Apocalypse at the Movie-plex 

FURIOSA: A MAD MAX SAGA. A friend — and greater cineaste than I — having very recently watched and enjoyed Furiosa, conveyed to me his abiding concerns for the future of cinema. And, if we are to trust the recent, ubiquitous reports of box office "failure," his fears could be justified. But, as likewise pertains to the impending end of the world as we have known it, the horrifying confluence of human malfeasance, viral dominance and the planet finally sloughing us off, I think the movies will be just fine; we just won't be around to enjoy them.

Trapped as we are in the high-frequency cycling of tension and release, led on by the need of the arbiters (soon to be subsumed by artificial intelligence?) to simultaneously scintillate and disappoint, to leave us all wanting more of the stuff we know is poisoning us, physically and psychologically, it is a not-unnatural response to the state of things to interpret and intone looming disaster in the "poor performance" of vivid, vital, exciting film art. To be fair, it seems a truism that a younger generation remains far more interested in "content generation," as we sour old bastards might call it, than in the focused energy required to create longer-form art that requires prolonged and directed attention.

But short-term prognostication, based on the dwindling theatrical half-life of what we once were drawn to as cultural oases, points of apolitical connectedness and beginnings of ongoing conversations, can only tell part of the story. We still live in the noxious day-after: In this case, the possibly permanent hangover of the plague years but also in the comedown from the Barbenheimer bacchanal many of us interpreted as the beginning of something. What, really, is supposed to fill the vacuum created by a weekend when a kaleidoscopic, candy-colored vision of girlhood crashing into the existential angst of the rest of life, and a meditation on humanity's capacity and compulsion to end itself transcended the doldrums of reality, both of which brought us out of our darkened rooms and into a slightly larger, almost-communal one.

Yes, last year was a big one for the movies, and one that may have marked the end of an era for a certain type of recently dominant intellectual property. But the fact that every weekend hasn't boasted a billion-dollar earner may mark a beginning, rather than an end of things.

As evidence, I would present the very existence of Furiosa, an interpolative sequel/prequel in a doom-saying franchise now almost 50 years old. It is easy to forget, for those of us among the faithful, that Mad Max: Fury Road (2015), for its accolades and ticket sales, was also met with a effluent tidal wave of anti-feminist opinion that attempted to diminish the vision of George Miller and company by decrying its transition of focus from Max (Tom Hardy) to Furiosa (Charlize Theron) and the women (read: the future) she has chosen to protect.

Furiosa presents the decades-spanning origin story of its titular protagonist, she born of the place of abundance, the child of a great warrior (Charlee Fraser, recently seen in the unlikely hit Anyone But You). As a child, Furiosa (Alyla Browne) wanders too far afield and is abducted by the moto-berserkers of Dementus (Chris Hemsworth) and drawn to the center of the war for control of the wasteland. Hiding among the warboys of Immortan Joe (Lachy Hulme), she (played in adulthood by Anya Taylor-Joy) climbs the ranks until she falls into the favor of Praetorian Jack (Tom Burke), legend of the Fury Road, and enacts a plan to find her way back home.

Lest we forget, nine years ago, Fury Road served as a desperately anticipated relief from the day-to-day garbage of normal moviedom. Having become jaded by the vagaries of the ending world and the awkward transition of the movie business, it is easy to forget that the median excitement level at the multiplex may actually be higher than it has been in a decade. As ever, the audience at large may be a little slow on the uptake and the organs of note certainly aren't doing anybody any favors with their doom-saying. But Furiosa is madder and more furious than Fury Road, which makes it about as bonkers and satisfying as any big-screen extravaganza can be. Miller continues to accomplish the seemingly impossible, expanding the drama and scope and color and texture of the post-world world of his imaginings, without sacrificing any of its original grit and guile. Taylor-Joy continues her streak of riveting, often unlikely performances, and Hemsworth, often unrecognized for the humor and complexity of his non-Thor work, is a pitch-perfect comic foil with true menace (and maybe more than a few nods to Heath Ledger's joker).

The movie sustains a pace and style unrivaled in cinema history, with stunt sequences and world-building of such detail and daring that two and a half hours of running time pass by in a revelatory, adrenalized rush.

Don't call it a comeback, it's been here for years. R. 148M. BROADWAY, MILL CREEK, MINOR.

John J. Bennett (he/him) is a movie nerd who loves a good car chase.

NOW PLAYING

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BACK TO BLACK. Amy Winehouse biopic starring Marisa Abela. R. 122M. BROADWAY.

THE FALL GUY. Ryan Gosling shoots a macho thumbs up in a comedy take on the 1980s TV show about a stuntman embroiled in real action. With Emily Blunt. PG13. 114M. BROADWAY, MILL CREEK.

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SUMMER CAMP. Childhood pals of a certain age (Diane Keaton, Kathy Bates, Alfre Woodard) attend a camp reunion. PG13. 96M. BROADWAY.

Fortuna Theatre is temporarily closed. For showtimes call: Broadway Cinema (707) 443-3456; Mill Creek Cinema 839-3456; Minor Theatre (707) 822-3456.