Guilty Pleasure No. 107: Ironwood (by Bill Willingham)

Posted on March 15, 2026 by Arleigh

Bill Willingham’s Ironwood is the sort of graphic novel that lives in the uneasy space between bawdy escapism and unexpectedly thoughtful worldbuilding, making it a quintessential guilty pleasure that some readers insist on treating as near–high art. It is at once shamelessly pornographic and surprisingly committed to telling a coherent sword‑and‑sorcery story, which means your mileage will depend heavily on whether you can accept explicit sex as an integral—often dominant—part of the narrative rather than a tacked‑on indulgence.

Published by Eros Comix in the early 1990s, Ironwood ran for eleven issues and was later collected into two trade paperbacks that have acquired a minor cult status among fans of erotic fantasy comics. The premise follows Dave Dragovon, a juvenile dragon who appears entirely human because he has not yet matured into his full draconic form, as he is hired by the beautiful and cursed Pandora Breedlswight to seek out the wizard Gnaric and break the spell on her. It is a familiar quest hook—hero, sorcerer, cursed damsel—but Willingham uses it as a loose scaffold on which to hang an almost nonstop parade of sexual encounters, bawdy gags, and bursts of fantastical incident.

As a narrative, Ironwood is better than its reputation as “porn with plot” might suggest, though that label is not entirely unfair. The story is consciously serialized in the classic fantasy‑adventure mode: Dave and Pandora move from one locale to another, encountering wizards, monsters, political schemes, and rival factions, all while the central quest to undo Pandora’s curse gives a sense of forward momentum. Various readers have pointed out that there is genuine political intrigue and thought given to motivations, and you can see Willingham testing out the sort of layered plotting and character dynamics he would later refine in Fables, even if here they are wrapped around mandatory explicit scenes. There are moments when the story is engaging enough that the sex almost feels like an interruption, a dynamic Willingham himself has reportedly acknowledged when noting that fitting in each issue’s required sex scene could break the flow.

Tonally, the book leans heavily into adult humor, but it is not mean‑spirited. The jokes range from clever wordplay and situational comedy to unabashedly adolescent gags, the sort that make you groan even as you recognize they fit this world of oversexed dragons, lecherous wizards, and magically enhanced perversions. In this regard, Ironwood is very much a product of its era: a 1990s underground/alt sensibility that treats fantasy tropes and sexual taboos with the same irreverent shrug. When the humor lands, it gives the book a disarming charm, but when it doesn’t, the dialogue can feel like an overlong dirty joke that mistakes sheer explicitness for wit. Still, there is a lightness here—especially in Dave’s reactions and the deadpan absurdity of certain magical mishaps—that keeps the series from tipping into grim or exploitative darkness, despite its plentiful kinks.

Visually, Willingham’s art is the most persuasive argument for why some readers champion Ironwood as something more than disposable smut. His linework is clean and expressive, with a confident sense of anatomy, staging, and page composition that gives both the action and the erotic scenes a fluid, readable rhythm. The fantasy settings are detailed without being cluttered; taverns, towers, and mystical landscapes all feel like lived‑in spaces rather than generic backdrops for sex scenes. The character designs, especially Pandora and the various magical oddballs, show a cartoonist relishing the chance to exaggerate physicality and personality in equal measure, which goes a long way toward making these figures feel like characters rather than mere bodies.

That said, the erotic content is not merely frequent—it is foundational, and that is where Ironwood becomes a textbook guilty pleasure. This is an unabashedly hardcore series: explicit sex acts, imaginative uses of magic for sexual purposes, and sequences that leave nothing to implication. Devices like a hydra‑head spell repurposed so a character can pleasure multiple partners at once are emblematic of the book’s gleeful “power perversion potential,” embracing the logic of a sex‑obsessed Dungeons & Dragons campaign. For readers comfortable with that premise, there is an undeniable energy in the way Willingham integrates erotic spectacle into battles, spells, and negotiations; for others, the same material will read as juvenile, repetitive, or simply exhausting.

