1.5 Cinematically-incoherent-fever-dreams out of 4
There’s something wrong with a movie if a story about a violent, revenge-obsessed barbarian is boring. Of all the possible permutations of all the possible combinations of stories that can result from a character’s single-minded quest for retribution, that Conan the Barbarian is dull casts a dark shadow over the state of modern action movies. Make no mistake, Conan the Barbarian, though based on a pulp fiction hero from 1932, is a modern action movie. Filled to the brim with computer-generated scenes of blood, enough pointless violence to warrant a performance of “Kumbaya,” and a camera that refuses to focus on the subjects of a scene, Marcus Nispel’s film falls prey to the tropes of the modern action movie’s cinematic vocabulary.
The film stars Jason Momoa as the titular barbarian. Intrepid viewers will note that Momoa’s other acting credits include the Dothraki warlord Khal Drogo, from HBO’s Game of Thrones. For fans expecting a performance worthy of Drogo, be warned: Momoa’s acting is stiff and his character is nowhere near as interesting. Joined by Rachel Nichols as the film’s stereotypical female lead and Stephen Lang as the story’s requisite villain-with-a-justifiable-purpose, Nispel’s film is ripe with cinematic stereotypes and expected trappings.
This movie features talented actors in lifeless roles. That none of the film’s cast chooses to do anything with their performances is indicative of a failing of the Stravinsky method. Perhaps fully immersing one’s self in one’s character is not advisable when the character contains no personality? Regardless, with the sole exception of a brief cameo by Ron Perlman – whose talents, sadly, are still not enough to make a difference – Conan’s cast cash-in weak performances.
My earlier comment about method acting notwithstanding, I recognize the lack of logic associated with being critical of a film clearly designed to earn the studio money. This is a sword-and-sorcery movie. This is a story about an angry, shirtless, loincloth-wearing man’s desire to exact revenge on the man who burned his village and killed his father. This movie is in no way a character study on the nobility of sacrifice.
Historically, sword-and-sorcery films have been one step below frat-comedies on the cinematic ladder. In fact, even the most ardent fans of the genre will admit that the best sword-and-sorcery films are filled with oddball comedy and cornball goofiness. Direction is typically shoddy at best, cinematography is practically nonexistent, and the only thing less present than production value is strong acting. However, much like all movies, sword-and-sorcery stories contain a powerful, entertaining quality that is sadly lacking in Nispel’s particular take on the Conan story.
By no means are sword-and-sorcery movies supposed to push the boundaries of style, but the action is still typically framed in a cohesive, comprehensible way. Much of Conan the Barbarian suffers not because of its actors or its premise, but because of the camera’s refusal to situate itself anywhere remotely near the action. When warriors are struck – and blood spurts everywhere – for some unintelligible reason, the camera insists on framing the scene slightly above or below the strike. For an R-rated film, Conan the Barbarian is strangely lacking in anything explicitly mature. Certainly, warriors, priests, horsemen, and archers die, but the camera is either too far away, obscure, or shaking too much for the audience to truly discern anything.
There is one scene, however, that should be added to Nispel’s portfolio. In an attempt to kill Conan, the witch-daughter of Stephen Lang’s villainous Khalar Zym summons warriors made of sand to execute the barbarian. As Conan strikes and stabs his opponents, as the sand warriors fall to the ground – cracking or mixing with the Earth – the camera rises and falls with each blow. I wonder, who was behind the camera during that particular scene? Why could their work not have been present more often?
Of course, this is by no means a deplorable or even a downright wasteful film. Indeed, what the movie lacks in acting, writing, cinematography, and direction, it more than makes up for in pure atmosphere. Tyler Bates, whose work can be heard in a chorus of better movies, saves Conan with his eclectic mix or Middle Eastern strings and drums crossed with European symphony. If there is anything that saves this movie, it’s the fact that closing one’s eyes – and opening one’s ears – activates a powerful symphony of evocative, moving music.
It’s such a shame that Marcus Nispel has to ruin it by insisting his actors speak.