Deathstalker (1983)

Most people who say things like “every movie is a miracle” don’t watch movies like Deathstalker or they wouldn’t say shit like that. Sometimes a movie is a mean-spirited attempt to cash in on another, better movie. In this case it’s Conan the Barbarian, as one might experience Conan the Barbarian in an episode of Star Trek where the seventh most important crew member’s dreams about barbarian times materialize in real life. 

That sounds sick in theory, but in practice the misogyny and transphobia of Deathstalker is as thick as the fog that saturates every frame that isn’t meant to be jerked off to. It’s rough charms — one look at Rick Hill in his debut film role and you know that he thinks he’s running laps around Schwarzenegger — fade pretty quickly as it becomes a softcore porno about how women enjoy being sexually assaulted so long as it’s by a hunk. 

The score rips, though. Couldn’t turn the fucking movie off because every other scene was set to some Muzak Morricone jam, brass and all. Again, not Conan, but a left field epic far greater than the material deserved.