I doubt anyone on the production team has read “Breeders: How Gay Men Destroyed the Left.” Hence I am left to conclude that the movie’s pretext embodies everything that “anti-gay” opponents of surrogacy such as myself have been warning, because there is a deep-seated but suppressed anxiety running rampant in Hollywood about just how horrible our society will become if gay men are uncritically awarded everything they demand.
The “men’s rights activists” who are furious about Fury Road seem to have missed the film’s implicit plea to the audience to give heterosexual love a second chance. (The plot features a few details, which I will not spoil the film by revealing, involving male-female love as a necessary “redemption” after the devastation wrought by the sexes withdrawing romantically from each other.)
Within the dystopian context of Fury Road, not all men belong to the homoerotic elite. Those who are part of it control the water, resources, and political process for the hordes of heterosexuals in ragged, torn clothing, who are kept out of the fortress and forced to wander like beggars in the sands of post-apocalyptic Australia.
The warriors in the Citadel have washboard abs. They range from muscle bears to slender “twinks.” They decorate themselves with silver glitter, facial makeup (eye liner?), and tattoos or brands of other men’s names so their flesh attests to their undying male-male spiritual bonds. Miraculously unworried about being wounded, burned, or struck with skin cancer, the sexy “war boys” carry on all their battles and brute labor under a blazing sun with no armor or covering of any kind, so that everyone can see their lean stomachs and deltoid muscles flex with each thrust and parry. Ten years ago, the film 300 hinted at homoeroticism. Fury Road offers no hint of anything else.