Why This Sci-Fi/Fantasy Fan Refuses to Watch Sci-Fi/Fantasy

No, I’m not making this up. This is an actual promo for The Rings of Power, season three, showing the teenage children of Prince Durin and Princess Disa

“If you are such a big science fiction and fantasy fan, why didn’t you watch Watchmen,* Lanterns, or The Boys?” For precisely the same reason I didn’t watch Peacemaker, Supergirl, or The Odyssey: I’m a big science fiction and fantasy fan.

I respect the lore and the genre, and expect high-quality storytelling. I also have enough self-respect and brains to reject the ideological slop Hollywood churns out to ridicule, humiliate, and alienate the very fanbase that made these properties valuable in the first place.

Generally, I refuse to knowingly subject myself to this garbage, though in recent years I have made a couple of exceptions for Red Sonja and The Rings of Power because Robert E. Howard and J.R.R. Tolkien are my absolute favorites. While the chain-bikini-clad iteration of Red Sonja is technically not a Howard character, she inhabits his Hyborian Age, and I grew up reading Roy Thomas' stories.

Controversial among my friends, and a point we argue incessantly, I would even go so far as to say I slightly prefer Howard to Tolkien. So, when Netflix’s plan for a live-action Conan the Barbarian series was abandoned back in 2020, we didn’t realize how lucky we were. As I wrote in The Witcher and Elric of Melniboné, I’m now genuinely relieved they skipped this opportunity to drag Howard's masterful creations through the mud.

Professor Tolkien, unfortunately, was not so lucky. His Middle-earth did not escape the clutches of these fell fiends. No exaggeration, The Rings of Power may be my most hated television series of all time, and I watched Briganti.

With season three scheduled for release this November, I can’t wait to argue again with the dullards in my office who actually like the show. Hard to believe, I know, but fans of this garbage do exist. Alas, the weirdos and mattoids we encounter on social media are all too real.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, October 29th, Feast of San Gaetano Errico

* I actually liked the Watchmen (2009) movie, but had absolutely no interest in the 2019 TV series.

Making Up for Missing Comic-Con

This year, my trip to Italy meant missing New York Comic Con. While there is nowhere I would rather be than Italy, I must admit I missed the thrill of hunting for long-sought fetish properties, admiring the elaborate cosplay costumes, and perhaps finally acquiring an original Frank Thorne Red Sonja illustration, one I still regret passing up last year.

To “console” myself, I paid a visit to my local comic book shop and treated myself to a few elusive pieces for my modest hoard. Among my finds were Kull the Destroyer #11, finally completing my collection of the original Kull series (Vol. 1); Conan the Barbarian: Red Nails #1, the giant-size, ad-free special issue published in 1983; and King Conan #1, illustrated by the great John Buscema.

It wasn’t quite the same as wandering the aisles of Comic Con, but there is something immensely satisfying about filling those long-standing gaps. As for that elusive drawing of the She-Devil with a Sword, the hunt will hopefully continue at next year’s convention.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, October 22nd, Feast of San Simmaco di Capua.

Farewell to a Master of Sword and Sorcery: Sanjulián

24 June 1941 – 14 October 2026

The passing of legendary Spanish fantasy artist Manuel Pérez Clemente, better known as Sanjulián, marks the loss of another giant from the golden age of fantasy illustration.

As a lifelong sword-and-sorcery and fantasy nerd, I have always loved his work. Alongside Frank Frazetta, John and Sal Buscema, Frank Thorne, Richard Corben, Tony DeZuniga, and so many other greats, Sanjulián helped shape my imagination and my love of the genre. His paintings conjured a world of brooding warriors, beautiful women, and dark places.

Pictured here is my copy of Sword’s Edge, a magnificent collection of paintings inspired by the works of Robert E. Howard, and a treasured part of my library.

Another master has passed into legend, but the worlds he created will endure.

Rest in peace, Sanjulián.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli

Flash Gordon and the Lost Art of Escapism

As I recently stated in my review of She (1935), I will not knowingly subject myself to the current dross passing itself off as science fiction and fantasy. Thankfully, there are still plenty of older films and shows worth watching and rewatching. Last movie night, I broke out my copy of Mike Hodges’s Flash Gordon (1980), produced by the legendary Dino De Laurentiis, and it was a blast from the past, as we spilled our popcorn and sang along to Queen's unforgettable theme song.

The film is colorful, extravagant, campy, and wonderfully over-the-top. Rather than apologizing for its pulp origins, it embraces them completely, transporting us to the strange and fantastical world of Mongo, with its rival kingdoms, bizarre creatures, elaborate costumes, beautiful women, battles, daring escapes, rocket ships, and larger-than-life villains.

Max von Sydow is magnificent as Ming the Merciless, while Brian Blessed nearly steals the film with his thunderous performance as Prince Vultan. Sam J. Jones makes for an appropriately straightforward, old-fashioned hero, while the sultry Ornella Muti is unforgettable as the seductive Princess Aura. And, of course, Melody Anderson brings plenty of charm and spirit to the role of Dale Arden.

