“Between the time
when the oceans drank Atlantis and the rise of the sons of Aryas, there was an
age undreamed of. And unto this: Conan, destined to wear the jeweled crown of
Aquilonia upon a troubled brow. It is I,
his chronicler who alone can tell these of his saga. Let me tell you of the
days of high adventure…”
-Opening Narration,
Conan the Barbarian (1982)
John
Milius’s Conan the Barbarian (1982) commences with imagery of a sturdy sword
being forged in fire and snow. And indeed, that forging process is the movie’s central
metaphor for Conan himself, and his evolution from child to man.
This
hero’s life may be a “tale of sorrow”
at points, according to the voice-over narrator, but it’s also a tale of
learning, of Conan’s growth and development. This is a process which culminates
in a triumphant apotheosis and is revealed -- majestically and mysteriously -- in the film’s valedictory shot.
From
orphaned boy to pensive king in the span of one movie, Conan is shaped and
tempered like a sword, until he becomes, himself, the flesh equivalent of that
one dependable element in all of human life: steel.
In
some ways, however -- and this is where
the film proves truly clever -- Conan’s story is also our very own.
We
also face adversity and we also overcome it. We survive.
Accordingly,
one impressive quality of John Milius’s cinematic telling of Conan’s tale is
the manner in which the production’s various fantasy set-pieces -- from the Wheel of Pain to Thulsa Doom’s cult
-- form a rough analogy for the places life takes us…whether we want to visit
those particular places or not.
Sometimes,
our life is pure drudgery and unending routine, just like Conan pushing that
damned wheel for fifteen or so years.
And
sometimes we go questing for something “outside” ourselves so as to fill an
interior, emotional void. That search is reflected in Thulsa Doom’s belief
system.
Yet
we can’t be healed from the outside in. Instead -- by Crom -- the process of
becoming whole must start within us. Through
all life’s trials -- and in keeping with the film’s opening quote from
Nietzsche-- “what doesn’t kill us makes us
stronger.”
To
this day, Conan the Barbarian remains the finest iteration of Robert E.
Howard’s hero on the silver screen. This is so because as a work of art it
concerns explicitly those things that
don’t kill Conan, but which nonetheless prepare him to be the man – and king
-- he must become.
Conan
the Barbarian
is also pitched at a far more adult or grown-up level than either Conan:
The Destroyer (1984), or the recent re-boot, Conan the Barbarian
(2011), a fact which renders the film more accurately about the vicissitudes of
real life…even though it is a fantasy of the fictitious Hyborian Age.
This
Conan gets drunk, fucks a lot, faces emotional set-backs, and exacts bloody
revenge. He hasn’t yet been homogenized for modern popular culture consumption
and that fact makes Conan the Barbarian a thrilling, unpredictable, and
occasionally quite romantic fantasy film.
“He
is Conan, Cimmerian. He won’t cry. So I
cry for him.”
A
vicious raiding team attacks the village of Cimmeria, and young boy named Conan
watches as his blacksmith father (William Smith) falls in battle. Conan then watches
-- up close -- as his mother is decapitated by a warrior, the evil and
strangely magnetic Thulsa Doom (James Earl Jones).
Conan
is sold into slavery, and grows up at the Wheel of Pain. There, he lives a life
of drudgery, forever pushing one of the wheel’s heavy spokes.
When
he is mature -- and fit -- Conan becomes a champion of the arena, and a
favorite of the people.
Once
educated, Conan escapes from his masters and goes out in search of the man who
killed his parents all those years earlier.
After
battling a witch, and teaming up with a thief, Subotai (Gerry Lopez), Conan
pursues the rapidly-spreading “Snake Cults” across the land. In one town, he meets up with the beautiful
warrior Valeria (Sandahl Bergman), who is interested in robbing a snake temple.
Together,
the three wanderers steal the expensive jewels inside the temple, and defeat a
giant snake. Afterwards, Conan and
Valeria fall in love, realizing that they are…soul-mates.
