The first time I saw Conan the Barbarian (1982) it was either playing on HBO, or possibly a borrowed VCR tape. I was just a kid, 11 or 12 at most. My brother and I begged my old man to watch it; against his better judgement he caved. As long as we promised to cover our eyes during the worst bits. Yes dad, we will!

My old man, who probably had a beer or three in him after a long days’ work, promptly fell asleep on the couch and began to snore. His admonition and our promise were immediately forgotten. Our eyes were free to goggle at the next two hours of glorious violence and nudity, unspooling barbarism and bloodshed on the small screen. And we did.

I loved the movie then, and I love it now, 40 years after its release on this week in 1982. Time has not dimmed its power, nor my enthusiasm, for the original Conan the Barbarian.

Your mileage may vary. I know that many Robert E. Howard fans have strong opinions of the film, and not all positive. Today we know that the Conan of the film is not Robert E. Howard’s Conan. Yes, I wish we had a faithful adaptation of “Red Nails,” “Beyond the Black River” or “The Hour of the Dragon.” We didn’t get it with this film, and we still don’t. But, what we have in Conan the Barbarian 1982 is the greatest sword-and-sorcery film ever made. Perhaps that’s not much of a bar to clear when you observe the competition (Deathstalker, Beastmaster, Hawk the Slayer, The Sword and the Sorcerer, et. al, mostly junk), but it’s probably also the second-best fantasy film ever made, after Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings [LOTR isn’t even half as good as Conan—DMR]. And, it’s easily one of the all-time greatest dude-bro action flicks, too … while being something more than just loud and dumb and fun. It is all that, but there are some surprising depths to plumb in it. A riddle, you might say … of steel.

In short, what we have is a film that is great on its own merits, as a thing apart from Howard. And one that still pays a fine homage to REH with some Howardian flourishes and nods to the original stories.

What makes Conan the Barbarian so great? Here’s my non-exhaustive list.

The music. Of course, you can’t talk about this film without mentioning the iconic score. These are an underrated part of any film experience—how diminished would Jaws, or Star Wars, have been without their opening themes? Conan the Barbarian bows to no one in this regard. There's not much more I can add to the praise that's been heaped on its exceptional soundtrack, except that I'll take it one step further and say that composer Basil Poledouris put together the best score for any film, ever. Should you disagree, I present “The Anvil of Crom”.

Its lead. Arnold Schwarzenegger’s charisma is off the charts. He has it, he has always had it, and until the day he dies he always will. Schwarzenegger’s machismo charm, cockiness without arrogance, coupled with his terrific physique, explains why he was the biggest and best action hero in the decade of the action hero. His charisma helps explain why he won so many bodybuilding competitions, sometimes against dudes who were clearly better (see Mike Mentzer, robbed by the judges in Schwarzenegger’s Mr. Olympia return in 1980). It explains why he won film roles over dudes that were bigger and lacked the impediment of his foreign accent. Arnold is obviously not a great actor, and his lines in this film are deliberately few, but you can’t take your eyes off him. He was the perfect choice for this role, and so many others.

The rest of the cast. Sandahl Bergmann is, to quote John Milius’ hilarious and must-listen director’s commentary, a Valkyrie. She is stunning to look at, and moreover does a wonderful job playing Valeria. The legendary German actor Max Von Sydow has a bit part as King Osric, but plays it with incredible intensity and conviction, and seated on a throne, clad in fur, delivers one of film's most memorable lines: “There comes a time, thief, when the jewels cease to sparkle, the gold loses its luster, when the throne room becomes a prison, and all that is left is a father's love for his child” (an homage to Howard’s Kull). James Earl Jones matches Schwarzenegger beat-for-beat with his turn as the charismatic Thulsa Doom. And what’s not to like about Sven Ole Thorsen, a jacked 6’5 bodybuilder who plays a warrior named Thorgrim, and wields a massive war hammer capable of knocking over stone columns? I could go on and on—Gerry Lopez as Subotai, Mako as the wizard, etc.—but will stop there. What an ensemble.

No CGI. CtB was made in an era when effects and props were real. Yes, a few today look a little dated, there are some obvious blue screens, etc. But the weapons and giant snakes feel heavy, and present, the temples real, and lived in (they were actual constructed sets). The Hyborian Age world feels both remote, and apart, but also our own, grounded, dirty. This historicity sets sword-and-sorcery apart from Dunsanian worlds of faerie, and CtB is a prime example.

The Riddle of Steel. It remains a riddle, open to our interpretation. I've watched this film a dozen or more times and still haven't settled on a satisfying answer. Conan's father starts the film with a wonderful speech to his son: “The secret of steel has always carried with it a mystery. You must learn its riddle, Conan, you must learn its discipline. For no one in this world can you trust--not men, not women, not beasts, but this (points to sword) you can trust.”

This theory (steel is mightier than the flesh) seems straightforward enough, except that, later in the film, Thulsa Doom powerfully demonstrates to Conan the superiority of flesh over steel, beckoning a rabid follower to leap off a cliff to her death. "What is steel compared to the hand that wields it? Look at the strength of your body, the desire in your heart,” says Doom.

Later Conan's father's sword is shattered by Conan's own vengeful hand, which seems to reaffirm Doom's statement. But at the conclusion of the film, Conan beheads Doom with the broken blade before casting it away. So, is the riddle of steel the combination of steel and flesh, impassioned by the purity of vengeance, which drives men to singleminded deeds and great heights? Is it an affirmation of the Nietzschean aphorism “that which does not kill us makes us stronger,” and that we are purified and strengthened by our trials?

At the end--like Conan himself--I'm left contemplative, hand upon chin.

I recently reread the Lin Carter/L. Sprague de Camp novelization after a gap of decades, and man, it’s not very good. Not that that surprises me too much, given the slapdash way in which this pair often handled the character. It feels like Carter might have written it in a weekend while smoking butts, drinking cognac, and cribbing from the Milius/Stone screenplay—poorly. All the beats of the film are there, but the tension is gone, the poetry of the film removed, the best lines altered just enough to strip them of much of their power. Carter/De Camp even add some needless deus ex machina modifications; for example Conan is freed from his Pit Fighter bondage by an earthquake that weakens his cell walls and drops his Vanir slavelord into a fissure (in the film, his captor strikes through his chain and lets his protegee run free like a wolf—so much better). That type of dumb-ness.

My advice—stick to the film, which is not Howard but is 10x better, and to this day remains 10x better than just about any other fantasy film ever made.

And if you don’t like it, well, “then to hell with you!”

Brian Murphy is the author of Flame and Crimson: A History of Sword-and-Sorcery (Pulp Hero Press, 2020). Learn more about his life and work on his website, The Silver Key.