max, furiosa and loneliness
In addition to all the things Fury Road is, it’s a movie about two lonely, damaged people who suddenly find someone else like them, when they were least expecting it.
I know this is part of why I instantly connected with these characters. Because I don’t live in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. I don’t have experiences of trauma and loss anywhere near as intense as what these characters have dealt with. But I know plenty about what it’s like to feel alone, even when there are people all around you.
When we meet Max, he’s gotten used to surviving alone. He’s used to doing everything by himself, for himself, because there’s no other option. He sometimes helps other people, but he’s not used to the idea that anyone would help him, let alone trust him, protect him or comfort him.
It’s not at all surprising to me that Max’s weapons of choice are pistols and a sawed-off shotgun–weapons you fire with one hand. He’d need the other hand for driving, because he’s used to doing everything himself, alone. He’s not as good with a rifle, a weapon you need two hands to fire, because he’s never had anyone to drive for him while he shoots, or keep a lookout while he lines up a careful long shot. (Side note–let us just take a moment to appreciate that Furiosa’s hero weapon is a gun you have to shoot with two hands, and that she’s better with it than anyone.)
Max is both isolated and self-isolating. It’s easy for isolation to become a self-reinforcing pattern–to get so used to not having anyone that you think you don’t need anyone. Sometimes you actively push people away when they’re reaching out (”I’ll make my own way”), because the thought of getting used to needing someone else and then finding them not there–through horrible circumstance or their own choice–is too painful. Easier to just keep doing it all on your own. Keep those walls intact.
Furiosa has a different kind of loneliness. She’s constantly around people at the Citadel, but there is no one quite like her–no one who’s been both wife and warrior, victim and enforcer, no one who’s traversed the Citadel’s worlds of both women and men.
I’m sure there are plenty of War Boys who doubted her, scoffed at her, hated her as she climbed up the ranks. As a woman in a world of men (in a deeply misogynist society), she would have had to be not just as strong as all the boys, but stronger, harder, smarter, better at everything, more ruthless and vicious, more guarded and wary, more careful with her trust. You see it in how she fights. Go for the kill on every move. She could never afford to do anything less.
She would have had to build her own coping mechanisms, find ironclad ways to contain all her trauma and pain so it didn’t derail her when she needed to be on point, which was always. When she meets Max, she’s able to see very quickly that under his aggression is pain and fear, and that the aggression will stop if she soothes what’s underneath. Of course she sees it. She recognizes it.
Furiosa builds a crew of War Boys around her as Imperator, and it’s possible she trusts them and cares about them, and maybe even loves them. But at the end of the day, she is not their equal. She’s their leader. She’s the one who has to make the hard decisions, to think of the big picture, the mission and the team. She has to be the strongest person on the rig, because she’s the boss, the commanding officer, and ultimately, she’s responsible for them. She can never risk falling apart. Alone in the desert, Max can spend days swimming in flashbacks and damage no one but himself. Furiosa doesn’t have that option.
Being a leader is isolating. Always being the strongest person around is isolating, too.
If you’re always the strongest person around, you have no one to be vulnerable with. You are always taking care of other people, and it’s not so easy to let someone take care of you, to let your guard down completely. Because you’re the strongest, you’re in charge, there are things that only you can do, and everyone knows it.
When Furiosa returns to her people, she finds that she is no longer entirely like them, although she was never completely of the Citadel either. She’s trapped between worlds, alone. I think she’s a little afraid to tell them all the things she must have done in Joe’s service, afraid they will not understand, afraid they will judge her or pity her if she tells them. Even though maybe they wouldn’t.
But Max understands all about guilt and horrible choices, and does not feel himself in a position to judge anyone, and has as little use for pity as she does. Max knows what it’s like to be the strongest person around–to be depended upon to take care of other people, and to sometimes fail them.
And suddenly, these two lonely people find themselves beside someone who can have their back. It’s dizzying to suddenly find someone who is just as strong as you are, and just as broken. Someone strong enough to protect themselves, and also sometimes you. Which means you are allowed to be vulnerable once in a while. Someone who knows what gun you need and can hand it to you, loaded, before you ask. Someone who doesn’t flinch when you wake up from a nightmare, who doesn’t ask you to explain, just knows to remind you you’re safe. Someone who can watch over you. An equal. A partner.
And that is simultaneously an unbelievable relief and the most terrifying thing imaginable.
