was a heroine worthy of Sigourney Weavers's Ripley status. Tom Hardy, who played the titular character, has always had enormous presence and he was perfect as the wild-but-strangely-rarely-speaking Max. But it was Imperator Furiosa who moved the story forward. Trapped within action sequence after sequences, Theron was able to bring depth to her character, just enough to make we love her and want her to succeed. I also need to have a little shoutout for Nicholas Hoult who played Nux. Being a fan from his Skins days, I was always delighted to see him taking on a new, interesting character and he did a marvellous job. We witness you, Nicholas Hoult, and we welcome you.
It was really hard for me to remind myself that the original Mad Max, a cult favorite, is a 36-year-old property. TL;DR Somehow, Mad Max: Fury Road felt so fresh, so breathtaking, and had eased itself to the cracks of today's filmmaking so completely that you know it wasn't a miracle, it wasn't luck; it was the work of a seasoned filmmaker who knew exactly what he's doing, doing what he does best.
Can you seriously buy the badonkadonk land cruise from mad max on amazon?
Max goes after Kimi but harder
another goku royale 3 boss
did this with my friends :3
i'll learn how to draw him properly someday.....
Why MM:FR Was the Most Tasteful Action Movie I’ve Seen
Things that the film handled with restraint:
Rape: As countless people have said – Half of the movie’s main cast consists of sex slaves. And there’s not a single rape scene.
Gore: The film looks exactly the type to be ultra-violent a la Quentin Tarantino. But it’s not. The one gory moment is one that you can see coming from miles away and lasts only for a second. And even then, it’s not terrible. Considering this, the movie probably could have had a PG-13 rating with minor alteration.
Sexualization: Five women wearing nothing but gauze sounds like a recipe for anything but what we got; no lingering, awkward, bodily shots. There was even a scene with a completely naked young woman with the camera focused directly on her. Guess what. The camera treated her exactly as if she were wearing flannel pajamas.
Degradation of women: Bad people get upset. We get that. Sometimes they like to swear at our heroines. And yet no one felt the need to say “bitch,” “cunt,” or “whore.” How a film managed to present about the least female-friendly society you can imagine but treated its female characters with more respect than 99% of action movies is beyond me.
Things that the film did not handle with restraint:
FLAMETHROWER GUITAR.
Gender equality: No one once says “Women are ___,” or “Men are ___.” It almost seems like outside of Immortan Joe’s freakishly utilitarian society, men and women get along just fine. Huh. Weird.
Death: Good and bad people die alike on the Fury Road; very quickly. It’s your typical action movie body count. But in a move that’s both odd and brilliant, the film spends a good amount of it’s scarce dialogue detailing what death means to the characters. For some, it’s a suicidal call to honor. For others, it’s a necessary risk to bring about more life. People die in droves. And it’s sad. Death matters.
Criticism: This is about the most critical movie of gender inequality, capitalism, and fascism I’ve ever seen without anyone ever mentioning gender inequality, capitalism or fascism.
COMPASSION: I can’t state this enough. This is a post-apocalyptic genre movie where people kill each other over sex slaves, border disputes, and cars and its message is hope and compassion. The biggest, most heroic moment of the movie is an act of healing, not an act of violence. WHOA.
Stars and Oblivion
After years of searching, you finally find her
Cw: teen pregnancy mentioned, postpartum anxiety, child abandonment
The sun beat down through the mouth of the cave, the sweat from your brow running down and burning into your eyes as you focused intently on the carburetor in your greasy hands. There was no fucking way this would be a surface repair. You let out a growl and grab one of your smaller wrenches to begin disassembling the part. You can feel boring holes into your back but you just roll your shoulders in an attempt to shrug off the sensation. The feeling goes and is soon replaced with a presence. You turn, prepared to shout off whichever Warpup had the audacity to bother you, but instead of stark white flesh you’re greeted with a small frame clothed entirely in light leather work gear. It was that boy again. He was still a child, probably no older than twelve, and certainly no Warboy. He never spoke, making you question if his tongue had been cut out.
“What is it?”
He brings his fingers level with his eyes and then turns them towards the carburetor.
“Do you want me to teach you how to do this?”
He nods and leans on the workbench, eyes locked on your hands.
“Okay. I have to rebuild it, probably replace some of the interior parts and clean it. Just try to look busy.”
He nods again, watching as you take the cover off and begin detaching all the inner workings. You send him for small parts of scrap from time to time and make sure he has his goggles on whenever you have to weld or cut the new pieces to fit into the mechanism. Finally you’re finished rebuilding the part and give it to him, telling him to go put it back in the truck it was from. Another nod, and then he’s gone.
You allowed the boy much more grace than any of the other mechanics. He was just a child after all, a foundling most likely, and starkly human compared to the Warboys, a whole life. He’d often come sit with you while you ate, but you never saw his face, he’d just slip his spoon under his dust mask instead of removing it. There were several occasions on colder nights that he would climb into your bunk shivering, and you’d just wrap your arms around him without question, pressing your lips to his forehead and smoothing down his cap.
In moments when your mind was loose, when you were unfocused at work, or too tired to properly hold your eyes open you saw in him glimpses of the child you had left behind. Close in age, and hopefully status of life, you saw her, darting around, almost playful in moments of ease, but reserved nonetheless. You had no real idea what your daughter looked like, you had gone when she was just a baby, leaving her with your sister and running into the wastes, too young then to be a mother or a wanderer, but your fear had driven you further than any car ever could.
