The branding you witness here reminds you of the cruel etymology of the word, as a death’s-head insignia - the mark of a tyrannical C.E.O. Unlike, say, “Avengers: Age of Ultron,” “Fury Road” does not usher you into a bright corporate universe where everything has been branded to within an inch of its life. In any case, it doesn’t traffic in the kind of half-jokey, half-sentimental self-consciousness that characterizes so much franchise entertainment these days. “Fury Road,” directed, like the others, by George Miller, is sort of a sequel, and also what we’re now supposed to call a reboot. Some of us - old enough to remember when nuclear Armageddon had not yet given way to climate change as the main source of existential anxiety - harbor a special fondness for the young Mel Gibson as Max Rockatansky, the grieving, aggrieved former cop who motored across the Australian desert in “Mad Max,” “The Road Warrior” and “Beyond Thunderdome.” “Mad Max: Fury Road” is like a visit to a World Heritage site.