Soon,
King Osric (Max Von Sydow) summons Conan and his friends to his kingdom. The
King reveals that his daughter (Valerei Quennessen) has fallen under the sway
of Thulsa Doom, and gone to his temple as a priestess and slave. Osric offers to make Conan rich if he can
bring his daughter back.
With
Valeria reluctant to undertake the quest, Conan goes on his own. He is promptly
captured by Thulsa Doom, crucified, and left to die in the desert.
Fortunately,
Subotai, Valeria and a friendly wizard (Mako) nurse Conan back to health. Valeria
even beats back the soul-takers of the Under World by night to prevent them
from carrying away Conan.
With
his team assembled, Conan prepares to rescue the princess, and exercise his
final revenge against Thulsa Doom.
But
the great warrior has one more grievous loss to face…
“Now
they will know why there are afraid of the dark. Now they learn why they fear
the night.”
Conan
the Barbarian
opens with a montage of a sword being forged, and these images are run in
tandem with the main credits.
Throughout
this forging process, there are two sets of hands on this specific sword, and
significantly, they belong to Conan’s mother and father.
We
see the sword born in fire and cooled in snow.
We
see the hands of Conan’s father chiseling fine detail onto the hilt.
We
see Conan’s mother tenderly wrapping the sword’s handle with her delicate
hands.
These
images seem to be about preparing a weapon, a blade, but they actually transmit
something else: the love of Conan’s parents for their only child.
By
tending to the sword with such love and devotion, we understand that his
parents are not only shaping the blade, they are shepherding and shaping Conan
himself.
The
focus of this imagery is not just on the sword itself (the surrogate for young
Conan), but specifically on the hands
doing such delicate and hard work.
Watching, we understand the message. This is what good parenting often
feels like: very hands-on.
The
film then cuts to a scene of Conan’s father shaping and tempering the young man,
telling him of his belief in God -- Crom -- and of the Cimmerian philosophy of
steel. Conan’s father thus shares his religious
faith with his son, and he does it in a kind of spiritual location, atop the
most beautiful, snow-capped mountains imaginable. The sky and clouds seem
within reach.
These
opening scenes thus reveal that Conan may live a harsh life, but that he is
loved…protected.
In
short order, however, this cocoon of total love is destroyed. Thulsa Doom
arrives in the village with his raiding party, and -- as if to visually
transmit the horror of the villain’s actions -- Milius cuts to a shot of young
Conan and his mother cowering in the snow of Cimmeria… in the very center of
the rectangular frame.
Bracketed
on both sides of Mother and son are the armored, merciless warriors of Doom. The
positions of the guards here reveal the level of danger. Conan and his Mother’s
space in the frame has been abbreviated, cut-off. They have nowhere to run, no
recourse.
And
then, Milius’s selection of shots transmits the idea of loss.
Conan
is grasping his mother’s hand tightly when Thulsa Doom decapitates her.
But
Conan doesn’t see the death blow. Instead, his mother -- who had been holding
his hand -- falls away from him, out of frame, and Conan is left holding
nothing…only air.
This
shot expresses the sudden emptiness of his life, and the reverse angle reveals the
thing that shall replace love in Conan’s life…vengeance.
Specifically,
the reverse angle on Conan at this juncture reveals Thulsa Doom standing
symbolically in the position Conan’s mother had occupied.
From
this view, Conan’s hand and arm seem curled not around “nothing,” but around
the imposing Doom.
The
family has been destroyed. Love has been replaced by hatred in the young boy’s
heart. And Milius’s choice of composition perfectly reflects this shift.
The
next scene in Conan the Barbarian is among my very favorite from the film.
The boy Conan pushes the Wheel of Pain for years -- through sunlight and darkness, through winter and spring -- until he
is all grown up.
Arnold
Schwarzenegger is introduced as the adult Conan in this montage, coming around
on the final revolution of the wheel. First, we see only his (strong) legs, but
then we see his adult countenance, his furrowed brow and cunning eyes.