Flash Gordon is not interested in realism, cynicism, or taking itself too seriously. Nor does it berate or preach to its audience, burdening its escapist pleasures with the ideological messaging, fashionable nihilism, and calculated vulgarity so common today. It is heroic, romantic, ridiculous, imaginative, and, above all, immensely entertaining, something much of modern fantasy seems to have forgotten.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, September 11th, Feast of Saints Protus and Hyacinth

Frank Frazetta Takes His Place at the Lucas Museum

A selection of Frank Frazetta collectible cards from my personal
collection, featuring several works that will be on display
at the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art

For admirers of Frank Frazetta, there is another reason to look forward to the opening of the Lucas Museum of Narrative Art in Los Angeles this September.

When the long-awaited museum opens its doors on September 22nd, Frazetta will be among a select group of illustrators honored with individual galleries. His gallery will showcase a selection of illustrations and book covers from the museum’s collection.

It is a fitting tribute to an artist whose influence extends far beyond the fantasy genre. With his brooding warriors, fearsome monsters, strange worlds, and voluptuous women, Frazetta helped define the visual language of modern fantasy and inspired generations of illustrators, filmmakers, comic artists, and designers.

Among the Frazetta works in the Lucas Museum collection are his magnificent 1970 cover for Edgar Rice Burroughs’s A Princess of Mars, depicting John Carter and Dejah Thoris, as well as his eerie 1980 painting Mothman.

For those of us who have long regarded his work as something more than commercial illustration, seeing Frank Frazetta given a gallery of his own in a major museum feels long overdue.

Reinstating Comic Book Night

As a kid, buying a new comic book was one of those little pleasures I always looked forward to. Once my chores were done, I’d collect my allowance and run to John’s Sweet Shop, Blondie’s, or Brain Damage Comics to buy the latest issue of my favorite series (Conan, Kull, Red Sonja). It was a simple ritual that made an ordinary day feel like an occasion.

Attending New York Comic Con with friends over the last couple of years rekindled some of that old enthusiasm, and the anticipation of this year’s convention in October has only added to it. In the mood to indulge myself, I’ve decided to reinstate comic book night.

Once a month, I visit my local comic shop and flip through the bins in hopes of completing the runs I collected as a child and still own today. Not much of a fan of modern comics, I’m more interested in finding those elusive back issues. I could easily hunt them down online, but I’d rather support a mom-and-pop shop. Besides, discovering something interesting and unexpected is part of the fun, as is talking to the other collectors.

Unfortunately, much of what interests me isn’t particularly popular or readily available on the shelves. The upside is that, when I do find something, it usually isn’t terribly expensive. I’ve also developed a good rapport with the proprietors, who put aside things they think I might like. This month, I came home with a decent copy of issue no. 22 of Creatures on the Loose, featuring the first appearance of Thongor, Warrior of Lost Lemuria, penciled by Val Mayerik and inked by Vince Colletta.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, September 6th, Feast of San Fausto di Siracusa

She: A Haunting Vision of Lost Worlds

“Often I sit alone at night, staring with the eyes of the mind into the darkness of unborn time, and wondering in what shape and form the great drama will be finally developed, and where the scene of its next act will be laid.” ~ H. Rider Haggard, She

I have become increasingly frustrated, and frankly disgusted, with the state of modern fantasy and science fiction films. So much of it feels soulless and derivative, overwhelmed by spectacle, ideology, and subversive messaging at the expense of mystery, imagination, and wonder. As a result, I have taken to watching and re-watching old favorites and classics, returning to an era when filmmakers still understood that the fantastic should transport us somewhere strange, beautiful, and beyond the ordinary.

She (1935) is a wonderfully atmospheric tale, based on H. Rider Haggard’s celebrated 1887 novel She: A History of Adventure, one of the great works of Victorian imaginative literature. Filled with peril, adventure, and the supernatural, the film blends romance, archaeology, and the arcane.

Helen Gahagan as Queen Hash-A-Mo-Tep
in She (1935), wearing the regal costume
and headdress that would influence the
appearance of Disney's Queen Grimhilde in
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)

In this adaptation, the immortal Ayesha, known as “She-who-must-be-obeyed,” becomes Queen Hash-A-Mo-Tep, portrayed unforgettably by Helen Gahagan with an imperious beauty and otherworldly presence. Her striking appearance would later serve as a model for Disney's Evil Queen in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937). The film’s lavish visual design and dreamlike imagery bring this Gothic epic vividly to life.

The novel’s vision of an ancient civilization hidden from the modern world helped establish many of the conventions of the lost-world genre and has inspired generations of writers and artists. The 1935 adaptation captures the author’s fascination with forbidden places, the mysterious past, and the allure of immortality.

One of the film’s most significant departures from the novel is its shift from the remote interior of Africa to the frozen reaches of Muscovy. Beyond the forbidding Shugal Barrier lies the forgotten Kingdom of Kôr, a mythical land seemingly cut off from the known world and the course of history.

