Marvel's Marvelous Movies #9: Conan the Barbarian (Marvel Super Special #21, August 1982)

John Milius and I are probably diametrical opposites politically (and in most other ways), but I have to admit I admire the hell out of him.  The guy simply fascinates me.  He's collaborated with people like George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, Robert Zemeckis and a fella name of Francis Ford Coppola on a little flick called Apocalypse Now.  Lucas based the John Milner character from American Graffiti on Milius, and he served as partial inspiration for Walter Sobchak in the Coen Brothers' Big Lebowski. 

On his own, Milius has made a number of romantic adventure films laced with a lot of his personal philosophy, which is somewhere to the right of right wing.  He's got kind of a sketchy commercial record, but he's never bored me with his movies.  At its best, his work achieves a kind of powerful macho poetry and beauty, and I find myself exalted by themes and moments I wouldn't ordinarily celebrate.  The Wind and the Lion, Big Wednesday and Rough Riders come to mind. 

Sometimes his movies are just sort of silly.  Red Dawn. 

Or poetic and silly at the same time.  Which brings us to Conan the Barbarian (Marvel Super Special #21, August 1982). 

Other than the rough outlines of its fantasy setting and few names and incidents here and there, this movie has little  to do with Robert E. Howard's most famous creation.  Milius and co-screenwriter Oliver Stone (yes, THAT Oliver Stone; Milius doesn't seem to let ideology affect his choice in collaborators, which is another reason I respect him) reinvent Conan to suit their revenge story and also because of Arnold Schwarzenegger, in just his second dramatic role (his first being as Hercules in a low-budget comedy with Arnold Stang), didn't have the acting chops to carry the film's narrative.  This reduces the title barbarian himself to kind of a passive meathead thoroughly out-charismaed by his partner-in-crime and lover Valeria, played with scene-stealing verve by Sandahl Bergman.




Script:  Michael Fleisher/Story and art: John Buscema

But Arnold as Conan-- Schwarzenegger, not Stang-- probably contributes the largest portion of the public's perception of the character.  Thick accent, not a lot to say, and most of that borrowed from Genghis Khan.  The rest more than likely comes from Marvel's comic book series starring Conan, which hews closer to Howard's version without quite getting it right, either.  And since Marvel was also in the business of adapting movies, their doing a Conan the Barbarian film comic was inevitable. 

Who better to adapt and draw it than John Buscema, the top Conan comic artist of the day?  As a geek, I tend to associate Buscema with the character almost as much as I do Robert E. Howard himself.  Buscema has Michael Fleisher provide the words for his adaptation, which may or may not have been a smart move.  I say this only because I wish we could have read something even more purely Buscema just to experience what his word choices and tone might have been like.  Together, Buscema and Fleisher reduce the naked sex and sexy naked parts and expurgate most of the gore to produce a newsstand-ready Conan magazine that's Marvel and Milius at the same time.

Script:  Michael Fleisher/Story and art: John Buscema

Buscema draws Conan how he was used to drawing him in the Marvel comics rather than try to depict him as Arnold.  In fact, Buscema makes no attempt to caricature anyone other than James Earl Jones as villainous Thulsa Doom.  And even his Doom is more or less a general likeness, aided by Jones' distinct look as the character. 

Doom is a mean guy with a Bettie Page hairdo and a pack of horseback raiders who follow him around in search of money and murder.  They slaughter everyone in Conan's village and then Doom hypnotizes Conan's mom and chops off her head.  The orphaned Conan spends a number of years pushing a stone wheel around until he's as big as a bodybuilder.  Sold as a gladiator, he learns swordplay and Nietschean philosophy while also providing stud services.  Freed, he sexes up a werewolf witch, meets pro surfer Gerry Lopez and soon learns Doom has reinvented himself as head of a cult that sells snake-worship franchises throughout the land.  Conan also meets Valeria, who doesn't dominate the story in the comic quite as much as she does in the movie.  Buscema draws Valeria as the standard Buscema beauty, with thick eyelashes and high cheekbones.  Like Bergman, she's statuesque and blond, but that's where the resemblance ends.

And that's really enough.  If I wanted the characters to look exactly like the actors, I'd just watch the movie again or look at some photos.  I love when an artist does caricatures or likenesses, but it's not always necessary.  If likeness is an artist's strength, then he or she should focus on that.  If not, then filling the pages with a lot of off-model faces poorly copied from stills and publicity material is simply a distraction.  Some can do both, but either way the storytelling is much more important.  Things like pacing and clarity of sequence.  Vigor.  You don't find many storytellers more vigorous than John Buscema in sword-and-sorcery mode.

