There is probably someone somewhere in the world who considers this to be the best movie ever made. Whoever he is (and let’s face it, it’s going to be a he) is a twat. But you can see why it would appeal to people because it chimes with a nostalgic view of the 80s- they were shit, I was there trust me- and because it has loads of sword and sorcery elements that a certain type of person really, really gets off on.
In truth this is a bag of wank. And what’s worse is that the people involved don’t seem to realise that they are making a bag of wank and are actually taking it seriously. Arnie, for example, really attempts to act in this one- except during the fight scenes where he struggles so badly with the choreography, blocking attacks before they’re even made, that he loses all control of his face and looks like a boxer at the exact moment that his face-shape is distorted by a left-hook.
The film opens with an deep, husky voice-over played against blood-red footage of some mounted ancient or alien warriors going across a desert or a moon. The voice-over probably explained who they were and where they were headed or leaving but I can’t remember. They then try and capture Arnie and a helium-voiced scrotum that he’s stood near but the big Austrian batters them with a sword which seems most reluctant to draw blood. It turns out that they’re with Ursa from Superman who dresses like the Wicked Queen from Snow White and promises to bring some girl or other back to life for Arnie if he completes some task or other. Ursa then tells a big black lad (whose height varies throughout the film) to go with them and then kill Arnie. Why she didn’t just send him in the first place I don’t know.
Anyway, we have Conan and the big lad and Conan’s gimmer of a sidekick and some Princess or other going to steal some diamond that acts like a key. It was a curious thing in the 1980s to have characters paired-up with a ridiculous companion as if they would add light relief somehow and broaden the appeal. In fact these characters just fucked everyone off. I’m going to call this the Scrappy Doo phenomenon and it turns out that Conan’s Scrappy Doo is a man whose real-life name is Tracey. There’s an unfortunate fucker that you wouldn’t want swap places with!
Right so where was I? Oh yes, the hard-right power-crazed sex-pest who allegedly needs to inflate his cock to have sex after years of steroid abuse and some other idiots are on some sort of quest. Along the way they pick up a mystical Oriental magician whose powers can’t be up to much as he’s about to be roasted alive on a spit when they find him and Grace Jones in a g-string. This is another time when I just can’t be bothered to type any more. I just want to type “some stuff happens then some more stuff happens” because, frankly, who cares?
Then some other stuff happens with some crap special effects and that irritating Scrappy Doo feller doesn’t die at any point and the one thing that stands out is Jack Cardiff’s epic cinematography which is the one thing that keeps Conan The Destroyer from equalling Richard Fleischer’s other disastrous big-budget movie Ashanti and gives it a 1/10.