I like Mad Max, probably more than most people. Probably more than I should. At one point in high school I would alternate watching Mad Max and The Road Warrior every day. Each viewing of Mad Max reinforced something I had suspected the first time I saw the movie: that it contained perhaps the worst-written monologue in film history. Here it is, delivered completely straight in a scene preceding his wife's murder:
When I was a kid, me and my pop used to go for long walks, I remember staring down at his shoes. They were special shoes. Brown. And he always kept 'em real shiny. He was tall, and he used to take long strides. And there I'd be right alongside him, trying to keep up. I don't think he ever knew how proud I felt of him. Or how good it felt just to be there alongside him. Even now when I think back on it I still feel...the thing is Jess, I couldn't tell him about it then can tell you now, I don't want to wait 10 years to tell you how I feel now.
So, was he proud of his father's shoes and he didn't have the heart to tell him? Was there anything else he remembered about his father besides his shoes? What the hell made them so special? Is it any wonder why Mad Max was James McClausand's only writing credit? I'm not kidding, take a look for yourself. Probably a good idea for George Miller not to retain ol' Jimmy for the sequel (not that The Road Warrior has much dialogue).