Movie Review: Mad Max Fury Road

As a child, I only saw Mad Max on late night television. Usually Beyond Thunderdome. Two men enter. One man leaves. That was it. 

So I was without much of an opinion about another installment. Rebooting movie franchises is all the rage. Not even a new trend. Gary Coleman's baseball epic Disney TV movie was a remake of a 1950s movie starring Anne Bancroft. So it's a tried and true Hollywood tradition. 

Of course Mel Gibson is hardly Anne Bancroft and Tom Hardy is certainly no Gary Coleman. 

When I first heard of Mad Max Fury Road, I assumed that it would be a Redbox or a Netflix watch for me. I'm glad I didn't make that mistake. 

Some movies need the theater screen. The pounding sound. The surrounding crowd of teenagers in dates, parents on a night out and that one kid who was inexplicably brought to an R rated film at 10 on a Friday night. Most of that you can't truly recreate in a living room. Some movies demand the overall sensory experience. 

As the credits rolled on Mad Max Fury Road, my body was shaking and I realized that I wasn't sure how long I Id been holding my breath. It's sensory overload. It's epic. It's grand. And so much of it isn't CGI. It was amazing stunts and ridiculous staging and so much action. 

It's an action movie. It isn't about social commentary. Those in the Internet who are trying to make it something about feminism or more are missing the point. It's meant to shock your senses. If there is a social meaning you add to that. So be it. 

Just as the characters are trying to survive a barren harsh sensory explosion of a reality, the harsh daily, or in this case nearly constant presence of death. max and Furiousa et al are just trying to make it through a seemingly impossible life. The sensory, emotional and artistic overload that the audience experiences is but a tiny slice of that post apocalyptical pie. 

Go see Mad Max Fury Road to be overloaded, to challenge your sense. If you find a larger theme, great. But don't go for the politics or the "internet rage". Go because it is the most pure version of an action/chase movie in years. Love it for what it is.

See it in the theater. Maybe don't sit the in front row - unless you really want to see how long you can hold your breath. 

ICE vs ICL

Overall today was a great day.

I awoke on time. Got my kids up and ready, attended a networking event with my father. Yes, he talks almost as much in a networking event as a movie. Stopped by work. Saw some favorite coworkers, then met my father for a delicious lunch on a patio and got some sun. Literally burned. I stopped by a favorite spot to say hi to some friends and then, some guy had the audacity to interrupt my whole day.

Five feet away. A man had a seizure or an episode or a stroke. It scared the bleeping life out of me.

I hate to be helpless. Luckily another patron knew CPR and the employees of the Tap performed admirably in getting help quickly as possible and dealing with the situation with calm and professionalism.

Inside my head, I was freaking out.

I don't know CPR. I should. I have taken classes. But at the moment, as I watched that man's eye glaze over. Watched his partner hold him and desperately try to make contact with him again. I freaked. I had nothing. As a big brother it was enlightening how much I wished my little brother was in my place.

My little brother, little in only age as he is taller and in exceptional shape, is a firefighter. Trained to help people in crisis. To help people who seemingly are having a seizure in the middle of the bar.

If I could have wished anyone to walk through that door it wouldn't have been Batman. It would have been my brother.

The staff moved quickly. Other patrons, with better training and peace of mind, helped the gentleman to the floor and were ready to administer CPR if needed. Paramedics were already on their way.

My brother works in Rochester. So he wasn't the paramedic or firefighter that came through the door. But as those employed by St Paul did, the main was already seemingly stabilizing. The quick thinking of the staff and the other patrons laid him down and worked to get him to breath again.

I did a fine job of looking on and holding down the stool I was on from floating away.

When I was 14, I participated in the 3 on 3 tourney in the parking lot of the Mall of America. It had a fancy name, maybe Gus Mackey, but I will never remember it. What I will remember to the day I die, is the feeling of the stranger who was walking next to me and suddenly had an episode or heart attack. Out of instinct, he grabbed my arm. His grip was tighter than I had ever felt and he pulled me to the ground with him. My friends and parents helped me get us both to a bench and he handed me a bottle of pills. I simply stared at the bottle. Doubt paralyzing me. Fortunately, there was a certified nurse near by who read the label and administered the right dose. Paramedics came and took the man away, stable and seemingly ok. I never knew his name. Afterwards, I was not very focused on basketball. We lost.

Those memories came flooding back as I watched the gentlemen be helped by the other patrons. I had nothing to do. Nothing to offer. Life was truly in the balance to my right and I had nothing to offer as help. It was exceptionally sobering.

The paramedics got the man stabilized and on his way. His wife/partner stayed behind for a minute to answer some questions. One thing I overheard was;

"Who should we contact in the case of emergency?"

ICE.

Many of use have the contact in our phone. The person to call first.

A parent. A lover. A significant other. A spouse.

