Review of Sci-Fi Fantasy Cult Film Krull Directed by Peter Yates
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KRULL (1983)
LOVE FLAME FANTASY DOESN'T WARM HEARTS
by Bryn V. Young-Roberts
Krull (1983) Directed by Peter Yates. USA / UK: PG. Do you remember that film where New Tricks’ OCD alcoholic Brian Lane (Alun Armstrong), Harry Potter's Hagrid (Robbie Coltrane), Mark Fowler (Todd Carty) and the most forgettable of the Di Marco family members (Graham McGrath) from EastEnders, the tramp-like old man from Emmerdale (Freddie Jones), the tall bald bloke from the Carry On films (Bernard Bresslaw), Alan Partridge (no, not that one, the one from Brookside played by Dicken Ashworth) and list-maker Oskar Schindler (Liam Neeson) ventured on a lads weekend to save a princess from a surreal invading alien force headed by a monstrous beast who inhabits a 1920s German expressionist castle? No?
They’re led by an actor called Ken whose character is named after a district in North Wales. Doesn’t ring a bell? They all ride magical horses that can fly without wings and burn a fabulous flaming trail in their wake. Still nothing? I kid you not, this film does actually exist. |
Inspired by the Star Wars zeitgeist, Krull attempts to blend science fiction and fantasy genres with limited success. Wholly derivative, almost every scene of the movie is cut and pasted from other, mostly mediocre sources. All characters are fixed fantasy archetypes who never, even remotely, venture beyond their category, existing solely to fill their part in the plot, awkwardly and uncomfortably coming together without rhyme or reason.
Even film lead Colwyn’s (Kenneth Marshall) development from young fiery hot-head to wisened King is hampered by the fact he is annoyingly immature and generally unlikable, severely reducing the audience’s give-a-shit factor. |
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Attempting to add drama to the quest is the friction between Colwyn and a group of bandits he recruits to help him save Princess Lyssa (Lysette Anthony). The conflict is never very convincing, but then neither is the motivation of the criminals to aid Colwyn on his journey in the first place. Supposedly intimidating, the moustachioed Robbie Coltrane delivers an uncomfortable presence as the plump, unintentionally sexually ambiguous bandit Rhun (voiced by uncredited Boon actor Michael Elphick), who only seems like a threat if you’re left alone in a room with him and have an unreliable trouser zipper.
Comic-relief on the journey is provided by David Battley’s Ergo, a 1983 Jar-Jar Binks who delivers severe irritation and a regular stunting of the narrative. Perhaps if he had died at the end, as the audience are led to believe is a serious possibility, it would have been worth it, but tragically *spoiler* he survives.
The Chewbacca of the piece is Rell the Cyclops, intended to be a powerful, enigmatic character with magical precognitive abilities that will aid the hero in his quest. Redundantly, the only future he can see is his own death, which cannot even be prevented. Perhaps relishing the opportunity to play against casting type, Carry On actor Bernard Bresslaw brings amiability to the character lacking in any of the other players, with a performance that suggests a meticulous dedication to the role, which is unavoidably throttled by a dull, weak script.
Yates’ direction, like most of the acting, is generally flat and uninspired. Out of their depth, there are moments when the actors, much like the story, seem unsure and doubtful of what they’re doing. The film feels very much like a jigsaw assembled by a blind man, all the pieces are there but the larger picture is a mess. The overriding impression is that the filmmakers had read Joseph Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces, learned what all the necessary elements of a fantasy story are, but had never read an actual fantasy book or experienced the genre first-hand in any way.
Krull is faithful to the monomyth pattern of storytelling, but clings to the boundaries so tightly that it suffocates on clichés and formulas. Although at times its naiveté and sense of adventure are endearing, the film could have benefitted from an ounce of cynicism, if only to highlight the dramatic payoffs.
Comic-relief on the journey is provided by David Battley’s Ergo, a 1983 Jar-Jar Binks who delivers severe irritation and a regular stunting of the narrative. Perhaps if he had died at the end, as the audience are led to believe is a serious possibility, it would have been worth it, but tragically *spoiler* he survives.