Reception among those who have sought out the collected volumes tends to be surprisingly positive, with many praising Ironwood as one of the rare “sex comics” where the story can stand on its own, even if stripped of the explicit content. Fans often note the balance between story, humor, and eroticism, arguing that the plot is engaging enough that the sex becomes a bonus rather than the sole reason to read. This is where the “high art” argument creeps in: within certain circles of fantasy and underground comics readers, Ironwood is celebrated as an early sign of Willingham’s strengths as a writer and artist, and as an example of how erotic comics can pursue worldbuilding and character arcs rather than simple vignettes. Yet that enthusiasm coexists with acknowledgment that, without the sex, this would largely be a light, sometimes flimsy adventure—a fun romp, but not a lost masterpiece of the medium.

In a broader context, Ironwood sits at an interesting crossroads in Willingham’s career and in the evolution of adult comics. Knowing his later mainstream success, you can see how this early project let him experiment with long‑form storytelling, recurring cast chemistry, and a blend of mythic and mundane concerns, all while operating in a corner of the market that gave him almost total creative freedom. That creative freedom is both the book’s greatest strength and its biggest barrier to entry: it delivers exactly the kind of unfiltered fantasy‑erotica hybrid it promises, but that same purity of purpose locks it firmly into the realm of niche appetite.

Ultimately, Ironwood is best approached with clear expectations and a sense of humor. As a graphic novel, it is technically accomplished, often funny, and occasionally more narratively ambitious than its reputation suggests, which explains why some fans will defend it as a minor classic of erotic fantasy comics. At the same time, its relentless explicitness, adolescent impulses, and lightweight core plot mark it firmly as a guilty pleasure—one that knows exactly what it is and never pretends otherwise, even as a devoted subset of readers insists on elevating it to the status of “high art.”

Previous Guilty Pleasures

Anime You Should Be Watching: Berserk (Kenpū Denki Berserk)

Posted on March 7, 2026 by Arleigh

“This thing… called a heart… it’s just a dream.” — Guts

The 1997 Berserk anime adaptation dives headfirst into Kentaro Miura’s brutal manga world, turning its already savage Golden Age arc into a gut-wrenching visual nightmare that still haunts fans nearly three decades later. This 25-episode series, aired from October 1997 to March 1998, kicks off with a flash-forward to Guts as the Black Swordsman before rewinding to his mercenary days with Griffith’s Band of the Hawk, capturing the raw rise-and-fall tragedy without pulling punches. What makes it stand out is how it cranks up the manga’s inherent darkness, using stark animation and eerie sound design to make themes of betrayal, rape, and demonic sacrifice feel even more inescapable and visceral.

Right from the opener, Berserk the anime slams you with a blood-soaked tease of Guts’ rage-fueled future, setting a tone that’s less hopeful fantasy and more unrelenting descent into hell. The manga already paints a medieval-inspired world of endless war, ambition, and causality—where fate pulls strings like puppet masters—but the anime condenses this into a tighter, more oppressive narrative arc. It skips some manga side elements like Puck the elf or deeper political intrigue in Midland, which actually sharpens the focus on human frailty, making the horror hit harder without distractions. Critics have called it the pinnacle of dark fantasy, praising how its hand-drawn grit and shadowy palettes evoke the ugliness of war better than polished modern takes.

At its core, the series explores ambition’s toxic price through Griffith, the silver-haired charmer whose dream of kingship devours everyone around him. In the manga, Griffith’s charisma shines amid detailed backstories, but the anime amplifies his fall by lingering on his psychological cracks—torture scenes drag with feverish close-ups, his tongue severed, body broken, eyes hollowed out in a way that feels more pathetic and monstrous than the page’s subtlety. This ramps up the grimness; where Miura’s art might imply despair through intricate shading, the anime’s limited budget forces raw, unflinching stares that bore into your soul, turning Griffith from lowborn visionary into a symbol of corrupted free will. Guts, voiced with gravelly intensity by Nobutoshi Canna, embodies endless struggle—born from a corpse, abused as a kid (hinted brutally but not shown in full like the manga), he swings his massive Dragonslayer like an extension of his trauma.

Casca’s arc gets the darkest upgrade, transforming her from fierce Hawk commander to shattered victim in ways that make the manga’s tragedy feel almost restrained. The anime doesn’t shy from her rape during the Eclipse—depicted with nightmarish silence, blood sprays, and Femto’s (Griffith reborn) cold violation right before Guts’ helpless eyes—losing his arm and eye in a frenzy of futile rage. Manga fans note how the adaptation’s Eclipse outdoes even later films in horror: black voids swallow screams, demons tear flesh with grotesque intimacy, and the lack of music lets raw voice acting convey utter hopelessness. This isn’t gratuitous; it’s the manga’s themes of human nature’s depths—betrayal, causality’s spiral, religion as blind comfort—boiled down to soul-crushing visuals that linger longer than words on a page. The God Hand’s emergence, offering Griffith godhood for his band’s sacrifice, hits like cosmic indifference, making the Eclipse not just gore but a philosophical gut-punch on destiny versus defiance.