Yes. As a single person this is supposed to be awkward for me.

But it isn't. I know who I want them to call in an emergency, my parents, my ex-wife, in a few years my son and daughter. That wasn't what struck me.

It was the moment after. As I left the bar. I was fine. The gentleman was seemingly fine. I didn't need to call my ICE.

I needed to call my ICL.

In. Case. of . Life.

I needed to call the person who I can tell anything. The person who will always listen. The person I can share the minutia of life with. Big or small. Life or death. The one person who has to know about your day, the one person who you can't not tell.

I don't need another ICE in my life. I have some really excellent ones, and if my brother ever decides to move back to the cities, he must be prepared to the paramedic/firefighter equivalent to Batman in my world. (I'll get him a cool signal light)

What I do need is that In. Case. of. Life. person. The one person I can't help but tell things. The one person who listens and is always there. Maybe that's a myth. Maybe it's a version of religion. Maybe I just need to wait for the right house elf to give a sock too. But that person is out there.

It warmed my heart, through fear to see the love and compassion of the woman with the man who had a seizure or stroke or just a really bad day. I value that type of love. That type of ICE moment.

I have some great In. Case. of. Emergency. people.

I want that one In. Case. of. Life. person.

Picking up the old addiction...

In college I was a theater major. Yes I loved movies, TV, some theater and I had delusions of stardom and becoming a creator of amazing works. But it also came easy, it was fun. It didn't feel like "homework". Plus occassionally, I got to kiss a pretty girl. Not a bad gig. 

Between 16 and 26 I was part of 55 different productions. Musicials, drama, comedy, vaudevillian bible stories even a movie or two. I always felt better when I had a creative outlet. 

Life happened. And priorities changed. From spring of 2007 to Monday May 11. I didn't go to a single audition. I hadn't even been tempted more than a few times. The stress, reality and responsibilities of life seemed to make that old connection seem dim and distant. 

Then my daughter decided to try out acting. She went to some camps. Was in a club at school. And she's been auditioning for some shows this year and hadnt yet made it in one. She really had her heart set on being in a show this summer. 

So I told her we would find one to do. And I would audition with her in hopes we could both get a chorus role. May 11th we attended an audition. Because we wanted to audition together we went at the prescribed "family" audition time slot. 

Imagine if you will, a scene from Modern Family or SNL. A stage, filled with 6 little girls under 10 and one out of shape 34 year old dad, being led through  energetic choreography by a young man in excellent shape who probably dances every day of the week...

Needless to say, those little girls kicked my butt. 

We ran it over and over and by the end I was gasping for air and doubled over in laughter. My daughter was too. She did a fine job dancing. I mostly did a lot of flailing. 

We completed the dance audition and went to sing our audition songs and improv a scene. Again. 6 little girls and one old guy. One of these things was not like the others. But we had fun and I was so proud of both my daughter and just letting her see that part of me. 

Letting that part of me out might have been opening the Pandora's Box of my psyche. Confidence I hadn't felt in a long time came rushing back. Parts of my brain slowly began to awake from 8 years of slumber. Blocking. Playing off a partner in a scene. Giving and taking the energy that is created with imagination. It felt so good. 

That sweet succulent taste of addiction. 

Then I got the email about callbacks. 

It was a surprise but it wasn't. Community theater is always looking for more men. Especially ones who can maybe hold a tune or look like a human in the background of a scene. 

It was a reminder. It's been a long time. My last role was Seymore in Little Shop. The young, leading man protagonist. 

This time I was called back to read for "Grandpa" 

Yep. 

Ego not as boosted as it was but not as deflated as I expected. I went to the callback. We sang and read sides from the script. I played with accents and gestures and facial expressions. 3 hours flew by. Surrounded by people all trying new things, nervous in some ways, reading and trying to gauge the "competition" It was one of the best nights I've had in a long while. 

I left engaged. Fulfilled. Energized. I hadn't just opened the box. I tore it in two. No going back now. 

For 8 years I hid a part of myself. A part of myself that I really enjoy. It was necessary in some ways. Self punishment in others. It happened. It was. 

After the call back, I then had to wait. Wait on a call or a cast list or an email. Wait. Wait. Wait. 

I've been waiting a lot lately. Trying to take things as they come. React. Not force the issue. Not chase. It's not my normal motif. 

Tuesday night I got the call. I was cast. My daughter was in the chorus. Her joy was enthralling. She jumped up into my arms and I spun her around as she giggled. So happy to be in a "real show". 

If I could bottle that joy, I could change the world. 

So the box is gone. This part of me is coming back. My daughter has the bug now too. 

So come see us both in July. 

PS. I didn't get cast as Grandpa. I got the villain. A goofy, angry, unhinged Baron. Part El Guapo, part Don Carnage, part Boris and Natasha. I can't wait.