Script:  Michael Fleisher/Story and art: John Buscema

And in contrast with the disappointing Raiders of the Lost Ark, Buscema inks himself this time.  He's well within his comfort zone, and, as with Al Williamson on Empire Strikes Back, we've got an artist perfectly matched to the material.  Whoever made the decision to return to the painted color style of some of the earlier Super Specials needs singling out for praise, too.  D. Pedler (sorry, I don't know who this is, but I wish I did) and the legendary Lynn Varley do a sensational job here, giving Buscema's already gorgeous art a luminous quality, giving each location a rich look full of depth and atmosphere.  Snowy woods look cold, the barren wastes look hot and dry.  This Super Special is a visual treat with a richness a few of the preceding issues sorely needed.  The result?  It's classic Buscema Conan guest-starring in the Milius movie

The writing preserves many of the movie's best lines except for my favorite part, which is Conan's prayer, which it truncates to get to more action.  Conan's prayer is probably the most bad-ass prayer ever capture on film next to the ones for George Bailey at the beginning of It's a Wonderful Life. 

And I must quote the film here:

Crom, I have never prayed to you before. I have no tongue for it. No one, not even you, will remember if we were good men or bad. Why we fought, or why we died. All that matters is that two stood against many. That's what's important! Valor pleases you, Crom... so grant me one request. Grant me revenge! And if you do not listen, then to HELL with you!

Before we toddle off to Crom's mountain where we'll laugh at the four winds, here's a page with a funny panel a Buscema group I'm in on Facebook hashed over recently.  Look at the middle panel of the bottom tier:



Script:  Michael Fleisher/Story and art: John Buscema

"Valeria!  No-- please no!" 

Neither Howard's nor Milius' Conans spend half a second begging like that.  Where the word balloon arrow points is to the rescued princess, but considering her ungrateful characterization the rest of the way (and the fact she didn't know who the hell Valeria even was) make me believe this is Conan speaking.  Hardly the stuff of the guy who tells his own god to grant him revenge or go to hell.

Who gets the blame for this?

Fuck it, Dude.  Let's go bowling.

Conan's elephant friend

Here's a page from one of my favorite Conan stories.  It's from "The Tower of the Elephant," adapted by Roy Thomas and Barry Windsor-Smith (with inks by Sal Buscema) from the Robert E. Howard short story, and it appeared in Marvel's Conan the Barbarian #4 (April, 1971).  As you can see, Windsor-Smith's art is in a transitional state between his earlier clunky Jack Kirby imitations and his current ornate pre-Raphaelite look.  But his Conan is still wearing that silly horned helmet Windsor-Smith stuck on him right at the start.

In this story, we find a younger, slimmer Conan just starting his adventuresome career.  It's right after he quit McDonald's, but before he studied accounting at the local two-year community college.  Like a lot of young Hyborian dudes on the make, Conan spends a lot of time in the taverns of Arenjun, the "thief-city of Zamora."  There he overhears a big blowhard spouting off about the Tower of the Elephant and its fabulous treasure, the Heart of the Elephant.  Someone really likes elephants.  Probably Yara, the priest who lives in the tower.  He used to collect clown figurines, but his mom got him this little elephant carving for his birthday one year and he was never the same after that.

Anyway, the mouthy braggart has a Conan-type accident, and our favorite barbarian slips out to snag that fancy jewel for himself.  He's a little nervous about it-- this Yara guy is some kind of magician, and magic is the one thing that gives Conan the shivers-- but he climbs the walls, meets another thief with the unlikely name Taurus.  Taurus proves useful when a couple of lions show up.  A quick puff of the ol' black lotus and it's good bye, lions.  Taurus doesn't last long, either.  They manage to shimmy up a slender rope Taurus thoughtfully brought along, right to the top of the tower-- itself made itself of jewels of incredible value-- but then the ever-prepared Taurus dies from a spider bite.  Guess that's one thing he didn't see coming.  Conan kills the spider, then makes his way down into the tower only to meet this green elephant.

Yag-Kosha is his name.  Yara's blinded him and kept him in torment for 300 years while trying to learn all his elephantine magical secrets, such as the special ingredients to his famous chocolate chip cookies.

It's really kind of a melancholy story, the kind that proves Howard had more on his mind than just pulpy action.  It resists cliche.  Thomas, taking his cue from Howard, treats the first killing almost coyly.  We don't see it, just its aftermath.  Then there's Conan's palpable fear as he undertakes his thievery; he's not just a stolid, dull-minded hero.  Rather than have Conan fight his way into the tower, the story has him just a moment or two behind the action as Taurus else dispatches the guards and the first few lions for him.  Conan does get to fight a lion a little later, which is pretty sweet, but Thomas and Windsor-Smith don't dwell on it.  It's over in four panels, the first being a small silhouetted image.  Windsor-Smith crops the killing blow so we actually don't get to see it.

Yag-Kosha could easily have been a monster for Conan to fight, but instead he's treated sympathetically.  He simply tells his sad story-- which fills Conan with shame at being human-- and uses the barbarian as a vessel for his vengeance against Yara.  Which also doesn't involve violence, but a strange transformation that freaks poor Conan right the hell out.  Conan doesn't gain a treasure and comes away with nothing but an interesting story.  And that's what I've always liked about it.