Conan the Barbarian (1982)

Written by: John Milius & Oliver Stone (screenplay), Robert E. Howard (stories)
Directed by: John Milius
Starring: Arnold Schwarzenegger, James Earl Jones, and Sadahl Bergman
Reviewer: Brett Gallman
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“Crom, I have never prayed to you before. I have no tongue for it. No one, not even you, will remember if we were good men or bad. Why we fought, or why we died. All that matters is that two stood against many.”

Reviewer's Rating: *** (Three Stars)

This adaptation of Robert E. Howard’s pulp stories helped to ignite the 80s sword and sorcery craze, which never quite regained the heights it hit here. Schwarzenegger (in his first leading role) is Conan, who is orphaned as a child by Thulsa Doom (James Earl Jones) before being sold into slavery; after ascending the gladiatorial ranks, he gains his freedom and begins a life of thievery alongside Subotai (Gerry Lopez) and Valeria (Sandahl Bergman). Though the film takes a while to find its footing, it eventually hits its stride once Conan and crew are charged with the task of hunting down a princess that’s been kidnapped by Doom (which is of course convenient since Conan wants to lop off his head anyway). Despite the fact that many of the actors are inexperienced (and does it ever show), there’s a compelling quality to the characters that emerges amongst the severed limbs and bloodletting.

The camera obviously loves Schwarzenegger for his preposterously chiseled physique, but his Conan is an interesting noble savage whose laconic nature lets his sword do most of the talking. With the exception of Max Von Sydow (who is sadly underused), Jones is the best actor of the bunch, and I dig his measured, eloquent approach as Thulsa Doom, who considers Conan to be his own son since he’s responsible for being impetus behind the barbarian’s journey. The film’s true star is Milius, who truly brings “an age undreamed” to life not only with spectacular production designs and violent, unrelenting swordplay, but also with a stark audio/visual style that captures a grand scope. Basil Poledouris’s sweeping score especially elevates the material to an epic plateau.

Underscoring it all is an unexpectedly lyrical screenplay; though the title character doesn’t say much, the film’s narration and much of its dialogue resemble something out of Old English folklore. And though its occasional campiness keeps it grounded, one can imagine this being a tale told in the old mead halls, which housed tales of other heroes with a penchant for hacking and slashing through their enemies.

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