Arnold Schwarzenegger dreams of a Conan return, yet it’s never likely to look as unique and boundary-pushing as fantasy hell ride Conann.
Arnold Schwarzenegger made it big in Hollywood with Conan the Barbarian in 1982. For some time now, the former governor has been flirting with a return to the role of the muscular warrior. Because that worked so convincingly in the memorable Terminator films of recent years. In doing so, we now have the better film update of Robert Howard’s creation. The rese is from the uniquely disgusting, transgressive and beautiful Conann, which premiered at the Cannes Film Festival. The fantasy hell ride reimagines the barbarian from the ground up as a woman looking back on the blood trail of her life’s stations.
The barbarian is played by six women in the fantasy adventure
Conann is the third feature from Bertrand Mandico who hit like a bomb of glitter, sailor yarns and fake penises among fans of queer, transgressive filmmaking in 2017 with The Wild Boys. In it, he sent five uncontrollable boys (played by women) on a reforming voyage with a hypermasculine captain. The black-and-white spectacle, charged with eroticism and violence, landed at No. 1 among the best films of the year by the renowned film magazine Cahiers du cinéma.
Conann
Mandico returns to the Croisette this year with Conann, carrying fewer penis dummies but a good load of cannibalism, torture and ripped-out guts. His Conann finds herself as an older woman at the gates of hell, where she meets a kind of Cerberus with the beautiful name of Rainer (like Rainer Werner Fassbinder). Rainer wears leather, but his most striking feature is probably his dog face. Like a Master of Ceremonies, Rainer presides over the review of their lives, loves and (rather bloody) deeds.
From 15-year-old Connan, when her mother is split in two before her eyes by a barbarian, to 55-year-old, the journey takes us, with faces changing every ten years. Conann is in fact played by a total of six actresses.
Arnold Schwarzenegger’s barbarian becomes a romantic idol
Mandico processes Robert Howard’s fantastic vision of masculinity as a disturbing round dance. Its structure is more like that of Max Ophüls’ glamorous riot of color Lola Montez about the eponymous courtesan than John Milius’ Conan the Barbarian.
The muscular fantasy icon transforms into an idol of dark romance who falls in love with her parents’ murderer and escapes to a life far from sword and sorcery. At least for the time being. For Mandico wants to disturb, wants to strain boundaries of kitsch and blood until they blur into each other. That’s why Conann (film as well as character) wallows not only in selectively lovingly decorated cave sets, but in self-pastures, brain matter and other ingredients to the human condition. At some point she even pulls out a machine gun.
Conann certainly doesn’t meet everyone’s taste. He repels. Either because of the disgusting handmade effects. Or thanks to the over-stylized, poetic escapades of hellhound Rainer, who comments on everything like a philosophy professor at the World Cup. If you belong to the small intersection of film lovers who are attracted to both, you should definitely keep an eye on Conann.
The uncompromising originality of The Wild Boys doesn’t seem quite as fresh in Conann, but Betrand Mandico remains a reliable organizer for journeys into his strange, beguiling cinematic world.