A
less clever film might have simply faded out on young Conan as a slave, and
faded in years later, with him as an adult. There might even have been a chryon
stating, flat out “20 years later.” But the Wheel of Pain sequence not only
introduces us to “adult” Conan, it adroitly reveals the essence of the
character’s life. It is a life of repetition, routine, hardship, grunt-work,
labor, and struggle.
The
years do not pass quickly for Conan.
Instead,
they pass tediously and with back-breaking sweat, and as I noted in my
introduction, the Wheel of Pain thus seems like a perfect metaphor for the human
existence.
Some
people might say adolescence and high school are wheels of pain. Others might conclude that a 5-day-a-week job
is a candidate for another wheel of pain.
You
can pick your poison, but Conan the Barbarian finds a perfect
way to express Conan’s woes, and the fact that his years pass unhappily, without
love and, importantly, without adventure. He is trapped in this Hell, doing the
same thing over and over again, dreaming patiently of revenge, but never being
able to enact it.
The
snake cult of Thulsa Doom, I believe, represents another aspect of human life: false wisdom.
The
cult’s wisdom is not the wisdom of parents who love you no matter what, but the
wisdom of people whose motives may be less than benevolent. In this case, individuality is squashed as
thousands of men and women dress identically in white and listen rapturously to
Doom’s pronouncements and sermons.
But
the landscape around the cult is of special note in terms of the visuals: the
trees and the land seem dead, a representative of the very “emptiness” that Doom not
only creates, but actually promises for his devoted acolytes. Notice the
wretched, gnarled trees that line the path to Thulsa Doom’s temple, specifically. There is little life, color, or vitality there.
There
have been those writers and reviewers over the years who suggest a certain
right-leaning or tilt to Conan the Barbarian, and I concur with that viewpoint. For example, Thulsa Doom’s cult seems very
much like an intentional rejection or critique of the 1960s hippie movement, and counter-culture family units such as the commune.
In
1982, there would have been a fairly recent example of just such a communal
life gone terribly wrong, namely the Jonestown Massacre of November 18, 1978,
wherein over 900 people were killed by “guru” Jim Jones.
But
if one gazes at Conan the Barbarian in broad terms, the story concerns a man
(Thulsa Doom) -- a leader -- who creates useful “emptiness” in his followers by
taking them away from their parents, away from the traditional family units. The shot I noted above -- with Doom stepping
metaphorically into the visual space of Conan’s mother -- reflects this very
notion.
Specifically,
Doom robs Conan of his parents. But importantly, he also takes away King Osric’s
daughter, the princess. This act so grieves Osric that wealth and power mean
nothing to the king. “All that’s left,” he tells Conan
mournfully, is “a father’s love for his
child.”
But
Doom replaces the love of parents -- which
we saw so vividly expressed in the film’s opening “forging” montage -- with
sexual desire, hero worship, group anonymity, and mysticism. Perversely, he calls his cult “The Children of Doom,” and that very
name suggests how he has twisted family values to his own ends.
In
fact, Thulsa Doom attempts to create spiritual “emptiness” -- to be filled by the snake cult -- in
Conan twice. First by killing his parents, and secondly by murdering the love
of his life: Valeria.
The
most affecting moments of Conan the Barbarian involve the
dedication and commitment that these soul-mates and lovers show one another.
Valeria saves Conan from the under-world and, finally, her spirit saves him in battle.
The
latter act is suggestive of a love that lasts beyond mortality, and again, that
act of love very much stands in contrast to the selfish and empty love that
Thulsa Doom offers his followers.
In
the end, Conan loses Valeria and all he is left with is the thing his father
promised him as a legacy all those years earlier, “the discipline of steel.”
He
cannot trust men or women to be at his side, as his father indicates. But this
is not because other people are bad, but because death takes them. In
realizing this – and in truly knowing love -- Conan becomes a hero who is much
deeper than his early, infamous commentary, “crush your enemies, hear the lamentation of their women…” suggests.