The change opened a new frontier while giving the picture a haunting atmosphere of glaciers, savage troglodytes, and an ancient kingdom concealed beneath snowbound mountains. It also helped distinguish the 1935 version from earlier adaptations, transforming Haggard’s tropical lost world into a strange, subterranean realm. Although far removed from the novel’s geography, the Siberian setting preserves the essential idea at the heart of the original story: an arduous expedition into a place seemingly untouched by time.

My two editions of H. Rider Haggard's She

Rewatching She only deepened my appreciation for the film. The magnificent sets, elaborate costumes, evocative cinematography, and Max Steiner’s sweeping musical score create a sense of grandeur and enchantment that I find sorely missing from so much modern filmmaking. Nearly a century later, She remains a captivating relic of Hollywood fantasy at its most imaginative and romantic.

I also enjoyed the smaller details: the way people spoke, carried themselves, dressed, and interacted with one another. There is a formality and courtesy even in ordinary exchanges that belongs to another world as surely as the film’s lost kingdom does. Watching She was therefore more than an escape into fantasy. It was also, in its own way, an escape into the past, and for a little while I was happy to lose myself in both.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, September 1st, Feast of Sant’Egidio 

Simple Pleasures — A Long-Overdue Re-Bagging

Re-bagging and boarding my old comic books has been on my to-do list for longer than I care to admit. What I imagined would be a simple after-dinner task quickly turned into a multi-evening trip down memory lane. It was impossible to replace the old bags without stopping to flip through them, admire the art, or reread a story I had nearly forgotten.

The diversion has been a welcome bit of escapism, even if progress has been slower than expected.

Why I Won’t Be Reviewing The Odyssey (2026)

Ulysses deriding Polyphemus, 1829, J.M.W. Turner

Several friends were genuinely surprised when I told them I had absolutely no interest in seeing Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey (2026). Given my lifelong love of mythology, fantasy, and science fiction, they assumed it would be at the top of my list. In a saner age, they would probably be right.

Unfortunately, we no longer live in that world. We live in a cultural landscape that gave us The Rings of Power, where beloved myths are routinely stripped of their spirit and rebuilt according to modern ideological fashions. I have too much love and respect for Homer to spend my time or money on what appears to be another exercise in the same destructive impulse.

The casting choices and costume design were enough to make me skeptical from the beginning. However, reports that the film embraces modern dialogue and contemporary political framing removed any lingering curiosity. I do not need to see it to know it is not the Odyssey I want.

What surprised me most is how much faith people place in Christopher Nolan. Apparently, his name alone is enough to draw audiences into theaters. I confess I do not understand the reverence. Of his thirteen feature films, I have only seen Dunkirk (2017) and the Dark Knight trilogy. None left much of an impression on me. I considered watching Oppenheimer (2023), but never got around to it, and I remain in no hurry.

I also have no interest in participating in the endless online culture war surrounding this film.

I’d rather revisit films that still understand wonder without apology: The 7th Voyage of Sinbad (1958), The Golden Voyage of Sinbad (1973), Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (1977), Clash of the Titans (1981), Excalibur (1981), and Conan the Barbarian (1982). Those films remain magical because they approached myth with reverence, imagination, and sincerity. They invited audiences into legendary worlds rather than dragging those worlds into the fashions and preoccupations of the present.

As for new releases, the only films I am genuinely looking forward to this year are I Play Rocky (2026), Godzilla Minus Zero (2026), and Robert Eggers’ Werwulf (2026).

There will be no review of Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey here. Some films are simply not worth three hours of my life.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, July 22nd, Feast Day of Santa Maria Maddalena

Frank Frazetta Immortalized in Gold

Dark Kingdom

Three of Frank Frazetta’s most iconic paintings—Dark Kingdom, Dawn Attack, and Green Death—have been newly minted as real 24-karat gold bills through MetaMark’s official Aurum® series, issued in a strictly limited quantity.

As someone who has long admired Frazetta’s work—the raw power, movement, and mythic intensity he brought to fantasy art—I have to admit this is a striking concept. Seeing these pieces translated into gold gives them a certain permanence and novelty that collectors will no doubt appreciate.

That said, while I find the idea undeniably appealing, the price point places it just out of reach for me. Still, for those who are interested in owning a unique and tangible tribute to one of the greats, it may be worth a look.

mtlmrk.com/frazetta

Dawn Attack

Green Death

Sal Buscema, 1936–2026

Sal Buscema (born Silvio Buscema), one of the great craftsmen of American comic art, passed away on January 24, 2026, two days before his 90th birthday. A first-generation Sicilian American from Brooklyn, Sal was part of a wave of New York–based artists who helped define the visual language of Marvel Comics during its formative years.

He was the younger brother of the legendary John Buscema (1927–2002), and together they formed one of the most influential sibling pairs in comics history. While John was often celebrated for his grandeur and classical power, Sal’s work was marked by clarity, discipline, and an almost architectural command of sequential storytelling. His long runs—especially on The Spectacular Spider-Man—taught generations of readers how comics were meant to flow.

