Deathstalker (1983) Review

A warrior named Deathstalker is sent on a quest by a witch to find a chalice, an amulet, and a sword. Soon, he’s making new allies while battling warriors, creatures, and a wizard, in a story that’s as thin as parchment but somehow still compelling in its brazen absurdity.

Hot off the back of Conan the Barbarian (1982), director James Sbardellati (credited as John Watson) delivers a film in the vein of The Sword and the Sorcerer (1982), though without the latter’s sense of scope or panache. Howard R. Cohen’s adult-oriented plot is paper-thin—more a skeleton for chaos than a story—but it suits the kind of low-budget, testosterone-fueled nonsense this era of sword-and-sorcery demanded.

Modeled on He-Man, Rick Hill (with a dash of Peter Weller and Dolph Lundgren) does a serviceable job as Deathstalker, bulking up the brawny charm while looking permanently winded from wearing so little. The late Lana Clarkson, however, steals every scene she touches, exuding both danger and allure with effortless presence. Richard Brooker as Oghris is a welcome oddity; one of those performances you remember for no good reason other than sheer theatricality.

Gratuitous nudity, a dash of unnecessary rape, and all the hallmarks of Roger Corman production shortcuts are on full display—cheap sets, choppy editing—but the high-concept lunacy carries it for the most part. Óscar Cardozo Ocampo’s score deserves a nod: it lifts the proceedings, energises the fight scenes, and even when intrusive, it somehow feels part of the charm, like a synth-powered alarm announcing chaos.

The giant pig-man gladiator fight scene is a highlight, ridiculous and unwieldy, nothing like the promotional art but all the better for it. The showdown borrows from Superman II (1980) with Flash Gordon’s Ming-like sorcerer Munkar, played by Bernard Erhard, getting his moment to shine—somehow lending gravitas to an otherwise gleeful trashfest.

Overall, it takes itself seriously, it’s violent, and wall-to-wall scantily-clad leads and extras parade through every frame. Yet there’s an undeniable appeal: low-budget 1980s sword-and-sorcery shenanigans, a dash of audacious nonsense, and just enough spectacle to make it one of the better Conan cash-ins. Poster art is still better than the film, but in that gleeful, slightly trashy way, Deathstalker has its own charm.

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