Some
scholars and reviews have suggested that there is something inherently fascist
about Conan the Barbarian, but in truth, it seems far less fascist in
design and execution than a saga like Star Wars. There, for example, only the people with the
right kind of blood (Midichlorians…) can harness the power of the Force.
By
contrast, Conan here becomes king not because of any pure blood he possesses,
not because of ancestry or heritage, but, according to the dialogue, by “his own hand.”
That
description suggests the opposite of fascism, and is an assertion instead of good
old-fashioned, self-reliance. Conan takes the (terrible…) hand he was dealt
and, in spite of his woes and sorrows, becomes a wise King.
A
chronicle of “high adventure” in an “age undreamed of,” Conan the Barbarian
succeeds and endures because its visuals so ably express Conan’s story. From
the opening sword-forging montage to the visualization of “emptiness” (and thus
death) at the heart of Doom’s cult, the film’s meaning is transmitted
beautifully by symbolic imagery.
Beyond
this, the film is gorgeous to look at in terms of its natural vistas. Today, of
course, the lack of CGI is very refreshing. There is something three
dimensional and “real” about the landscapes and creatures Conan encounters in
this film, and we have a better sense of him as a person and as a hero because
we feel he exists in real environs, not merely in front of a green-screen.
Similarly,
the film’s final battle represents a dramatic high-point because Milius doesn’t
take it for granted that Conan will win merely because he is a great warrior
with bulging muscles.
Instead,
we witness Conan’s intense preparation of the battle-field before the fight. We
see him set up booby traps, and think through all the angles. We thus get the idea that he wins the battle
for two reasons.
The
first is that he assiduously prepared a strategy to defeat the army…meaning
that Conan is smart and cunning.
And
secondly, Conan wins, because Valeria intervenes in his affairs, from the
Underworld. He has forged so meaningful
a relationship with her -- again, the polar opposite of Doom -- that even death
cannot keep his dearest ally from aiding him in a time of need.
It
has always been fashionable to bash Arnold Schwarzenegger as an actor, and Conan
the Barbarian is no exception.
But
unlike many other athletes/fighters turned actors (like Steven Seagal, for
example), Schwarzenegger always showcases a sense of humor, a self-deprecating
side of himself. There’s a grace and humanity in his best performances that
make audiences love him.
Arnold
may look super-human and perfect, but he’s also got that kooky accent, those bulging
eyes, and a goofy grin. He’s actually pretty
good as Conan because he projects a distinctive personality and sense of humor
as the hero. You sense that his Conan possesses an inner life, and isn’t just a
dumb hulk.
Sandahl Bergman is also perfect as Valeria, making the no-nonsense role her own. She plays a strong woman, and Conan's equal on the battlefield (and presumably elsewhere...). Bergman projects toughness and tenderness in equal measure, and has no stereotypical "damsel in distress" moments whatsoever.
Bergman's best moment, in my opinion, involves her decimation of Thulsa Doom's forces, while Conan is carrying away the princess. Valeria ruthlessly, efficiently -- and magnificently -- eliminates what seems like an army of warriors, and Bergman is poetry in motion. Also impressive here is the fact that without much dialogue, Bergman is able to powerfully express Valeria's devotion to Conan.
Conan the Barbarian captures the spirit of Robert E. Howard's stories, if not always the exact details, and that is simply the best that a fan can usually hope for, since movies and books are such different art forms. Yet at
the time of its release, Conan the Barbarian was also bashed
as being too violent, too sexual, and too politically incorrect, despite its fidelity to the source material. Today, such
qualities actually grant the film a sense of verisimilitude that many
other fantasy epics decidedly lack. It’s so refreshing to see an R-rated
fantasy. We need more of them in 2014.
This
version of Conan has a lot of heart, a lot of verve, and enough steel to
kick-start a franchise. And that’s exactly what happened.
