Excerpt from George Miller’s Diary, December 17, 1992
This Outback Outhouse was exactly as you would expect it to be, the stench of urinal cakes and meat pie blow outs permeated the air for miles around; but at mile 43 in a trail race across the Tanami Desert in Australia being chased by Koalaroos, you take what you can get.
As the door swung open, propelled by some kind of invisible spring-loaded magic, there hung a silver vending machine directly over a lustrous silver throne. I was losing time in the race, but no bother, this machine had to be investigated. After 17 wooden nickels and three swift turns of the glistening silver knob, a spray can with a haiku etched around the top was dispensed. I read aloud the simple poem:
And followed the instruction. As the silver spray burst forth, I was flung into deep space. I flew over the desert as smash-cut images filled the panorama: pregnant goddesses dressed in white — thirsty starving masses begging for water — trucks racing through the desert — electric-guitar-playing blind freaks suspended in front of a vehicle — and I knew, my fourth Mad Max film had to be written.
The next thing I know, I awoke in a motel 6 in Kearney, Nebraska, United States, in a haze of silver spray paint, the full screenplay painted on the walls, floor and linens. I never did finish that race (or at least I never picked up my finisher’s medal).