Last night I received a comment on my blog from a piece I wrote late last year, a kind of review/synopsis of the movie Regarding Henry. The gentleman leaving the comment was not pleased, I guess, with my outing of the film as a steaming pile of unintentionally hilarious shit. I want to stop for a minute to say that this didn't upset me in the least. I was surprised, honestly, because my blog is pretty terrible and really unpopular and the only messages I usually get are from HOT RUSSIAN TEENS IN MY AREA who want to connect, and helpful scientists who want to offer me the BEST PRICES on medications to enlarge my penis and thus SATISFY THE WOMAN IN MY LIFE. So, an actual comment that was even sort of about something I wrote was kind of a nice change. He even suggested that he could "go on all night explaining how wrong I (was)" but I guess he had other plans, or something (sad face.) Fortunately for me, it's the internet and I'm a woman, so if I want to hear a dude tell me I'm wrong I have the luxury of going literally anywhere else. At least in this case I was spared the indignity of being called "bitch" or "fatty" or "cunt" or even "cunty bitch fats," and, in some small way, that makes me feel like a winner.
But, that's not the point of all this, which is that I don't dislike the movies I write about. (Except Rudy. Rudy can kiss my ass.)
Case in point: The Beastmaster, a fucking amazing piece of art from the 1982, staring Mark Singer in a fuzzy loincloth that leaves VERY LITTLE to the imagination. My sister and I watched this masterpiece no less that nine billion times with my father, who sat on our 70's brown and yellow flower sofa, drinking Coke and wondering how tall all the actors were in real life. (Spoiler alert: All taller than him.) Still, when I went to write the synopsis of The Beastmaster, which should be as easy as writing my own name, I totally choked. Once on pizza, and then once on remembering the plot of this genius movie. I choked twice. Two times.
Unaided, I can remember very little. I remember Mark Singer. The loincloth. Two ferrets. Tanya Robert topless. A kind of a zombie vampire that sucks people's guts out. Rip Torn's Amazing Eyebrow Situation. And a child being thrown into a fiery pit as a sacrifice. That's it. (Of Note: I welcome all of you who are visiting my site for the first (and last) time because you Googled "Tanya Roberts Topless.")
"In the kingdom of Aruk, the high priest Maax [may-aks] (Rip Torn) is given a prophecy by his witches that he would die facing the son of King Zed (Rod Loomis). Learning of Maax's scheme to murder his child as a sacrificial offering to the kingdom's god Ar, Zed exiled Maax and his followers from the city. However, Maax sent one of his witches to transfer the unborn child from the womb of Zed's queen (Vanna Bonta) and into a cow to be born.''
"After his birth the witch brands the infant with Ar's mark, but is killed by a villager who takes the infant in his care and raises him as his own son. Named Dar while raised the village of Emur, the child learns how to fight while advised by his father to keep his ability to telepathically communicate with animals a secret. Years later, a fully grown Dar (Marc Singer) witnesses his people being slaughtered by the Jun, a horde of fanatic barbarians in league with Maax. Dar, the only survivor of the attack, vows revenge and journeys to Aruk to avenge his people. In time, Dar is joined by an eagle that he named Sharak, a pair of thieving ferrets he calls Kodo and Podo, and a black tiger whom he names Ruh."
So, anyway, this film really challenges you to remember and correctly apply profoundly stupid names. We've got Dar and Ruh and the Jun and, best of all Maax, who sounds like a girl who just moved to Hollywood and got some advice from Tom Arnold that the extra "a" will really stand out to casting directors. I should say that I REALLY admire seeing writers who could not have given less of a fuck and were like, "shit, Gary, let's name the guy Toot-Toot and then go get falafel." This is endgame to me, basically. I want to write a seguel to the Shaquille O'Neal movie Kazaam called Son of Kazaam and name every fucking character Kazaam Jr., then take all my fat, fat writer checks to Target.
Oh, and then, omg, the best! The role of Dar's best friend, Seth, is played by actor John Amos, James Evans Sr. from the show Good Times. It was difficult at first for me to accept Amos in a role in which he was not required to constantly threaten his children with physical abuse or inspire Ester Rolle to exclaim "damn" three times, but man, he really surprised me. And his handsome top pony made me think a lot about possible hairstyles for the summer.
So, Dar, along with Seth and King Zed's young son, Tal, a mostly clothed Tanya Roberts as Kiri, a black tiger and two ferrets are determined to stop Rip Torn, who's still sacrificing every kid he can get his hands on while strutting through town looking you if you needed to buy a Gargamel costume for a school play and the only thing still open was Liberace's Crushed Velvet Cultural Appropriation Yard Sale.
On a sad note, Ruh was meant to be a panther but the filmmakers just dyed a tiger black and apparently they didn't fucking use Nice and Easy #35 because the poor animal died from exposure to the harsh chemicals in the dye. Which sucks. And, look, supposedly Klaus Kinski was initially wanted for the role of Maax, but he wanted too much money and Rip Torn slurped up those sloppy seconds, so you'd think, you know, with all that extra money they saved on Kinski they could just get a damn actual panther or just use the undyed tiger, ffs. A tiger isn't exotic enough for you, Hollywood, you cynical bastards of 1982? I just can't abide laziness- but, now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to work on Son of Kazaam. I'm hoping I can get Larry Bird as Kazaam's flatulent neighbor, Mr. Flatulence. LOL. Flatulence.