The Pirate Review - The Barbarians

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Major spoilers ahead—not that you should care

Back when my future husband and I were first dating, we watched a whole lot of movies. Understand, we're talking high-volume consumption here, everything from Oscar-winning films to badly-dubbed Jackie Chan flicks. It was fun, we enjoyed the time together, and it got me well-conditioned to my hubby's insatiable lust for celluloid.

Early on, my honey subjected me to the Ultimate Test of True Love—a showing of The Barbarians on VHS. After it was all over and I'd finished rolling on the floor, clutching my head and belly in pain, I'm sure he was more than a little worried about his chances. Nonetheless, despite (or perhaps because of) this traumatic experience, we went on to enjoy wedded bliss together.

So what was this horrifying flick that nearly gave me ptomaine poisoning? Glad you asked.

If The Good, The Bad and the Ugly was a "Spaghetti Western," The Barbarians is a "Spaghetti Fantasy." Shot on location in Italy and featuring a generous influx of local talent for the bit parts, The Barbarians builds on the unlikely premise: What if the Conan-era Arnold Schwarzenegger cloned himself? Peter and David Paul, real-life identical twin bodybuilders, fill the title roles of Kutchek and Gore. As children, the twin orphan boys were adopted by a traveling band of magical, medieval-ish entertainers led by Queen Canary (yes, all the names sound like they were selected using a Mad Libs book). Their magic power is derived from—get this—the pure Queen's "belly stone," a ruby that fits neatly into her frequently exposed navel.

However, on one leg of the Magical Mystery Tour, the entertainment clan is set upon by brigands, and the ever-wise Canary removes her belly-button bijou for safekeeping, giving it to a trusted advisor to hide in a most secret place. Thereafter they are set upon by the evil Richard Lynch—uh, I mean—Kadar, supervillain of the piece, who has the big-time hots for Canary. The twins, deciding they don't like the looks of this guy (they must have watched old re-runs of Battlestar Galactica), jump him and bite off two of his fingers, which doesn't sit well with him. Instead of just killing them off, however (that would be too easy!), he agrees to keep them alive—but separated from each other as slaves in the Pit.

Fast-forward about twenty years. The separated twins have grown into mighty barbarians, hefty of thew and sinew, and judging from their glistening pecs they burn through more oil than an aging Pinto. (Oddly enough, though the twins have grown into men, the captive Canary—held prisoner in a cage, naturally—hasn't aged a day.) Just for kicks and giggles, baddie Kadar decides to pit them against each other, placing visage-obscuring helmets on each twin and letting 'em go at it. Despite their mind-boggling stupidity, Kutchek and Gore finally end up recognizing each other and wreaking havoc upon the stadium, escaping into the woods in an attempt to reunite with the Magical Mystery Clan.

The Paul brothers, big dumb lunks if ever there were two, are so boneheaded it's endearing. One, the "brains" of the group, usually manages to trick his brother into going his own way. The other, who I guess would have to be called the "brawn" by default, can be recognized by his distinctive "mating call," a noise that sounds like a cross between a hysterical Eddie Murphy and a bull moose in heat. They quickly prove they're too dumb to hang—literally—and incidentally manage to gain the trust of the splintered pieces of the Clan by showing off the distinctive "mark of the open road" (no, not road rash). From there, it's off to locate the magic ruby, spring Canary from the clink, and generally experience peace, love, togetherness and juggling.

I haven't begun to scratch the surface of the badness encapsulated in The Barbarians; there's so much to choose from. The female rogue who's really a transplanted anorexic from the Valley? The clan leader pro tem with a hairdo to rival Queen Amidala's worst? The dragon pieced together with cast-away special effects from Gremlins and a hydraulic ladder stolen off a fire engine? The magic ability of Canary to rip off cheesy special effects from old Queen music videos? The gratuitous breast shots just to keep the male audience captivated? The evil dwarf? The original score composed by a tone-deaf music student? And who can forget that classic line, "Hold her still and uncover her belly!" Truly, this flick is so bad it's good. I am only left wondering why the gang at Mystery Science Theater 3000 didn't take a prime opportunity to skewer it.

I had difficulty rating this movie. On the one hand, it's fifteen different kinds of horrible; on the other, it's intensely entertaining if you get a whole load of friends and openly mock it. If you're up to that sort of thing, I suggest you visit your friendly neighborhood video rental emporium and give it a whirl.

Remember, what doesn't destroy me, makes me stronger.