On
Thursday: Conan the Destroyer (1984).
Part I
ReplyDeleteYeah, the details concerning the source material were scrubbed, to say the least. There was no epic tale of Conan from Howard’s writings. They were all short stories told seemingly at random, chronicling the hero’s adventures with no attention to order or linear timeline. Nor was Conan a fixed premise character -- that of revenge -- with a specific tragic childhood and main arch nemesis. There was no origin story, and his eventual kingship over Aquilonia wasn’t so much a grand destiny or permanent narrative addition as it was merely another passing exploit.
None of this was a detriment to the film, however. It made sense to anchor in with a singular narrative arc and set of conflicts that would sustain a two hour running time feature film. Moreover, the very essence of the character was well-maintained, even if he was narrowed down a bit from the worldly rogue of the pulps to a state of being more exclusively feral, trained and barbaric. Again, it fit the film’s storyline. Also, there’s John Milius—a discussion all its own. Suffice to say, I doubt any other filmmaker from 1982 or now is more deeply in-tuned with the kind of masculine romance necessary to translate the weird, unforgiving prehistory of Conan and his Hyborian frontier, details be damned!
I like your insight about the film’s opening montage of familial hands crafting the sword that is metaphorically Conan. It rings true from a different bent later in the film when Thulsa Doom proclaims flesh to be the strongest of all substance riddles: "What is steel next to the hand that wields it?" It’s a motif made evermore salient when a resurrected and resolute Conan stands along the beach and twirls his Atlantean sword before peering grimly into his own fist-clinching hand. I also agree with your distinction between this and Star Wars, the latter of which, along with Middle Earth, Narnia, Hogwarts and the likes are works of High Fantasy, where waged is a war between good and evil dependent on the more Campbell-esque model of prophesized savior, chosen one, Ring-bearer etc. Not here. Sword & Sorcery is Low Fantasy, High Adventure, where Hyboria is but a neutral realm; where evil is perverse wickedness lurking around every corner and good is, at best, simply the result of one’s personal code of conduct; and where Conan is just a dude who stomps evil not for some greater good, but simply because it burnt him something fierce, and because it got in his fucking way.
I also like how Conan the Barbarian thematically touches on the futility of faith. In this storied world gods are rather matter-of-fact and ultimately prove pointless. In 'Queen of the Black Coast', Conan is asked for his beliefs in Crom:
"He dwell’s on a great mountain. What use to call on him? Little he cares if men live or die" – "I have known many gods. He who denies them is as blind as he who trusts them too deeply."
This attitude is likewise expressed throughout the film when Conan learns the arbitrary status of Crom next to other gods, swears the latter’s name in the face strange things and even outright growls to the sky, "And if you do not listen, then to hell with you!: It, of course, further reflects what you touched upon about the notion of self-reliance. You’re right: Conan’s world really is just a heightened mirror of our own. There are no fates or cosmic alignments or divine forces of good and evil coursing our lives. We either Cowboy-up and take matters into our own hands or, or we don’t.
Part II
ReplyDeleteIt’s a shame that Milius has since fallen out of directing. With Conan the Barbarian he proved himself as exquisite a visual storyteller as he was a writer of salty sailor monologues. The film displays some brilliant anamorphic long-lensing and Milius makes the most of his Kurosawa/Peckinpah influences with the use of slow-motion for intense action beats and peak moments of dramatic poise. His compositions are indeed thematically illustrative, as you pointed out, and he has a great eye for shots and set-pieces that evoke the lurid imagery of Frazetta’s fantasy related paintings; particular favorites of mine include the shot of Conan staring into the camera after cutting his own chains and later nailed to the Tree of Woe, the blood red night sequence where Valeria fights off cel-animated demon spirits to save Conan’s life, the center-framed shot of Doom seated above his cannibal orgy and the final image of Conan seated at his own throne ...to name but a few. And enough praise cannot be given to Basil Poledouris. His score is arguably one of the absolute best ever composed for cinematic fantasy. Milius certainly married it to the on-screen visuals to such a degree that plays like a silent film or operatic musical.
