Reed isn't even the star, that dubious honour belongs to some oiled up Heston-alike who is apparently dubbed throughout due to an inability to shake off any traces of his native Italian accent. He's pulled out of our world into a leather fetishist's seed-spilling dream where men are men, women are good only for ogling even when they can fight as well as men, where dwarves are dwarves and the budget was presumably all spent on Reed's alcohol intake leading to all props and interior scenery looking worse than the Blue Peter sponge, bottle tops and green paint Tracey Island.
Ah Sarah Greene, how enthusiastically you tried to convince pre-pubescent children that making shit models of television landscapes was meaningful and even fun.
Yes I digressed. It's the only way to survive this movie without emasculating yourself with a rusty pen. Or cutting off your breasts with sponge, bottle tops and green paint.
Let's see now, can I even be bothered to work out if the alleged plot is worth dissecting any further? Not really. It's one of those shonky epic journey things that is just about accurate when it comes to depicting a journey but lies and lies again in claiming to be in the slightest bit epic.
Gor was not a stand alone piece of moronic garbage at the time, though. Fantasy movies were all the rage: Colon The Barbarian; The Never Ending Search For Story; Labyrinthitis - these rare box office and critical successes unfortunately spawned hundreds of puerile imitations, each more tatty and shit-smeared than the last. Perhaps the only positive thing to be said about all of them is none were quite as awful as Gor.
Rhymes with bore.
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