Susumu Hirasawa’s soundtrack seals the deal, with synth-heavy tracks like “Forces” and “Guts” weaving ethereal dread into every sword clash and quiet betrayal. Where the manga relies on Miura’s hyper-detailed panels for atmosphere, the anime’s OST—haunting flutes over clanging armor—amplifies isolation, turning battles into dirges and the Eclipse into a silent scream. It’s no wonder fans say time flies despite the deliberate pacing; the slow build to horror keeps you hooked, pondering ambition’s cost and humanity’s fragility.

Culturally, the 1997 Berserk anime exploded as a gateway drug to dark fantasy, pulling in viewers who then devoured the manga and reshaped anime tastes. Before it, Japanese fantasy leaned lighter—think Dragon Quest quests—but Berserk proved you could blend Conan the Barbarian savagery with psychological depth, influencing giants like Attack on Titan‘s doomed soldiers, Goblin Slayer‘s trauma-soaked gore, and even Game of Thrones-style betrayals. It sold millions, won Tezuka Osamu nods for the manga, and got rereleased on Blu-ray as recently as 2024, proving its timeless pull. Western critics hail it as intellectually demanding, transcending tropes with Kurosawa-like violence that underscores humanity amid apocalypse.

The anime dials up the manga’s grimness by necessity—budget constraints meant fewer frills, so every frame prioritizes emotional weight over flash, making demons feel mythically terrifying and losses irreparable. Manga’s Golden Age builds subtle bonds; the show condenses them into feverish intensity, so Griffith’s sacrifice stings deeper, Guts’ rage boils hotter. Themes like predetermination—Guts branded for endless demon pursuit—gain visual permanence via the glowing Brand of Sacrifice, a constant night-haunting reminder absent in static panels. Religion’s critique shines too: Midland’s church ignores atrocities until apostles devour believers, a bleak commentary amplified by animation’s hordes of mangled corpses.

Even flaws enhance the darkness—no fairy-tale elf Puck lightens moods, politics skimmed leave a hollow kingdom, and the cliffhanger ending (mid-Eclipse tease) mirrors life’s unfinished cruelties. Later adaptations like 2016’s CGI mess diluted this; 1997’s raw style keeps the manga’s mud-and-blood realism intact, arguably grimmer for its restraint. Voice acting sells it—Canna’s guttural roars, Yuko Miyamura’s Casca cracking under pressure—pairing with Hirasawa’s score to etch trauma into memory.

Today, Berserk‘s legacy towers: over 70 million manga copies sold, crossovers in Diablo IV, endless merch, and debates on its Eclipse as anime’s bleakest peak. It proved dark themes—child abuse hints, schizophrenia-like breaks, ambition’s cannibalism—could captivate without cheap shocks, birthing “grimdark” as genre staple. For a low-budget ’97 relic, it outshines flashier takes by leaning into despair, making Miura’s world feel like fate’s cruel joke you can’t look away from.

Diving deeper into why it darkens the source: manga’s art allows interpretive distance—shadowed horrors imply pain—but anime forces confrontation, blood arcing in real-time, faces twisting in agony. Guts’ childhood rape allusion becomes a spectral flashback nightmare; Griffith’s torture a year-long montage of pus and screams, eroding his beauty into ruin. The Hawks’ slaughter isn’t panel-flipped pages but prolonged screams fading to silence, each apostle maw chewing comrades we grew to love—Judeau’s wit silenced, Pippin’s bulk rent apart. This visceral amp makes causality’s theme suffocating: no escape, just branded survival in a demon-riddled world.

Culturally, it bridged East-West fantasy gaps, echoing Hellraiser body horror and Excalibur medieval grit while predating Dark Souls (born from Miura’s influence). Fans worldwide cite it as therapy-triggering yet cathartic, sparking forums on trauma, resilience, toxic bonds. Its impact endures—Miura’s 2021 passing spiked sales, proving Berserk as monolith.

