Thursday, November 16, 2023

Starcrash

Evasive creative space pirates habitually manoeuvre to outwit the law (Caroline Munro and Marjoe Gortner), until one grievous inopportune day when they suddenly find themselves sentenced to life.

Fortunately for them, a courageous ship was sent out on a vital mission, to discover whether or not a powerful weapon exists, in the far off reaches of space.

As fate would have it, they were no match for the irate destructive colossus, yet three bold innovative cruisers escaped, their whereabouts heretofore unknown.

The space pirates, imaginatively engaged in improvised spur-of-the-moment shenanigans, soon find themselves tasked by the galactic Emperor (Christopher Plummer) to voyage to locate his forlorn son (David Hasselhoff [Hasselhoff does not show up in spellcheck!]).

They respond with innate gusto and are soon soaring throughout the heavens, following clues and appealing hyperbole wherever the seductive stars collide.

As the Emperor's rival the foul and cruel ignominious usurper known as Count Zarth Arn (Joe Spinell), plots to take over the galaxy with his formidable insufferable Lava Lamp. 

When the first two ships lead nowhere our reluctant heroes digress abandoned. 

But one cast-off vessel remains. 

Harbouring symphonic destiny. 

It's all in good fun unconcerned merrymaking inconclusively driving this campy space romp, through the spirited realms of theoretical melee to the upstanding spawn of illustrious bewilder.

Strange how Lucas found a way to make Star Wars seem so much more real, than his robust and ample competition there's no doubt it was a stroke of genius. 

Still though, when it doesn't work out why not add a robot programmed down south (Hamilton Camp as the voice of Elle, Judd Hamilton as Elle), to emphatically uphold intergalactic chivalry as starstruck maidens bravely prosper.

Perhaps space isn't the lofty officious spectacle it's pretentiously thought to be, perhaps horseplay and mischievous exaggeration at times do qualify its stately grandeur.

If not how would cultural propagation consistently redefine and reconstitute, throughout mutating in/animate continuums elaborately cascading in flagrant nadir?

When superlatives fail to provide what else awaits beside kitschy inexactitude? 

Netflix etc. have so much potential.

As does the old school compelling variety. 

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