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Zwei Männer treten ein. Ein Mann geht.
Mad Max, der letzte wahre Kämpfer nach der barbarischen Apokalypse, gelangt auf der Suche nach seinem gestohlenen Dromedargespann an den Wüstenhandelsplatz Bartertown. Hier herrscht Aunty Entity mit Strenge und Gewalt. Sie schlägt Max einen Handel vor: wenn er den riesenhaften Blaster im Zweikampf unter der Donnerkuppel besiegt, soll er seine Ausrüstung zurückerhalten. Max gewinnt die erbarmungslose Auseinandersetzung, bei der alle Waffen erlaubt sind, doch er schenkt Blaster und seinem Herrn Master, einem Gnom, das Leben. Wütend läßt Aunty ihn fesseln und in die Wüste jagen. Aber Mad Max kehrt zurück nach Bartertown. Härter und unerbittlicher als je zuvor. Bei einer rasanten Verfolgungsjagd durch die unendliche Wüste kommt es zur spektakulären Entscheidung...
Avis de la communauté (12)
This is wrong in so many ways. They took the Mad Max tag and put it on an otherwise mediocre movie with a bad script. Maybe this would have been a good Indiana Jones movie but this isn't Mad Max by any means. And while Tina Turner is a great singer/performer on stage, she is one of the worst actresses I've seen. If you'd liked the first two then you better don't watch this
I’m not going to waste my time writing a bad review. It’s the worst sh*t ever and a disgrace.
Mel Gibson climbs back into the black leather pants for a third run-around as George Miller's dusty, dystopian desert-goer, in what would be his curtain call with the franchise. Something of a paradox, _Beyond Thunderdome_ is both a different beast from the other Max movies and, at the same time, cut from the same cloth. The budget has certainly ballooned, lending a mainstream sheen to the formerly scrappy, seat-of-pants production. That influx of cash goes a long way, enabling Miller's vision to blossom into a genuine dash of unrestrained wasteland genius (the wardrobe, vehicle and environment designs are way ahead of their time), but the non-action scenes feel far softer and less confident than before. Chalk that up to the extra director, I guess, who kept an eye on the shop while Miller concentrated on getting the adrenaline-driven shots just right. There's still no shortage of inspired, alien weirdness, but it feels less essential, less purposeful. Tina Turner's bejeweled junkyard princess is a good example, talking and acting tough but lacking the conviction and follow-through to really make the role mean anything. Max's mid-act sidetrack to meet an oasis-dwelling troupe of forgotten children is equally hollow, like someone dropped the pilot episode of a spin-off series in the midst of the original film. At least it all comes together for an appropriately white-knuckled sendoff: another epic, high-octane pileup with a colorful fleet of spike-trimmed desert buggies and flame-belching hot rods. I was beginning to wonder what'd become of all the eight-cylinder death machines that were so pervasive in preceding chapters.
I love this movie way more than it deserves.
Good. You need a sense of humour for this one. Boring? I found the first Mad Max more boring.