Ultimately, the 1997 adaptation doesn’t just adapt; it weaponizes the manga’s shadows, forging a bleaker legend that demands you question humanity’s fight against oblivion.

Anime You Should Be Watching: Record Of Lodoss War (Rōdosu-tō Senki)

Posted on February 16, 2026 by Arleigh

“I don’t understand you humans at all. But then, maybe that’s what makes you so fascinating!” — Deedlit

Record of Lodoss War is one of those series that feels less like a single anime and more like a crystallized moment in the evolution of fantasy storytelling in Japan: ambitious, clunky, oddly moving, and unmistakably rooted in tabletop role-playing DNA. It is also a work that shows its age in both craft and politics, which makes revisiting it today a fascinating mix of admiration and frustration.

Set on the war-torn island of Lodoss, the story follows Parn, the disgraced knight’s son who sets out to restore his family’s honor, gathering around him the quintessential fantasy party: Etoh the priest, Slayn the mage, Ghim the dwarf, Deedlit the high elf, and Woodchuck the thief. On paper, this is pure campaign log: goblin attacks, dragon encounters, cursed relics, warring kingdoms, and an encroaching darkness embodied by Marmo and its champions, all framed as a grand war for the fate of the land. What makes Record of Lodoss War interesting is how openly it wears that structure; it rarely tries to hide its tabletop origins, and that transparency becomes both a charm and a structural limitation.

The narrative in the original OVA moves briskly to the point of feeling compressed, jumping between key battles, political shifts, and character revelations with very little connective tissue. Characters appear, declare their motivations, and are folded into the party or into the enemy ranks as though someone summarized last week’s game session before tonight’s adventure. That can be engaging—there’s a constant sense that something important is happening—but it also means emotional beats often rely on the audience’s familiarity with genre shorthand rather than carefully built arcs. The later TV series, Record of Lodoss War: Chronicles of the Heroic Knight, attempts to extend and reframe this story, moving the timeline forward and giving more room to Ashram and the continuing conflicts around the scepter of domination, but it still largely lives in that same campaign-style rhythm.

If you come to Record of Lodoss War for worldbuilding, it mostly delivers. Lodoss feels like a fully mapped fantasy setting, complete with divine factions, ancient wars, feuding human kingdoms, and a clear sense of geopolitical stakes. The franchise’s origins in novels and game material mean that offhanded references to past conflicts or legendary heroes feel like the tip of a much larger iceberg rather than improvisations thrown in on the spot. That sense of a lived-in world is one of the show’s enduring strengths, and it’s not hard to see why it earned “anime Lord of the Rings” comparisons for some viewers. At the same time, the story’s focus is surprisingly narrow in practice; we spend most of our time tracking a small cluster of heroes and villains, which can make the world feel oddly claustrophobic despite its epic framing.

Parn is a divisive protagonist, and your tolerance for him may shape how much you enjoy the series. He’s deliberately written as inexperienced and impulsive, a young man who rushes headlong into danger and has to be humbled, trained, and repeatedly corrected by those around him. That arc tracks the classic “wannabe hero becomes real knight” trajectory, and there is a certain sincerity to his straightforward commitment to honor that feels very of its era. On the other hand, his lack of nuance and his tendency to charge spellcasters as if basic tactics don’t exist can make him feel more like an archetype than a fully realized character, especially to modern viewers used to more subversive leads. The series wants you to root for Parn because he is earnest and good-hearted, and if you can accept that at face value, his journey has an old-school charm; if you can’t, he may come off as frustratingly bland.

The supporting cast generally fares better and often carries the emotional weight of the story. Ghim’s quest to free Leylia from the control of the enigmatic Grey Witch Karla has a tragic nobility that gives him more emotional complexity than his gruff dwarf stereotype suggests. Deedlit, meanwhile, is both a clear audience favorite and a bundle of contradictions: proud high elf, jealous love interest, powerful magic user, and emotional anchor for Parn’s growth. There are interesting dynamics scattered throughout—Karla’s manipulative neutrality, Ashram’s stern loyalty, and King Kashue’s charismatic leadership—but the limited runtime and brisk pacing mean that many of these threads feel more sketched than deeply explored. Still, the show does succeed in one key area: it communicates that no one is entirely safe, and deaths and sacrifices land with more impact because the narrative doesn’t treat the core party as invincible.

