What Hawk the Slayer Got Right
Defending a sword and sorcery kinda-classic
Art by Les Edwards, image sourced from Film on Paper
There can surely be no rational defence of Terry Marcel’s ramshackle British sword and sorcery movie Hawk the Slayer (1980). By no sane definition can it be considered great cinema. It falters too often, its ambitions too clearly out of range of its meagre budget. Why then is it so greatly loved? Why are its devotees happy to accept the wayward acting, the threadbare production values, the Silly String special effects, and invest so deeply in its misty medieval world? Social media reveals micro-communities of miniature-makers, role-players, prop hunters, fan artists and writers. These followers aren’t showing up to look down on a camp extravaganza; they’re here to take part.
It’s the tale of a Cain-and-Abel clash between two brothers: one-eyed bad guy Voltan (Jack Palance, going apeshit in every single scene) versus wandering good guy Hawk (John Terry, hardly acting at all). When Hawk inherits the ancestral Mindsword, Voltan runs amok and kidnaps a nun, forcing Hawk to recruit a rescue team of former comrades: a mallet-hefting giant (Carry On stalwart Bernard Bresslaw), an elf bowman so quick on the draw he’s like a medieval machine-gun emplacement (Ray Charleson), and a whip-cracking, snack-obsessed dwarf (Peter O’Farrell).
Hawk the Slayer has been subjected to many a smug, piss-taking commentary on YouTube, though as an example of ‘So-Bad-It’s-Good’ Hawk is ultimately unrewarding. Even its harshest critics will admit that much love clearly went into its making. The movie has such a boyish enthusiasm for high adventure in an age undreamed of that laughing at it can’t help but feel mean-spirited. VHS-era sleaze like Teodoro Ricci’s Thor the Conqueror (1982) and John Watson’s Deathstalker (1983) are far more deserving of vicious mockery…