The Chewbacca of the piece is Rell the Cyclops, intended to be a powerful, enigmatic character with magical precognitive abilities that will aid the hero in his quest. Redundantly, the only future he can see is his own death, which cannot even be prevented. Perhaps relishing the opportunity to play against casting type, Carry On actor Bernard Bresslaw brings amiability to the character lacking in any of the other players, with a performance that suggests a meticulous dedication to the role, which is unavoidably throttled by a dull, weak script.
Yates’ direction, like most of the acting, is generally flat and uninspired. Out of their depth, there are moments when the actors, much like the story, seem unsure and doubtful of what they’re doing. The film feels very much like a jigsaw assembled by a blind man, all the pieces are there but the larger picture is a mess. The overriding impression is that the filmmakers had read Joseph Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces, learned what all the necessary elements of a fantasy story are, but had never read an actual fantasy book or experienced the genre first-hand in any way.
Krull is faithful to the monomyth pattern of storytelling, but clings to the boundaries so tightly that it suffocates on clichés and formulas. Although at times its naiveté and sense of adventure are endearing, the film could have benefitted from an ounce of cynicism, if only to highlight the dramatic payoffs.
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Much like the special and visual effects, which range from the impressive to the embarrassing, the film is bipolar in many of its themes and executions, with moments which manage to simultaneously appeal to an audience while also damaging its verisimilitude and ultimate enjoyment. For example, in one scene the villainous Beast tells Lyssa that ‘love is fleeting; power is eternal,’ so she turns the axiom around on him, insisting the reverse, ‘Power is fleeting; love is eternal’. It might have made a poignant theme were it not for the fact her true love is a man she has known for ten minutes, and then only because they are engaged due to a politically motivated arranged marriage.
While this sort of occasional nonsense can be forgiven, the pivotal role the flame of her love for Colwyn plays at the climax, (which, I shit ye not, is transformed into an actual physical fire), means the overall message of love which the film is founded on has burnt out long before we see Lyssa’s heart arson.
Beyond the gibberish of the script however, Krull’s primary crime is a relentless dedication to unnecessary dullness. One seemingly endless scene in particular embodies this aspect of the film more than any other. Despite a laser-shot shoulder wound which will never be referred to again, Colwyn spends an eternal three dialogue-free minutes in a montage climbing a mountain in search of a magical Frisbee / boomerang called a glaive that will apparently help him defeat the antagonist.
Beautifully shot, with some innovative camera work, the entire sequence looks impressive, but is completely redundant and sleep-inducing. As a punishment to any audience members actively trying to invest in this moment, the glaive later proves useless as a weapon anyway, the hero having to depend on a more metaphorical-based armament instead.
In order to highlight the importance of the ‘love’ aspect of Krull we are forced to live through it twice, once through Colwyn and Lyssa and again via Ynyr (Freddie Jones) and, confusingly, another woman called Lyssa (Francesca Annis). Acting as a precursor and warning to Colwyn, Ynyr’s love story acts as a mirror demonstrating what could happen if Colwyn takes decision making too lightly… or something.
Ynyr’s story sees him realising the part he played in his partner’s unhappiness (because he ditched her) which resulted in his Lyssa becoming a giant spider who murdered their children and now spends her days luring men into her web from which ‘no man has ever escaped’ because her ‘rage needed a victim’. Colwyn and Lyssa are able to learn from the mistakes of Ynyr and his partner and form an ‘eternal’ love, therefore avoiding the whole child-murdering spider-woman scenario.
No, honestly, this film really does exist, I’m not making this up.
While this sort of occasional nonsense can be forgiven, the pivotal role the flame of her love for Colwyn plays at the climax, (which, I shit ye not, is transformed into an actual physical fire), means the overall message of love which the film is founded on has burnt out long before we see Lyssa’s heart arson.
Beyond the gibberish of the script however, Krull’s primary crime is a relentless dedication to unnecessary dullness. One seemingly endless scene in particular embodies this aspect of the film more than any other. Despite a laser-shot shoulder wound which will never be referred to again, Colwyn spends an eternal three dialogue-free minutes in a montage climbing a mountain in search of a magical Frisbee / boomerang called a glaive that will apparently help him defeat the antagonist.