From a visual standpoint, Record of Lodoss War is a time capsule of late-80s and early-90s OVA aesthetics, complete with lush fantasy backgrounds, detailed armor designs, and occasional bursts of impressive sakuga. Dragons, enchanted forests, and battlefield panoramas often look fantastic, and when the animation budget aligns with central set-pieces, the result can still be striking. That said, the budget limitations are impossible to ignore: reused shots, still frames, and noticeably uneven animation quality crop up often enough to break immersion, especially during less critical scenes. The contrast between its best sequences and its weaker cuts is stark, and modern viewers accustomed to consistently polished fantasy action may find the inconsistency distracting.

Tonally, the series is earnest to the point of feeling almost old-fashioned now. Its focus on honor, duty, and chivalric ideals is straightforward and rarely interrogated, creating a cast of characters who largely operate within established moral frameworks rather than questioning them. That gives the story a kind of mythic simplicity—good kings, cursed knights, devoted priests—that can be comforting in the way classic fantasy often is. But it also means that viewers looking for moral ambiguity, systemic critique, or characters who challenge the underlying social order of their world may find Record of Lodoss War thematically limited. Some of its perspectives, especially regarding gender roles and heroic archetypes, feel antiquated when held up against contemporary fantasy anime that deliberately complicate or deconstruct those tropes.

One of the highlights of the anime series is its orchestral soundtrack composed by Mitsuo Hagita. Symphonic tracks underscore the grander battles with sweeping majesty, while softer themes highlight moments of connection between Parn and Deedlit or the quieter interludes between campaigns. The overall effect is to push the story closer to high fantasy melodrama, which suits the material perfectly; when the writing and visuals are in sync with Hagita’s score, you can see exactly why this anime lodged itself so firmly in fans’ memories. Voice performances, in both Japanese and English dubs, tend to lean into archetype—stoic knights, booming kings, mysterious witches—but that broadness pairs naturally with the show’s narrative style.

A fair assessment of Record of Lodoss War has to acknowledge its historical importance alongside its genuine flaws. It stands as a significant waypoint for fantasy anime, showing that a series could aim for a sweeping, quasi-novelistic epic with detailed lore and long-running political conflict. Many later works, from more grounded fantasy to meta-takes on RPG structures, benefit indirectly from the groundwork Lodoss and its peers laid in translating tabletop sensibilities to the screen. At the same time, its uneven pacing, underdeveloped character arcs, inconsistent animation, and sometimes simplistic moral framing keep it from feeling timeless in the way its influences clearly aspired to be.

Whether Record of Lodoss War is worth watching now depends heavily on what you’re looking for. If you have a soft spot for classic fantasy, tabletop RPG roots, or the particular look and feel of 90s OVAs, the series offers a rewarding, if imperfect, journey through a world that still feels distinct and carefully built. If you prioritize tight plotting, modern character complexity, or consistent visual polish, Lodoss may feel more like an important relic than a compelling contemporary experience. Taken on its own terms—as an earnest, sometimes clumsy, but heartfelt attempt to stage a sprawling heroic saga—it remains a notable, if not unassailable, part of anime history.

Guilty Pleasure No. 21: Hawk the Slayer (dir. by Terry Marcel)

Posted on June 15, 2014 by Arleigh

Tonight was the season finale of Game of Thrones season 4. It was another great piece of storytelling that managed to juggle several subplots and giving each one their own time to shine.

The latest “Guilty Pleasure” is the 1980 epically mind-numbing fantasy film Hawk the Slayer starring the great Jack Palance in the the villainous role of Voltan the evil elder brother to the film’s title character, Hawk the Slayer. This film is in the other side of the quality spectrum of tonight’s Game of Thrones season finale.

Hawk the Slayer was part of the 80’s flood of sword and sorcery films that included such titles as Conan the Barbarian, Beastmaster and Ladyhawke. To say that this film was bad would be an understatement. Yet, I’m quite drawn to it whenever I see it on TV. In fact, it was on syndication that I first saw this when I was just a wee lad. I might have been around 9 or 10 when I came across it halfway through.

