Hawk the Slayer
Hawk the Slayer
Hawk, having suffered the ignominy of watching both his father and fiancée die at the hands of his brother, Voltan, sets out on a quest for companions to aid him in his fight to stop his brother's reign of evil and free the Abbess.
EnochLight reviewedJuly 15, 2025
Let’s address the chainmail-clad elephant in the room: Hawk the Slayer is, by most standards, firmly in the realm of 1980s bargain-bin sword-and-sorcery fare. It’s the kind of movie where the budget clearly lost a fight with the script—and possibly the catering bill. But here’s the twist: for all its low-rent trappings and melodramatic nonsense, it’s weirdly... kind of great?
When it stumbled into theaters in 1980, Hawk didn’t exactly set the world—or the box office—on fire. Critics sharpened their swords, and audiences mostly shrugged. But over time, something curious happened: it earned a cult following. And not in the ironic "so-bad-it’s-good" way, but because nestled deep within the polyester costumes and synth-heavy score is a genuinely ambitious film, at least in spirit.
Let’s give credit where it’s due. The core narrative—a Cain-and-Abel-style feud between two very dramatic brothers—is practically Shakespearean. The cinematography? Occasionally stunning, especially considering the film's budget likely wouldn't cover the cost of a single dragon wing in Game of Thrones. The world-building? Surprisingly solid, right up until you're reminded that this fantasy realm of elves, sorceresses, and glowing swords also has a Christian convent tucked into it, because... sure, why not? It was 1980 and conservative America would clutch its pearls without it.
And then there’s the cast. Jack Palance, as the villain Voltan, seems to think he’s performing King Lear on bath salts, while the rest of the ensemble ranges from "earnestly trying" to "just happy to be indoors." The elf character is a clear knockoff of Tolkien’s Legolas—if Legolas had fewer lines, more eyeliner, and a penchant for machine-gun edited archery like he was posing for a fantasy pin-up calendar.
Yet, for all its faults—and there are many—Hawk the Slayer has a kind of endearing charm. You can almost see the film straining against its own limitations, occasionally breaking through with moments that are actually well-executed, even inspired. It’s a cult film for a reason: it tried, bless its cotton-blend medieval tunic, and that effort counts for something.
Is it Boorman's Excalibur? No. It’s not even Krull (I'll fight you to the death with my Glave if you dare say anything bad about Krull). But it’s also not a waste of 90 minutes. It’s silly, earnest, occasionally beautiful, and wildly uneven. Watch it for the ride, stay for the laser-beam crossbow, and maybe—just maybe—find yourself cheering for a movie that aimed for epic and landed somewhere in “Saturday matinee oddity” instead.
Recommended? Absolutely—but only if you're into that kind of thing. Which, let’s be honest, you probably are.