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Published 7/8/2015

Witness me!

George Miller, you sly devil! Mad Max is a feminist film. Period. And I loved every second of it.

Can we give the ladies a hand, and in Imperator Furiosa’s (Charlize Theron) case, an arm, because they carried this film! And can I say her name again? IMPERATOR!

Damn she was a beast! I’m mad they called it Mad Max! One arm, one truck, one road. She she blew me away. All 5’10” of her seemed huge onscreen. Every man in the film was afraid, because her physical strength outmatched the misogynistic insanity in play.

This is one of those bombs that you don’t see coming. The key demos for this movie are the most resentful, women-bashing maggots anonymously lurking on the internet, crying foul when women speak up for what they deserve.

Most of the bums and trolls won’t get the message, jaded by car chases and explosions, but Mr. Miller knew what he was doing. I just wish I had seen this with my wife first. This reminded me of her strength. That power I fell in love with from jump.

Damn…I forgot about Max. Honestly, he was just a control to measure how dope the women are in the film. Pay close attention to certain cinematic troupes nodding to the ascension of women from slave to master: the passing of the sniper, the incessant salvation of Max by a woman’s hand, the “nightmares” of his daughter, even the lunacy of every single man in the movie.

Estrogen-fueled righteousness!

Now that I got that off of my chest, please, I encourage every woman to see this movie. Our future is bleak without your strength.