Maybe it was the fact that I was just discovering Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, but this film spoke to me. It had that timeless story of brother against brother. The evil tyrant with legions of evil ne’er do wells against a small band of class-specific heroes and rogues. I mean this had it all. We had the hero of the film who I would probably place in the swordsman class. Then we had Ranulf with his repeating crossbow that would be the band’s rogue. Of course, there’s Gort the giant with his mighty hammer and Baldin the dwarf skilled in the art of the whip. But the one character that really shouted RPG for me throughout this film was Crow the Elf who could fire his bow as fast as any machine gun I’ve ever seen.

I think it’s very awfulness is why I keep returning to it whenever I see it on TV. The acting is atrocious with special effects that even in 1980 would be seen as laughable. The characters themselves were so one-note that one wonders if the person who wrote the screenplay was actually a trained monkey. Yet, the film was fun for all those reasons. It’s one of those titles that one would express as being so bad it’s good. Even now, with childhood several decades past, I still enjoy watching Hawk the Slayer and always wonder when they plan to get the sequel set-up and made.

Oh, the synth-heavy disco-fantasy-western soundtrack was also something to behold.

Scenes I Love: Conan the Barbarian

Posted on July 9, 2011 by Arleigh

Just been watching The Social Network on Starz and I couldn’t help but think back to this important scene from one of my favorite films of all-time. It was the film which propelled Arnold Schwarzenegger from just being a bodybuilding icon but into superstar film icon. The scene occurs during the part of the film where Conan has just gone through years of becoming the best pit-fighter in all the lands and now repaing the accolades from other warriors, warlords and women. One of the warlords (looking like a Mongol horselord) asks the important question that everyone should be asking: “What is best in life?”

The scene finishes with Conan answering this important life question. An answer which actually has it’s roots from a much more detailed quote from the greatest conqueror in history: Genghis Khan. A quote that goes like so…

“The greatest pleasure is to vanquish your enemies and chase them before you, to rob them of their wealth and see those dear to them bathed in tears, to ride their horses and clasp to your bosom their wives and daughters.” – Genghis Khan

Conan’s answer is quite similar but has been simplified for the film, but still retains it’s impact. This is a life lesson everyone should live by. Mark Zuckerberg definitely lives by them.

Review: Conan the Barbarian (dir. by John Milius)

Posted on May 21, 2011 by Arleigh

Khitan General: “Conan, what is best in life?”

Conan: “To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women!”

1982 premiered what has to be one of my favorite films ever. It was a film that was year’s in the making and had as one of it’s producers the eccentric and powerful Hollywood icon, Dino De Laurentiis. It also starred who was then a very much unknown Austrian bodybuilder-turned-actor in Arnold Schwarzenneger. To round out this unusual cast of characters producing this film would be the maverick screenwriter-director John Milius not to mention a young writer still fresh from Vietnam, Oliver Stone. During it’s production there were conflicts between producer and director as to the tone of the film right up to who should actually play the lead character. It’s a good thing that Milius was the ringmaster of this group of characters as his personality was able to steer things to what finally ended up as the film legions of fans have known and seen throughout the decades since it’s release. Conan the Barbarian was, and still is, a fantasy film of quality which still remains as action-packed and full of flights of fancy in the beginning of 2011 as it did when it premiered in 11982.

Milius and Stone adapted the stories of Robert E. Howard while adding their own flourishes to the iconic Cimmerian character. While many Howard purists were aghast at how these two writers had turned a character who was muscular but also athletic and lean into the hulking muscle-bound one Schwarzenneger inhabited the final result would silence most of these critics. The film kept the more outlandish backstory of Howard’s writing, but left enough to allow the film’s story and background to remain something out of Earth’s past prehistory. It was a film which was part origin tale for the title character, part coming of age film and part revenge story.

The film begins with a sequence narrated by iconic Asian-actor Mako as he tells of the beginnings of his liege and master Conan and the high adventures which would soon follow. Conan the Barbarian actually has little dialogue in the very beginning outside of that narration and a brief interlude between a young Conan and his father about the meaning of the “riddle of steel”. Most of the film’s beginning is quite silent in terms of dialogue. This didn’t matter as film composer Basil Poledouris’ symphonic score lent an air of the operatic to the first ten to fifteen minutes of the film. It’s here we’re introduced to James Earl Jones’ Atlantean-survivor and warlord in Thulsa Doom whose barband scours the land trying to find the meaning to the “riddle of steel”. The destruction of Conan’s village and people is the impetus which would drive the young Conan to stay alive through years of slavery, pit-fighting and banditry. He would have his revenge on Thulsa Doom and along the way he meets up and befriends two other thieves in Subotai (Gerry Lopez) and Valeria (Sandahl Bergman whose presence almost matches Schwarzenneger’s in intensity and confidence).