You remembered her, blue and screaming when she came into this world, covered in blood and viscera, her tiny hands clenched into tight fists as she was handed to you. You’d barely had enough time to name her before you’d passed out. You were fourteen then, too curious for your own good, drawn in by the charms of a farmer’s son, and you’d ended up ripped in half for your stupidity. The bleeding wouldn’t stop, so the doctor had taken your womb to give you a chance at living, and lived you had.
It was three days before you had woken up, connected to your sister by a tangle of tubing while another woman held out the child for you to hold. You took her and brushed the wisp of hair from her face, smiling when she opened her eyes, looking up at you. You’d stuck around for a couple of months, but by the time you left you felt like you needed to claw your way out of your skin, like even if you never stopped running you’d still have gone nowhere, so you left your daughter with your sister and ran, taking a bike and going as far and as fast as you could.
Years later you had gone back, twenty four then, finally ready to settle back down, your wild urges sated, your body relaxed and your mind solid once again, only to find nothing. The women had told you that your daughter had been taken, and your sister had followed after. You’d lit out in the direction they pointed and rode until you came across the remnants of a camp, a pile of warm ashes and an all too familiar locket buried beneath the cinders. The metal had burned a crescent moon into your palm as you’d gripped it and screamed, but you didn’t care. You just knelt there in the sand sobbing until you had no tears left to cry, pathetically making your way back to your bike and continuing in the direction you’d been heading, despite the absence of tracks, no trace of your sister’s murderers or your little girl. Just riding into oblivion with no real care if you lived or not.
So you cared for the boy, as much as he’d let you, as if he were your own, the guilt deep in your belly driving your actions just as much as your compassion. He grew up under your mechanical guidance, loosening up around the workshop, forgoing his mask, and before long it became glaringly obvious that you had mistaken him. Long hair and bright eyes began to reveal “his” true nature, but it didn’t phase you. There were many reasons for a girl to hide in this world, especially around the company you worked with. She grew brawny as she aged and you gifted her with a knife to keep sheathed in her boot. She’d kept it close, pulling it on more than one occasion to escape the grabbing hands of the Warboys you worked with.
You knew nothing of her but what you’d seen, but you could still say you loved her. All these years, watching over her, protecting her, teaching her. There were times, even now, that she, maybe seventeen now, would crawl shivering into your bed and you’d hold her and kiss her forehead as you always did. She would never object to your affections, just worming her way closer and sighing as her eyes fell shut.
Years later she’d disappeared, and you’d worried for her, fearing the worst, but after a month she returned, staggering, weak, a crudely stitched stump where her left arm once was. You’d tended to her without a word, cleaning her wound and dressing it without question as she sat on your bunk that night. She’d been through hell and you knew she wasn’t one to talk. The girl, no woman, before you was alive and that was all that mattered right now. Before you could think your hand was at the back of her head and your forehead was pressed to hers, with your eyes squeezed shut, fighting the tears of worry that threatened to fall. She’d been strong, wherever she’d been, and it was your turn now, for her sake. She mirrors your actions, pressing her head to yours so hard it almost hurt.
“Stars bless you,” she whispers, her voice shaking with the same tenacity you were exerting.
You pull away from her sharply, shocked not only by her voice but the words it carried. Her eyes are wide and wet, her hand trembles against the back of your head and you know now what your heart had secretly known for years. You look at her in the torch-light of the bunk room and see your own eyes staring back at you, your own hair falls over her shoulders and down her back.
“Furiosa,” you breathe, pressing your forehead back to hers, finally allowing the sob to wrack your body, pulling her tightly into a hug and she reciprocates it. She’d learned to love and trust you, completely unaware of the fact that it was your immaturity that had gotten her here. It was all your fault and she was none the wiser. It was too late now, to be her mother. She was twenty three years old and had mourned for the mother she knew for all those years now. It was not your place to try to claim that place, to fill that void.
“How do you know my name? You’re not from the green place, I’d have known you,” her voice is sharp and demanding despite the low volume.
“I am, I left when you were a baby, and only went back after you’d been taken.”
“Then who are you?”
You silently reach behind your neck and unclasp your necklace bearing two pendants, a sun and a crescent moon, and give them to her.
“She was my sister. I’ve spent years looking for you. I needed to see you again, even if it was just for a moment.”
Your answer was incomplete, but still truthful. It was all she needed to know. Too much would do more harm than good, and she was already fragile. Maybe when you finally got her back home safe you would come clean, but now, just having her here in your arms, knowing she was alive and as safe as someone could be in the wasteland was enough for you.
Wrote a short Furiosa oneshot but idk how I feel about it yet. Should I just post it and see what happens?
Eleven: Mike, spell ‘perfect’
Mike: E-L-E-V-E-N
Lucas: Aww that’s sweet
Lucas: Max, spell ‘perfect’
Max: M-A-X
Here is one of my older scribble portraits, was part of an assignment for my digital art class. enjoy my fellow rats! 🐀❤️
Mad Max: Fury Road. Imperator Furiosa
FURIOSA by joseleserrano
www.instagram.com/josele_serrano
joseleserrano.tumblr.com
𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
time stood still - angst (platonic max x reader ,, word count: 1k+)
after max hears some worrying noises, she finds herself resting in a hospital bed, unable to understand the world around her.
warning: badly written
happy halloween! 🎃 i have dressed up as our fav ginger, max mayfield. wishing you all a great halloween <3 👻