No one knows what it means, but it's provocative.

Like the overindulged smug that he is, Nolan follows the movie in which his signature style of precisely grandiose/gimmicky intricate action spectacle better and more straightforwardly served an emotional logic, with an unyielding, barroquely hollow immensity of categorically nothing but the abstruse exposition and fastidiously brassy set pieces he's most criticized for. Mirroring a narrative that quite literally bends itself inwards, it's an artist stubbornly further leaning into his preferred identifiable…

Probably projecting, but it's a testament to the ultimate trickery that is masterful filmmaking that even the generally mediocre, resolutely cynic, but modestly perceptive (by force of sheer repetition) spectator can eagerly be enraptured by the sumptuous, seductive and romantic style and personality of Martin Eden, both movie and character, and take the exhaustively suggested decadence of an inflexible maverick as a preventable personal and collective tragedy, when it could never be much different. Marcello's impressionist merger of nostalgic pre-existent…

Now I have finally realized what they mean with "I can't even".

But I'll try.

Mad Max: Fury Road is an ass-kicking, jaw-dropping, punk-rocking, mind-blowing, staggering, breathtaking, stupefying, overwhelming, astonishing and synonym-inducing work of art.

I pity the fools, myself included, who unjustifiably dismiss any type of craft by sheer hypocritical beliefs. That includes blockbuster film-making. If far too often we're exposed to what appears to be collective delusions that can even "go beyond mere mediocrity to offer possible evidence…