The rest of the film sees these three having the very tales of high adventures mentioned of in the film’s beginning narration and how an unfortunate, albeit succcesful robbery of a cult temple, leads Conan to the very thing he desires most and that’s to find Thulsa Doom. It’s here we get veteran actor Max Von Sydow as King Osric in a great scene as he tasks Conan and his companions to find and rescue his bewitched daughter from the clutches of Doom. In King Osric we see a character who may or may not be a glimpse into Conan’s future, but as Conan’s chronicler says later in the film that would be a tale told at another time.

Conan the Barbarian is a film that was able to balance both storytelling and action setpieces quite well that one never really gets distracted by the dialogue that at times came off clunky. Plus, what action setpieces they were to behold. From the initial raid by Doom and his men on Conan’s village right up to the final and climactic “Battle of the Mounds” where Doom and his men square off against Conan and his outnumbered friends in an ancient battlefield full of graveyard mounds. The film is quite bloody, but never truly in a gratuitous manner. Blood almost flows like what one would see in comic books. Conan is shown as an almost primal force of nature in his violence. In the end it’s what made the film such a success when it first premiered and decades since. It was Howard’s character (though changed somewhat in the adaptation) through and through and audiences young and old, male and female, would end up loving the film upon watching it.

This film would generate a sequel that had even more action and piled one even more of the fantastical elements of the Howard creation, but fans of the first film consider it of lesser quality though still somewhat entertaining. The film would become the breakout role for Arnold Schwarzenneger and catapult him into action-hero status that would make him one of the best-known and highest paid actor’s in Hollywood for two decades. It would also catapult him to such popularity that some would say it was one of the stepping stones which would earn him seven years as California’s governor at the turn of the new millenium.

In the end, Conan the Barbarian succeeds in giving it’s audience the very tales of myths and high adventures spoken of by Conan’s chronicler. It’s a testament to the work by Milius and Schwarzenneger couple with one of the most beloved and iconic film scores in film history by Basil Poledouris that Conan the Barbarian continues and remains one of the best films of it’s genre and one which helped spawn off not just a sequel but countless of grindhouse and exploitation copies and imitation both good and bad. The film also is a great in that it helped bring audiences to want to learn more about the character of Conan and as a lover of the written word the impact this film had on Howard’s legacy is the best compliment I can give about this film.

Trailer: Conan the Barbarian

Posted on May 5, 2011 by Arleigh

1982 saw the release of one of the most iconic fantasy films ever with the John Milius and Arnold Schwarzenneger collaboration, Conan the Barbarian. There was a follow-up sequel that wasn’t as great as the first, but still did well enough that down the year there was talk of a third film to finish off the Schwarzenneger Conan trilogy. It never happened as the project continued to be shelved year after year until even Arnold himself backed out and thought a third film was never in the cards.

This trailer suggests otherwise though it’s more of a reboot to the Conan film franchise and sticks much closer to the character and world created by it’s creator Robert E. Howard. This film is directed by German filmmaker Marcus Nispel whose body of work tends to be in the genre arena like the remake of Texas Chainsaw Massacre to the Viking-Indians mashup story, Pathfinder. There’s also to be a new Conan in the form of Jason Momoa (who played the character of Ronan in the long-running scifi tv series, Stargate Atlantis) who is currently gaining some fans outside of his Stargate work due to his casting as the mighty Khal Drogo in HBO’s critically-acclaimed and very popular fantasy series, Game of Thrones.

This Conan the Barbarian remake looks to return the character to it’s Age of Hyboria roots. The trailer gives ample evidence of the film using much of the fantasy world Robert E. Howard created with long-lost civilizations, evil warlords, sorcery and, of course, fantastic monsters. While the trailer doesn’t show just how well Jason Momoa acts as the character Conan it does show that he fits the role the way Howard originally wrote him. While still having a muscled physique this Conan also is more agile and lithe than the Schwarzenneger iteration.

Conan the Barbarian is set for an August 19, 2011 release on both 2D and 3D screens.