I read their comics as a kid and admired the work for many years. Looking back, it’s clear that what they shared was not just talent, but a seriousness about the craft.

Sal Buscema leaves behind a formidable body of work, defined by strength, discipline, and a mastery of visual composition that helped shape the medium itself. He is survived by his wife and three sons.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli

Godzilla Minus One as Judgment

Memories linger.
Imprinted forever, like
The bite of a shark.
~ haiku by Troy Southgate, Where the Thames Flows into the Shinano

In response to my Cautious Hopes: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms article, a reader suggested I watch Godzilla Minus One (2023). As much as I love science fiction and fantasy, my initial reaction was hesitation since I haven’t cared for most Godzilla films in recent years. Still, after a friend whose taste mirrors my own urged me to give it a chance, I finally did.

It’s funny how some readers would prefer I confine myself to Southern Italian matters, while others wish I would focus exclusively on Catholicism. And others still seem to appreciate when I write about culture more broadly—especially when it involves reclaiming it from the grip of ideologues. This review falls squarely in that last category.

As a boy, I loved the Godzilla films of the 1950s through the 1970s. Godzilla, to my young mind, was not a joke or a mascot; he was a terrible and tragic force—oddly dignified. In fact, I wept when he lost a fight to King Kong. Even in childhood, I sensed that the great kaiju was not merely a monster. He was a judgment—something unleashed in response to human transgression.

During a family road trip to Pennsylvania, I remember sitting in the back seat of the car, half-lost in thought, until I saw electrical transmission towers for the first time. To my parents’ great amusement, I suddenly shouted “Tokyo!”—having only ever seen such structures in films where Godzilla tore through them while leveling cities in Japan. To this day, my family still calls that stretch of highway Tokyo.

Those films—along with Battle of the Planets, Shogun Warriors, and The Micronauts—were my earliest exposure to Japanese popular culture. By high school, that interest had deepened and sharpened. Drawn to stories of samurai, geisha, and kamikaze, I encountered literary and martial figures like Yukio Mishima and Harukichi Shimoi, the latter a bridge between Italy and Japan, who pointed to a world where honor, aesthetics, and national character still mattered. In college, my interests expanded further into bushidō, Zen Buddhism, and the austere disciplines of haiku and tanka poetry.

That—more than nostalgia—is why Godzilla Minus One demanded my attention, and why it deserves to be taken seriously.

A force of reckoning, the film restores weight to Godzilla’s presence—moral, emotional, and physical. When he appears, the mood tightens. The destruction feels consequential, not playful, and dread is allowed to build rather than being buried under excess.

What sets the film apart is its seriousness. The human story matters, shaped by loss, responsibility, and limits. Godzilla does not interrupt the narrative; he completes it. The visual effects are disciplined, serving the story rather than overwhelming it. There are a few moments that verge on the absurd, but they remain contained. Restraint ultimately makes the monster far more terrifying than constant exposure ever could.

Godzilla Minus One rejects modern cynicism and self-parody. It treats myth, tragedy, and judgment without apology. In doing so, it reminds us that Godzilla once meant something—and can again.

A must-see for science fiction fans—and for anyone who still expects seriousness from the genre—I’m looking forward to the announced sequel, Godzilla Minus Zero, scheduled to be released later this year.

~ Giovanni di Napoli, January 16th, Feast o San Marcello I

Cautious Hopes: A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms

Looking for some new and worthwhile fantasy to watch, I find myself cautiously anticipating A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, set to premiere on HBO Max on Sunday, January 18, 2026. Having never read George R.R. Martin's books, I’ve come to it only through its trailers, but I’m told that shouldn’t matter. Supposedly, this series stands on its own—unburdened by deep familiarity with Game of Thrones or House of the Dragon, both of which I declined to follow. My hope is simple: a fantasy story without the modern drama and gratuitous perversion that made those shows intolerable.

Recent history doesn’t inspire confidence. Between the abysmal Red Sonja, the hollow spectacle of The Green Knight, the limp streaming adaptations of Robin Hood and The Witcher, and early glimpses of The Death of Robin Hood and The Odyssey—whose costuming and casting choices already raise red flags—optimism feels naïve. And yet, I persist—apparently a glutton for punishment.

What’s been lost is a certain seriousness of myth: the kind found in Excalibur, Conan the Barbarian, and The Lord of the Rings trilogy—films I return to regularly. I’m not opposed to camp or fun; I enjoyed the original Clash of the Titans and Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves. What I have no patience for is the effete sensibility of many contemporary epic fantasy productions (e.g., Rings of Power), which mistake ideology and moral posturing for world-building and substance.