Lastly, Schwarzenegger. No acting skills, they say? Bullshit. That scene in the end where Conan stands toe to toe with Doom, temporarily caught in the latter’s hypnotic gaze -- or, more to the point, momentarily stunned by the figurative father-son revelation that Doom suggest -- the expression on Arnold’s face as it shifts from bewilderment back to barbaric fury is absolutely convincing in my book. Arnold may have not matched Howard’s idyllic vision of a black-haired Celtic Conan, but his own ancient Aryan, Cro-Magnon mug nonetheless appropriated the character with a similar effect. And Arnold as an actor (or re-actor, at the very least) truly managed to capture the spooky, wolfish nature of a Conan who, on any given day, would find himself hacking giant snake heads like a belligerent lumberjack or banging hot witches before throwing them into the fireplace; to say nothing of his inherent "big ego" charisma that fit the character like a glove.
I love the literary Conan. And as much as this film is the best representation of that, it still falls pretty flat. As Cannon says above, there's no real backstory to Conan. He comes south from Cimmeria, and that's about it. The literary Conan doesn't even look that much like Arnold, even though Arnold WAS the guy to play him. One of the better aspects of the movie (left unmentioned) is the production design. It looks like the Hyborian Age looks in your mind while reading the stories. The movie would have been much improved by naming the villain Thoth-Amon, at least for the literary fans, as Thulsa Doom was Cormac Mac Art's nemesis.
ReplyDeleteOne thing also unmentioned about the Wheel is that all the children are chained to the wheel. And as they fail, only Conan is left. This points out your point about doing for oneself even more. Conan survives. The others do not.
Still one of the best epic fantasy movies ever. Too bad it would not continue in this vein.
ReplyDeleteCannon covered all my comments on this one. Thanks!
ReplyDeleteBut I also have to point out Basil Poledouris' amazing score. Easily one of the scores of the 1980s (in which John Williams and Jerry Goldsmith were also at their peak). But Milius does some amazing visual storytelling in this film. There really isn't much dialogue (compared to the sequel especially). This means that the imagery, acting and music all must take a bigger role. Milius had the imagery covered. Someone mentioned the production design, and that really is an impressive part of the film. It feels real and ancient. As much as I love Jackson's visuals in LOTR, Milius' production team really made their world feel real and lived in (very similar to the original Star Wars trilogy).
Poledouris then takes those amazing visuals and combines them with his music. If memory serves he used musical stylings based in medieval meter and rhythm. Most film scores of the time were very much based in a classical and romantic era of music. Because Poledouris went to an earlier form of music, it fits the primal feel of the visuals. It also doesn't sound like any of the other fantasy films of the 80s which would rely heavily on a classical or modern (80s and "Legend" specifically) sound. It really is a wonderful film score, working wonders in the film, really telling the story at times. And it is wonderful listening outside the film.
Finally the acting. Arnold is great, I'll defend him in this film, no problem. As others have said, he isn't the Conan of the novels, but at the same time he really made the character his own. He is believable. He is relatable. He is flawed. He captures the necessary emotions of the character, even his cunning nature (something that vanishes in the sequel). One of the huge benefits of the film is that lack of dialogue. It actually allows the actors to use body language to relate their stories. Arnold and Sandahl really make their relationship work. Still one of my favorite fantasy films, and one that I wished influenced more film makers than it seems to.
Of course his cunning nature isn't in the second film. How else would Conan put up with that cast of idiots?
Deletereturn on the Conan's filming locations (my blog)..
ReplyDeletehttp://lieuxdetournages.over-blog.com/2014/04/conan-the-barbarian-conan-le-barbare-john-milius-1982.html
Star Wars is NOT facist. Let's leave it at that.
ReplyDelete