In Praise of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome

Another day, another brainless action movie I've seen for the first time. And, as usual: Mind. Blown.

Thunderdome has been an actual thing for the best part of 27 years, yet this cultural feast has somehow managed to elude me. Post-apocalyptic treats for the first time viewer, stuffing his face with chocolate and popcorn include:

- The knowledge that even after WW3 has wiped out society as we know it, there will still be saxophone music

- The demand for bad wigs is just as much in demand as it was in the mid 1980s, while men openly sport the mullet without shame

- Despite the lack of basic santitation, women in a post-nuclear Australia still find the time to shave their armpits

- Tina Turner cannot say 'Raggedy-man' without moving her lips as if it has been badly overdubbed from the original Japanese

- Even though there appears to be a shortage of just about every type of fuel, it still appears fine to run a car mounted with a jet engine

- Mel Gibson punches a woman and would never do so again

And if there's a message from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, it is this:

Unlike the pacifist 'make a bad thing good' message spread by Rastamouse, a brain-crushingly violent car chase will fix anything, allowing all surviving participants to go home for a nice cup of tea in their own little corner of the radioactive wasteland.

Oh, the wisdom of the (1985) ancients.