Still, hope remains. Recent adaptations of Nosferatu and Frankenstein prove that, when they choose to, Hollywood can still produce works with atmosphere, restraint, and craft. Perhaps A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms will be another reminder that sword and sorcery need not be stupid, obscene, or cynical. I would be pleased to be surprised.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, January 10th, Feast of Pope St. Agatho

Why the Witcher Left Me Cold and Elric of Melniboné Still Burns Like Witchfire

I recently picked up Heavy Metal #2, Variant
Cover A — Featuring Elric by Gerald Brom

While sick in bed with a cold for a couple of days, I took the opportunity to binge-watch The Witcher, a streaming series I’d heard both praise and condemnation for. Itching for a “new” sword-and-sorcery tale to disappear into, I found myself, halfway through season two, wondering why I didn’t simply return to old favorites—Excalibur, Conan the Barbarian, or The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Still, somewhat invested—and clearly weakened and confused by my sickness—I chose to see it through, foolishly hoping the show would improve. In hindsight, it was a poor decision on my part.

Assured by hardcore fans that “the books are way better” (a refrain I also heard from Harry Potter cultists—I did not like those movies, by the way), I found myself even less inclined to invest precious time reading Andrzej Sapkowski’s stories. Instead, the show—admittedly due to superficial similarities—nudged me toward something far richer: a desire to re-read Michael Moorcock’s Elric Saga, a dark-fantasy childhood favorite that shaped me as deeply as J.R.R. Tolkien, Edgar Rice Burroughs, and Robert E. Howard.

For those who don’t know, Elric of Melniboné is doom made flesh—the last, sickly emperor of a languishing empire, sustained by drugs until he binds himself to Stormbringer, the runesword that drinks souls and feeds him stolen vitality; an antihero in the truest sense. Albino, red-eyed, frail as parchment yet terrifying in sorcery, Elric wanders a dying world as both savior and scourge.

A tragic figure, he is a philosopher-king born into a race of decadent sadists, cursed with a conscience they never had. His victories leave ash, his morality damns him, and his Black Blade—his greatest strength—hungers for those he loves. Yet there is a stark beauty in him: a lone, pale figure against apocalyptic skies, wrestling with fate itself. In an age of disposable fantasy protagonists, Elric still feels dangerous, lyrical, and alive.

Considering how atrocious most film and television adaptations have become, I am genuinely relieved no studio has yet sunk its claws into Elric. The list of butchered sci-fi, fantasy, and sword-and-sorcery properties grows longer every year. While not all recent adaptations are disasters—Nosferatu, Frankenstein, Hellboy—these successes are rare flashes of integrity amid the slop the industry churns out.

If anything, revisiting Elric reminds me that some worlds are better left on the page, untainted—where the imagination can still conjure storms worthy of Stormbringer.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, December 10th, Translation of the Holy House of Loreto 

In Praise of Méliès’ Le Voyage dans la Lune (A Trip to the Moon)

Le Voyage dans la Lune (1902), drawing by Georges Méliès’

At long last, I finally watched Georges Méliès’ Le Voyage dans la Lune—that marvelous 1902 fantasy in which a band of adventurous astronomers launch themselves toward the moon in a cannon-propelled capsule. In just thirteen minutes, the film carried me not only to the dawn of cinema but back to my own childhood, when my father would spool up his old reel-to-reel projector and cast black-and-white dreams onto a bedsheet pinned to the wall. Those flickering phantoms—20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, The Land That Time Forgot, King Kong, and The Adventures of Baron Munchausen—were among my earliest and most cherished cinematic encounters with science fiction.

A scene from Le Voyage dans la Lune (1902)

Méliès’ masterpiece still holds the same spell. The fantastical Selenites—moon men who leap, dance, and vanish in curls of smoke—feel like creatures lifted from classical mythology or medieval bestiaries. He creates a universe where the improbable is welcomed, where curiosity is heroic, and where the heavens are an open invitation rather than a limit.

For anyone who wants to remember a time when art was playful, inventive, and unafraid of its own whimsy, Méliès’ lunar voyage remains a small but radiant treasure.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, December 3rd, Feast of St. Francis Xavier

Help Save the Robert E. Howard Museum—The Home of a Legend

Photo courtesy of the Robert E. Howard Museum

“Know, O prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars…” ~ The Nemedian Chronicles, Robert E. Howard

Robert E. Howard

The Robert E. Howard Museum in Cross Plains, Texas—the humble home where the creator of Conan the Barbarian, Bran Mak Morn, and Solomon Kane dreamed his immortal worlds into being—is in need of our help. More than a museum, it’s the birthplace of modern heroic fantasy and the beating heart of sword-and-sorcery itself.

For me, Robert E. Howard was one of the great shaping forces of my imagination. Alongside the artwork of Frank Frazetta, his stories fired my adolescent mind as much as the Matter of Britain, the Matter of France, and the ancient myths of Greece and Rome. His heroes were larger than life yet deeply human—fierce, fatalistic, and alive with the tragic poetry of struggle.

If Howard’s work ever stirred something in you—if his tales of courage and doom helped you see the world a little differently—please consider supporting the preservation of his legacy. The house still stands in Cross Plains, but it needs champions of its own now.