Beautifully shot, with some innovative camera work, the entire sequence looks impressive, but is completely redundant and sleep-inducing. As a punishment to any audience members actively trying to invest in this moment, the glaive later proves useless as a weapon anyway, the hero having to depend on a more metaphorical-based armament instead.
In order to highlight the importance of the ‘love’ aspect of Krull we are forced to live through it twice, once through Colwyn and Lyssa and again via Ynyr (Freddie Jones) and, confusingly, another woman called Lyssa (Francesca Annis). Acting as a precursor and warning to Colwyn, Ynyr’s love story acts as a mirror demonstrating what could happen if Colwyn takes decision making too lightly… or something.
Ynyr’s story sees him realising the part he played in his partner’s unhappiness (because he ditched her) which resulted in his Lyssa becoming a giant spider who murdered their children and now spends her days luring men into her web from which ‘no man has ever escaped’ because her ‘rage needed a victim’. Colwyn and Lyssa are able to learn from the mistakes of Ynyr and his partner and form an ‘eternal’ love, therefore avoiding the whole child-murdering spider-woman scenario.
No, honestly, this film really does exist, I’m not making this up.
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Even the sets are an unsettling mix of inspired, bizarre and cheap. The interior of the Beast’s Fortress is a surreal structure which successfully confuses notions of space and cleverly links it to the villain not only thematically, but almost biologically. In one scene Lyssa appears to be trapped in a room which is suggestive of a giant claw, a visual nod to the idea that she is trapped within the Beast’s grasp. Something similar is later done with a window / eye which cultivates the notion of her being within the Beast’s gaze, literally translating the idea of being trapped in Campbell’s ‘belly of the whale’.
By doing this the director impressively manages to preserve a sense of enigma about the Beast, saving his true terror-inspiring form until the film’s unsatisfactory conclusion, when we disappointingly discover that evil embodied looks pretty much like a man in a monster suit. You’d be forgiven for expecting Fred, Daphne, Velma, Shaggy and Scooby to turn up and rip his head off. Seemingly aware of the limitations of the effects, Yates deliberately chooses to show the Beast only in distortions, and later relies mostly on close-ups in order to underplay the idea of it being a Power Rangers monster of the week.
One of the better aspects of Krull is the soundtrack, the film giving composer James Horner something to do in-between Star Trek II (1982) and Star Trek III (1984) – that being, in typical 1980s James Horner fashion, the EXACT same thing he did for Star Trek II and Star Trek III. Only fitting for Krull, of course, a film with an almost pathological dedication to derivation.
With hindsight, any film where Liam Neeson shares a screen credit with Todd Carty and a lower billing than Bernard Bresslaw is unlikely to be either his, or anyone else’s finest work. At least it gave him a brief taste of bearded sci-fi in preparation for his role as Qui-Gon Jinn in Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace which would follow 16 year later.
By doing this the director impressively manages to preserve a sense of enigma about the Beast, saving his true terror-inspiring form until the film’s unsatisfactory conclusion, when we disappointingly discover that evil embodied looks pretty much like a man in a monster suit. You’d be forgiven for expecting Fred, Daphne, Velma, Shaggy and Scooby to turn up and rip his head off. Seemingly aware of the limitations of the effects, Yates deliberately chooses to show the Beast only in distortions, and later relies mostly on close-ups in order to underplay the idea of it being a Power Rangers monster of the week.
One of the better aspects of Krull is the soundtrack, the film giving composer James Horner something to do in-between Star Trek II (1982) and Star Trek III (1984) – that being, in typical 1980s James Horner fashion, the EXACT same thing he did for Star Trek II and Star Trek III. Only fitting for Krull, of course, a film with an almost pathological dedication to derivation.
With hindsight, any film where Liam Neeson shares a screen credit with Todd Carty and a lower billing than Bernard Bresslaw is unlikely to be either his, or anyone else’s finest work. At least it gave him a brief taste of bearded sci-fi in preparation for his role as Qui-Gon Jinn in Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace which would follow 16 year later.
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