By: Oberst Von Berauscht (Four Beers) –
In the dark times before the industrial age, before great thinkers and wise philosophers brought enlightenment in the world… before Arby’s, was a time of legends; a time of magic, of mysticism, and a time when powerful warlords and kings ruled over the lands.
AD 1982: From the ashes of this world came forth Conan the Barbarian, an epic tale of one bodybuilder’s triumph over the English language.
“Eahhewewho, Echne galinenwebo Caulifonya ” – Governor Conan
Nearly thirty years have passed since Conan first began his quest to become Governor by his own hands. As enough of his subjects have long since forgotten the tale behind his rise to power, it once again becomes a marketable concept for the crucial 18-24 year age bracket.
And so it was that I, his chronicler, once again was charged with relating his story.
Let me tell you of the days of high Adventure!
Drink deeply of your flagon, for though the face of Conan has changed, his fighting spirit has grown only stronger. Time and time again he charges in to do battle with a pitiless enemy. Blood is spilled, also brains, intestines, stomach fluids, and other nasty things. If ye be a villain make no mistake; Conan will find you, gut you like a pig, serve you on a platter forged of pure hate, and club you to death with his murder boner. Your pleas for mercy will fall on deaf ears, because Conan just doesn’t give a fuck (I’m serious).
If Chuck Norris gave half of a fuck, it wouldn’t be 1/8th the amount of fuck that Conan just DOES NOT GIVE.
But alas, life for Conan isn’t all slaying enemies, drinking mead and implied sodomy. For Conan has met his true enemy; awkwardly written dialog. This threat isn’t one with defined borders, and impacts friend and foe alike. Lines of dialog roll off of the page in much the same way that glue doesn’t. Cringe-induced seizures result from attempting to say many of these lines, internal hemorrhaging certain to result from any attempt to say them with a straight face.
Ah, but Conan’s latest quest is ambitious. Crossing mountains, canyons, and sailing oceans by the magic of editing, or perhaps plot convenience. Conan rarely steps more than a few feet in any direction without teleporting hundreds of miles. Due to sagging box office returns, it is crucial that we not go more than 2-5 minutes without a battle sequence. (All that jazz about the journey being more important than the destination itself is bullshit). In bygone years Conan would interact with his environment and the people who populate it. But this is a recession, if the movie clocks in at much more than 110 minutes people will lose interest.
Jersey Shore back on, Conan pleased
Of final, crucial importance to Conan’s legacy is his companions, the closest of which has always been his theme music. Once upon a time he was followed by booming orchestra, with blaring horns, pounding drums, and glorious fanfare. It was theme music that made you ready to venture out into the mountains to cut some heads.
It is disappointing that we now have to settle for a generic, middle of the road action score. Why they couldn’t have found a way to at least do the sensible thing and use Conan’s classic theme is just confusing. Still, the music isn’t distractingly awful… so there’s that.
Conan returns with a not entirely called for, but fairly Cromulent retelling of the legend. And the plot… you mean there was one?
Bonus Drinking Game
Take a drink: every time Conan beheads someone.
Take a drink: every time the word “steel” is used
Down a Shot: whenever Conan…
a. crushes his enemies
b. sees them driven before him
c. hears the lamentation of their women