For more information, visit https://reh.world/articles/museum/

Geeks, Freaks, and Workmates: Mandatory Fun Day at New York City Comic-Con

My new twenty-sided dice stress ball

For the second year in a row, my co-workers and I had the great pleasure of attending New York City Comic-Con on opening day at the Jacob K. Javits Convention Center—a little dose of mandatory fun and much-needed R&R. The Con has come a long way since my dad first brought me back in 1977, when the crowd fit comfortably in a few hotel ballrooms and “cosplay” wasn’t even a word.

We’d talked about dressing up for the occasion this year, but, as usual, our work schedules (and indecision) got in the way. We couldn’t agree on a theme, and time slipped by. Showing my age, I settled for the low-effort route: a funny hat, a twirled mustache, and the claim that I was Dick Dastardly. It was better than nothing, I suppose.

Sciel and Gustave from Clair
Obscur: Expedition 33

The center was absolutely packed—shoulder to shoulder with superheroes, villains, aliens, elves, and every other imaginable life form. The cosplay was half the fun. Some costumes were pure art, others deeply strange, a few questionably rated, and many simply baffling to me. Not being a gamer or much of an anime or manga fan, I didn’t recognize most of the characters—but I admired the dedication. The usual suspects were out in force: Marvelites, Bronies, Trekkies, Furries, and every fandom in between. My favorites were a fierce Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland, a dangerously seductive Federica Krueger, and a duo portraying Sciel and Gustave from Clair Obscur: Expedition 33, a dark fantasy Belle Époque video game I’d never heard of until the friendly couple explained it to me.

The vendor hall was a universe unto itself—endless booths of collectibles, art prints, weapons, plushies, and things I couldn’t begin to describe. Oddly enough, comics now make up only a small corner of Comic-Con. Still, I spotted a few gems: some interior pages of Red Sonja by Frank Thorne and Conan the Barbarian by John Buscema that nearly had me reaching for my wallet. In the end, I kept it simple—just picked up the latest issue of Heavy Metal Magazine, a new absinthe spoon, and a twenty-sided dice stress ball.

By the time we left, exhausted and overstimulated, we were all making the same promises we did last year: next time, we’re definitely dressing up.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, October 10th, Feast of St. Francis Borgia

Movie Review: Red Sonja (2025)

Spoiler Alert!

Fire and Fury in the Age of Conan. ~ Tagline from Red Sonja comics

I’m not sure what possessed me, but I sat down to watch M.J. Bassett’s Red Sonja (2025), fully aware it was going to be bad. Not “good-bad” (like the campy fun found in Flash Gordon (1980), Barbarella (1968), or even the zany cult oddity Forbidden Zone (1980)), but truly bad-bad—in the same vein as Conan the Barbarian (2011) starring Jason Mamoa, The Green Knight (2021) starring Dev Patel, and Amazon’s The Rings of Power (2022– ). My childhood obsession with Robert E. Howard’s Hyborian Age is no doubt to blame for why I subjected myself to it.

As a boy, I devoured Sword and Sorcery, High Fantasy, Sci-Fi, and Horror fiction. The stories of Robert E. Howard (Conan, Bran Mak Morn, etc.), J.R.R. Tolkien (The Hobbit, LOTR), Michael Moorcock (Elric, Corum), Edgar Rice Burroughs (Tarzan, Barsoom), H.P. Lovecraft (Cthulhu, etc.), Frank Herbert (Dune), and even John Norman (Gor) were my favorites. While my friends stuck with mainstream superhero comics (The X-Men, The Avengers), I gravitated toward the darker, more pulpier titles: Savage Sword of Conan, Vampirella, Savage Tales, Creepy, Eerie, and of course, Red Sonja. I even collected the full fifteen-issue self-titled run in the ‘70s, though truth be told, I always preferred Conan’s swashbuckling paramours—Bêlit and Valeria.

My collection of Red Sonja comics

Despite being a stickler for lore, I can forgive liberties in adaptation when they serve the story. John Milius’s Conan the Barbarian (1982) starring Arnold Schwarzenegger took plenty, but still captured the spirit and to this day remains one of my all-time favorite fantasy films. [1] But Red Sonja (2025) goes far beyond creative license. It doesn’t just take liberties, it guts the character entirely. By rewriting her origins, the film strips away the mythic weight that made the "she-devil with a sword" compelling and replaces it with a confused, hollow “girl-boss” caricature.

In Marvel’s original story “The Day of the Sword,” written by Roy Thomas, Sonja’s family is slaughtered by a group of mercenaries, and she is raped by their leader. Left to die, a mysterious “vision of madness” offers her a chance for revenge by granting her supernatural martial prowess, on the condition she never allows herself to be touched by another man unless he first defeats her in fair battle. It’s grim, tragic, and mythic. In the movie, by contrast, the red-haired hellion is a natural-born warrior, slaughtering her opponents with ease, without any training.

