conanbarbarian

In 1932, young pulp writer Robert E. Howard used his typewriter and his vast imagination to create
his next larger than life hero, Conan of Cimmeria. The stories of Conan appeared in various fiction
magazines over the next couple of years, until a dispute over money owed to the author caused
Howard to stop producing any more stories of the indomitable barbarian. In 1936, Howard
committed suicide after his mother slipped into an irreversible coma. It seemed Conan’s career
would be a short one. However, the 1970s saw a resurgence of interest in heroic fantasy and
various hack authors began to craft their own Conan stories. Soon the character’s popularity
spread from books to comics and Marvel Comics began raking in the dough with its no less than
three monthly publications. Hollywood would not let this go by and in 1982, director John Milius
teamed up with a body builder from Austria with dreams of Hollywood stardom to bring Howard’s
signature character to the silver screen. The film would launch Arnold Schwarzenegger’s career
and become the king of the fantasy film genre that was so popular in the 1980s.

Let me just say that this is a unique film. Often confused with it’s campier sequel, “Conan the
Destroyer,” this is a film that is so large in scope in can only be described as elemental. Milius’
vision of Howard’s Hyborian Age is as imposing and uncompromising as the title hero. Elaborate
sets including sprawling cities, hulking temples and clandestine towers are coupled with never
ending desolate exterior landscapes. This brave style of large scale filmmaking seemed lost in
recent decades, only recently revived with “The Lord of Rings” trilogy. Milius gives Conan and crew
room to roam, making his film an epic adventure spanning time and distance.

Howard had an adult Conan mysteriously trod out of the misty northern hills of Cimmeria, hungry for
adventure. Milius tosses in an origin story where Conan, as a child, sees his clan massacred by
mysterious masked warriors. Taken into slavery, Conan grows up under the yoke of oppression and
vows to find the killers of his people after winning his freedom. This almost token origin story runs
the risk of being contrived and weak, but Milius pulls it off with almost pure visual storytelling and
some effective narration from character actor Mako. No joke, there are only like six lines of dialogue
in the first twenty minutes of this film and somehow it works.

After this origin we travel with Conan as he seeks vengeance. He gets a little side tracked as he is
introduced to the world and falls in with two daring thieves before continuing on his quest. We get to
experience this exotic and earthy world as Conan does and the payoff is a fascinating, often off-
putting, but always satisfying story.

James Earl Jones plays the films chief villain, Thulsa Doom, in what is possibly the creepiest
performance in history. I think Jones’ portrayal of Thulsa Doom ranks him as the second most
effective villain in film history right behind the Montalban, AKA KHAAANNNNNNNNN!

There is an underlying commentary against cults in the writing of this film that is tough to miss, but it
never veers over into pretentiousness or preaching, which is surprising in a script co-written by
Oliver Stone. Instead the depth of the story adds to the overall impression of the colossal adventure
that it is. The action is visceral, bloody and effective from the giant snake fight, to the pleasure
palace assault, to the final desperate battle. This is a large, sanguine, gritty, pulse-pounder so rich
with vitality and detail that it leaves a lasting impression on anyone who sees it. And everyone
should.