It’s the future, so
bring on the apocalypse. I downed cheapo, gonzo 1979 Australian classic (and
Mel Gibson debut) “Mad Max” as a fast antidote to “Dredd,” the second cinematic
coming of comic book anti-hero killer cop Judge Dredd after the God-awful,
terrible 1995 Sylvester Stallone film of the same name that put freakin’ Rob
Schneider in the sidekick role.
(The less said about that debacle, the better. It took me months to recover from just one viewing.)
(The less said about that debacle, the better. It took me months to recover from just one viewing.)
Is “Dredd” better? By
far. Miles. It’s still crap. For myriad reasons. The plot: It’s post-nuclear war
U.S. of A., and the whole East Coast is a godless concrete jungle of high rises
and crime. The police and courts have been merged into the Judges: Leather-clad,
masked cops with guns and a glint to kill. Basically, it’s like present day
America except everybody is an unarmed young black man. You can get “judged” and
end up in a body bag just for walking. Sorry, I digress. Still on a “FrutivaleStation” kick. Can’t help it.
Anyway, Dredd (Karl
Urban) is the best (read: most ruthless) cop in Mega-City (because Metropolis
was taken) and we follow him here as he takes on a high-rise apartment tower
that reaches for the heavens, but might as well plunge low to the pits of hell.
As in 1995, Dredd has a sidekick. And it’s a she, and not Schneider in drag,
thank the gods. Helmetless because why stump the fan boy’s eye candy factor, Judge
Anderson (Olivia Thirlby) also is a mutant who can read the thoughts of others.
Why are there mutants popping around? No idea.
Dredd and Anderson enter the complex to
investigate a grisly drug-related triple murder and within minutes find themselves
at the mercy of the building’s ruthless drug lord (Lena Headey). Mama she is
called, and she places the building on lockdown and tells every thug ruthless,
shitty, one-eyed, tenant over an intercom that she wants Dredd’s head now. From
there it’s war, the tenants attack our hero (and the girl rookie) and he
shoots, bombs, kicks, scowls, and grimaces his way through the lot to the top.
If One Man Against an
War Zone Apartment Complex and the intercom bit sounds familiar it’s because the plot and details were done
exactly point-for-point in “The Raid,” an kick-ass Indonesian action/blood fest also from 2012. Literally, this is a replica. Down to camera angles. Everything
says director Pete Travis is innocent, it’s a mere coincidence. If it is, “Raid”
is still the better film. And Travis has the luck of a rat. “Raid” has a hero that means something and is one hell of a sight to behold, has a human
trait, and a reason not to fail. It’s also a spectacular feast of stunts. Seriously, see it.
This
has CGI glut, a zero hero with Urban (good actor, no slam, I like him) doing Eastwood as an unkillable tank, and
it all means nothing. Absolutely nothing. I get it. Dredd is supposed to be the
darker Dark Knight. Great read for a book, I’m sure, bur a lousy watch and with
so many wasted opportunities. Dig it: Mama has created a nasty drug that slows
the brain to a crawl so every movement feels wicked trippy, lights pop, and
rushing water stands still, and the effect is crazy wicked on screen. So let’s see
Dredd on that shit, right? No. Dude just kills and scowls. I won’t watch a
third film. C
“Mad Max” I can watch
endlessly. You know the plot: It’s the near-future, meaningful authority is dust-bin
history, and the highways are open roads of lawlessness akin to old Australia
or the American West than anything we’d call the future. Zero horses, all cars.
Gibson is Max, a highway cop trying to maintain some order against roaming bikers
who steal, rape, and kill for the pure glee. The bikers make the error to wrong
Max’s friends and family, and Gibson as Max explodes like a fuel-air bomb in a
film that feels not scripted or planned, but captured out of a complete drug-fueled
nightmare. Not slow like in “Dredd,” but warp-speed head-rush fast.
Whole
sections of “Max” are incomprehensible and wreck loud, but few films -–
especially chase ones -– have ever felt more in the moment. It vibes like a tale
that had to be made or writer/director George Miller and his star would just
die. And for all the story’s debauchery, Miller shows little blood or gore. It’s
just over the camera frame’s edge, way deep in our skull, and that is scarier
than anything anyone can put before our eyes. Gibson is young and scary
fanatical, is that acting? A-
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