Splash panels from "The Day of the Sword," written by Roy Thomas. (Top) Illustrated by Howard Chaykin, Kull and the Barbarians, Vol. 1, No. 3, Marvel Comics, September 1975. (Bottom) Illustrated by Dick Giordano and Terry Austin, Savage Sword of Conan, Vol. 1, No. 78, Marvel Comics, July 1982

The plot doesn’t help. Reimagined as an eco-warrior, Sonja wages war against Emperor Dragan (Robert Sheehan), who is clear-cutting Hyrkania’s forests in his quest for an ancient, arcane manual of world-conquering technology. Along the way, she’s captured by the baboon-faced General Karlak (Martyn Ford), thrown into gladiatorial games, and forced to battle a giant cyclops. To give you an idea of what passes as dialogue, armed with only a wooden sword and wondering what they’ll face, a fellow gladiator says, "Well, you best hope it's not a giant beaver."

Naturally, Sonja breaks the creature's magical bonds with ease, convinces it to rebel against the emperor, and brings the cyclopean coliseum (no pun intended) crashing down. From there, the film devolves into a slog of poor performances, awkward fight scenes, and flat dialogue, with cheesy costumes and an uninspired score. By comparison, the much-maligned Red Sonja (1985) adaptation starring Brigitte Nielsen looks like a cinematic masterpiece.

My collectible Red Sonja pint glasses

If I’m being charitable, I’ll admit this much: Matilda Lutz looks the part. Though less ample than the original comic character, she still projects a certain Sonja-esque presence. While the film tones down the fighting first lady of sword and sorcery’s iconic assets, her provocative chain-mail bikini—to the chagrin of misandrists everywhere—still drew my male gaze. That’s the single compliment I can offer before the whole enterprise collapses under the weight of mediocrity.

Hollywood keeps trying to retrofit sword-and-sorcery pulp into contrived modern formulas, memory-holing its brutality, primal masculinity, and tragic grandeur. Strip those elements away, and you’re left with something empty—like this film. Red Sonja deserved better. So did we.

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, September 11th, Feast of Beato Carlo Spinola

Notes:
[1] To give a sense of my cinematic taste across these genres, here are my top five picks I can always revisit: Excalibur (1981), Clash of the Titans (1981), Conan the Barbarian (1982), Blade Runner (1982), and Dune (1984).

Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad

Promotional posters for Hellboy: The Crooked Man, Nosferatu, and Time Bandits

The über-geek in me is really looking forward to the upcoming Nosferatu and Hellboy: The Crooked Man movies scheduled to be released later this year. Considering how bad the movie industry has been the past decade or so I should be more cynical, but the trailers for these two films look pretty promising. By contrast, I am much less excited for Apple TV’s adaptation of Time Bandits. I suppose it was too much to expect a trifecta.

Hellboy: The Crooked Man (2024)

Hellboy: The Crooked Man #1,
Dark Horse Comics, 2008

“Dark things call to dark things.” ~ Anung Un Rama (Jack Kesy), Hellboy: The Crooked Man

A big fan of retro sci-fi/steampunk (Heavy Metal), [1] sword & sorcery (Savage Sword of Conan), and horror (Eerie, Creepy, and Vampirella) comics, I did not read Mike Mignola’s Hellboy in the 90s. A little too old, by then I was way more into books, music, and girls, and drifting away from graphic novels. While I did enjoy the first two live-action films starring Ron Perlman, [2] I did not care for the 2019 Hellboy reboot with David Harbour.

Doing a little research, the story is supposed to take place in the desolate backwoods of Appalachia in the 1950s. [3] That alone is the stuff nightmares are made of. Similar to the way Jaws (1975) ruined the ocean for me, the rapey hillbillies in Deliverance (1972) have me almost as terrified of the American hinterlands as I am of Gotham’s crime-ridden subway system.

Without giving too much away, our cambion (half-demon) protagonist battles a coven of witches and the “Crooked Man,” an executed 18th-century war profiteer named Jeremiah Witkins who has returned from Hell and haunts the remote wilds of Virginia. [4] I have no idea how true to the lore the Crooked Man movie will be, but I like the dark and spooky ambiance of the trailer. Reportedly absolutely no CGI was used on Hellboy or the Crooked Man. Using only practical effects, this gives it more of an old-fashioned horror movie vibe than a superhero flick.

Jack Kesy is convincing as the corneous-shorn hell-spawn

Watch Trailer

Nosferatu (2024)

“He is coming” ~ Just about everybody in the trailer

Even more excited for Robert Eggers' Nosferatu, I have always been fascinated by vampires. As a kid, who didn’t love playing with plastic fangs on Halloween and repeating the famous line—wrongly attributed to Bela Lugosi in Dracula (1931)—“I vant to suck your blood,” in your best Transylvanian accent? Later enticing my overactive adolescent imagination, I relished, among others, the erotic vampiric depictions of Manuel Sanjulián, José González, and Frank Frazetta, especially those of the voluptuous blood-sucking temptress Vampirella.

A remake of F.W. Murnau's 1922 German silent film Nosferatu – Eine Symphonie des Grauens (Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horrors), the forthcoming film stars Bill Skarsgård as the vampire, Count Orlok. Commonly mistaken as the vampire’s name, “nosferatu” is actually an archaic Romanian word for “vampire.” Though we never see Orlok’s harrowing visage in the trailer, there is no doubt this is going to be a visually stunning period piece replete with dark, grotesque, and macabre imagery.

Count Orlok in F.W. Murnau's Nosferatu - Eine Symphonie des Grauens (1922)

Like the vast array of literary folklore, poetry, and fiction dedicated to the ghastly creatures of the night, most notably Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897), there have been countless cinematic depictions since Murnau’s horror classic. Too many to remember, let alone list here, there are more than a few I would like to forget. Some of the better ones include the dark comedies Vampires (2010) and What We Do in the Shadows (2014).

Perhaps a bad sign, I forget my verdict on the three-part BBC/Netflix television series Dracula (2020), but I do recall being amused by the scene where Count Dracula (Claes Bang), after being imprisoned beneath the sea in his coffin for 123 years, resurfaces and is astonished by the technological advances of the modern world. "I knew the future would bring wonders," he tells his victim, "I did not know it would make them ordinary."

Considering Hollywood’s poor track record of late I shouldn’t have high expectations, but for some reason I do. Looking forward to seeing it in the theatre, my only complaint (thus far) is that Nosferatu is being theatrically released on Christmas Day.

Lily-Rose Depp as Ellen Hutter, the object of Count Orlok's unwanted affection

Watch Trailer

Time Bandits (2024)

The Supreme Being (aka God),
Time Bandits (1981)

“Is it in fact unfair to criticize a formerly great artist for his latter day sins, is it better to burn out or fade away?” ~ Barry Judd (Jack Black), High Fidelity (2000)

Unfortunately, as good as Hellboy and Nosferatu look, Apple TV’s upcoming Time Bandits series looks utterly dreadful. I had a whole tirade planned to attack the talentless hacks in the motion picture industry who incessantly set about ruining successful and beloved franchises, [5] however, I was sorry to learn, that director Terry Gilliam, the creator of the original Time Bandits (1981), is affiliated with this project. I could not be more disappointed.

Clearly marketed for children, one can say that I am not the target audience. My response to that would be, so was the original, and as far as I’m concerned it still holds up and makes me laugh. I know this because I recently watched it with my nephews and we were all rolling with laughter. Dark, gritty, smart, and irreverent, there was no sanitizing or dumbing down necessary. Its anti-materialistic message is timeless. Easily the greatest cinematic portrayal of Napoleon Bonaparte I’ve ever seen, it also boasts my favorite rendition of Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr.’s catchy ditty Me and My Shadow. The Robin Hood segment with John Cleese was comedic genius.

(Top) The real Time Bandits: Og, Strutter, Fidgit, Vermin, Randall, and Wally.
(Bottom) The wannabes: I couldn't be bothered to look up their names 

The two versions of the story feel very different. In the original movie, the diminutive highwaymen (“stunted little proles” as the Evil One calls them) have a brief disagreement over control of the map of the universe. “Do you want to be leader of this gang?” asks Randall. “No, we agreed no leader,” responds Strutter. “Right,” says Randall, “so shut up and do as I say.” Hilarious! In the remake, the new DEI time bandits are surrounded by masked warriors and a female samurai threatens to kill them if they don’t identify themselves. “I am Penelope,” says Lisa Kudrow, “and I am in effect the leader.” When all the swords are aimed at her, she cravenly changes her tune: “Fundamentally though we are all equal.” Absolute cringe! If this is the kind of drivel they’re marketing to children these days, it's no wonder they’re all messed up.

Trailers generally offer highlights and spoilers from the show to help entice viewership. If that is the best the new adaptation has to offer then they are in big trouble. Maybe it’s my twisted sense of humor, but I could not muster a single chuckle. Never mind the recent assassination attempt of President Trump, the ongoing political turmoil, or the coming global cataclysm, this garbage proves we are living in the darkest timeline.

It looks like they changed the Supreme Being into Neptune, Triton, or Poseidon

Watch Trailer (at your own risk)

~ By Giovanni di Napoli, July 19th, Feast of Saints Giusta and Rufina

Notes:
[1] Heavy Metal was a sci-fi and fantasy magazine published between 1977 and 2023. Filled with fantastic stories, characters, and artwork like Den (Richard Corben), RanXerox (Stefano Tamburini), and Druuna (Paolo Eleuteri Serpieri), my all-time favorite was a short one-off five-page story about an un-killable warrior named Kyrn by Simon Bisley and Garry Leach in the 1993 special issue Heavy Metal War Machine.
[2] Hellboy (2004) and The Golden Army (2008).
[3] The Crooked Man was a three-part miniseries published in 2008 by Dark Horse Comics in Hellboy issues 33 through 35.
[4] Ibid.
[5] The most unforgivable example to my mind was the desecration of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings by Amazon’s irredeemable Rings of Power (2022).