Pinocchio in Outer Space (1965) – Review

Some movies defy expectations, and then some movies defy basic comprehension. Pinocchio in Outer Space falls squarely into the latter category. This baffling Belgian-American animated sci-fi morality tale asks, “What if Carlo Collodi’s wooden boy tangled with giant alien crabs on Mars?”

Strap in, kids (and deeply confused adults), because Pinocchio in Outer Space is less of a movie and more of a fever dream shot into the cosmos on a rocket fueled by ’60s optimism and pure narrative chaos. This Belgian-American animated oddity takes Carlo Collodi’s classic wooden boy and hurls him through the stratosphere in a cosmic coming-of-age tale featuring space whales, a cranky turtle, and desolate Martian cities. Off the hop, we get this delightfully useful piece of narration, “The adventure you are about to see is based on a true portrayal of outer space, and could actually happen, to a puppet come alive.”

 

“What, they’re upgrading us to sci-fi now?”

Our story begins with the world’s most beloved former puppet, Pinocchio (Peter Lazer), now a real boy… but not for long. See, Pinocchio has backslid on his promise to “always be good,” and kindly Geppetto (Ray Owens) is beside himself as to what to do. Enter the Blue Fairy (Mavis Mims), who has apparently upgraded her fairy license to intergalactic probation officer, and punishes him by turning him back into wood. Bummer. But Pinocchio isn’t giving up that easily. He wants redemption, and what better way to prove he’s a hero than to save the Earth from a rampaging, satellite-destroying space whale named Astro?

 

Yes, a flying space whale. Don’t question it.

When a news broadcast states that there is a “handsome reward” for the capture of the creature, Pinocchio latches onto the idea of going off into space, catching the big space whale so that he’d win the reward, and they wouldn’t be poor anymore. “And I’d prove myself worthy, and the Blue Fairy would turn me into a real boy again.” Yeah, sounds like an excellent plan. Unfortunately, on the way to school, he runs afoul of the Fox and Cat from the original tale – now named Sharp (Conrad Jameson) and Groovy (Jess Cain) for some reason – and when they learn Pinocchio wants to catch Astro, they run a con suggesting that hypnotism could be the secret to defeating the space whale.

 

“Don’t let logic or book learning stand in your way!”

Enter Nurtle the Twurtle (Arnold Stang), a green alien turtle who rocks an aviator’s cap, arrives on a spaceship that looks like it was made by one of Santa’s elves, and has the dry wit of a weary substitute teacher. Nurtle’s mission was to investigate stories of a highly advanced civilization on Mars – the detection of radiation in the area supports this theory – but he landed on Earth due to his poor map-reading skills. Pinocchio warns Nurtle of the rogue space whale, and with the claim that he can hypnotize Astro, he is welcomed aboard Nurtle’s ship.

 

“Do you have strings to hold you down?”

At first, Mars seems to be a lifeless planet, endless tracts of sand, but the sight of a distant city gives them hope, and the two decide to check it out, that is, after rescuing their ship from a trio of gigantic Martian crabs who thought it looked like a nice snack. Sadly, when they eventually make it to the Martian city, they find it to be deserted, a collection of ruins that look to have been destroyed by a large space whale. Could the giant crabs and a giant whale have a common ancestry? Turns out the Martians had used radiation to mutate a variety of animals to turn them into giant biological weapons, which, of course, eventually bit them in the ass.

 

Martians developed their own kaiju, who knew?

The two flee from an assortment of these giant beasties, while also discovering the canal where Astro was created, but then they have to escape the underground catacombs as it begins to shake apart. It seems that a massive sandstorm has begun to sweep across the planet, and as it enters the city’s nuclear reactors, the whole place starts to come down around our hero’s ears. Luckily, their ship isn’t totally buried by the sands, and they lift off just in time to see the city detonate with a huge atomic mushroom cloud.

 

This is pretty dark for a kids’ movie.

Unfortunately, they almost immediately run into Astro, and Pinocchio once again finds himself in the belly of a whale, because this film is both a sequel and a remake of the original tale. But, fear not, kiddies. The Blue Fairy finally decides to make an appearance, and even though Pinocchio disobeyed his father, consorted with criminals, and lied his little wooden ass off, she gives him a little “hint” as to how to escape their current predicament. Yeah, they fly out Astro’s blowhole as if that wasn’t the most obvious escape route. This leads to a rousing battle between our heroes and the rogue space whale, using bravery, brains, and, surprise, surprise, a little bit of hypnotism.

 

“I think he’s right behind us.”

While Pinocchio’s attempts at hypnotism fail at first, a damaged fin on Nurtle’s ship causes the craft to spin in such a way as to mesmerize the big beast and become a puppet on a string, but the day isn’t quite saved yet. Astro’s route to Earth is too direct, and they will burn up in the planet’s atmosphere, so Pinocchio exits the ship to hook onto Astro’s “jet propulsion” spout to alter their course and save their lives. Sadly, this results in the little wooden boy being bathed in flames and dying. Needless to say, the Blue Fairy arrives, and Pinocchio earns back his human status.

 

“We’re just going to repeat the ending of the original, is that it?”

Stray Observations:

• A marine biologist theorizes that “A rare mutation, the kind that resulted in flying ants, flying squirrels and flying fish, may be responsible for the evolution of a flying whale.” Sure, that makes sense, but how about its ability to survive in space and develop rocket propulsion?
• Nurtle the Twurtle was voiced by actor Arnold Stang, who bad movie lovers may recognize as Arnold Swartzenegger’s co-star in Hercules in New York.
• Geppetto gets abducted by the plot and never returns. He’s barely in the movie. Pinocchio goes to space to prove he’s brave and honest… not to save Geppetto. Priorities.
• Pinocchio’s nose still grows when he lies, but also shrinks when he tells the truth, another added ability for this movie.
• Pinocchio and Nurtle find an underground city, one that is very reminiscent of the Krell city in the film Forbidden Planet.

 

“Keep an eye out for Id monsters, Pinocchio.”

Directed by Ray Goossens, Pinocchio in Outer Space is a 1965 offering that delivers a truly eclectic visual style. Imagine mid-century European animation colliding with Hanna-Barbera on a sugar high. There’s a weird charm to the stilted movements and odd colour palette, like a space-themed picture book brought to life with just enough LSD to confuse the kids and mildly alarm their parents. The character designs vacillate between cute and uncanny, with that classic ’60s European animation style that seems designed to make kids mildly uncomfortable. Voice acting varies from earnestly wooden (yes, again, appropriate) to melodramatic Saturday morning cartoon. The moral lessons are still there; don’t lie, be brave, help others, but they’re sandwiched between surreal alien encounters and intergalactic PSA-worthy messaging.

 

Pinocchio definitely has a dark side.

Pinocchio’s journey in this film is technically still about being brave and good, but that message is now filtered through alien landscapes, giant mutated monsters, and extended space sequences that feel like they’re one synthesizer track away from 2001: A Space Odyssey. It’s like Educational Filmstrip Theatre meets Plan 9 from Outer Space, but for children. Tonally, it’s a cosmic blender of child-friendly adventure, Cold War paranoia, and philosophical oddities. Pinocchio is still trying to be a “real boy,” but now he’s doing so while fleeing exploding nuclear reactors and pondering the ethics of space crab extermination. The moralizing is ever-present but hilariously shoehorned in. Your nose may grow if you lie, but you’ll really get in trouble if you mess with intergalactic crustaceans.

 

Avoiding intergalactic crustaceans is a lesson we all should learn.

Pinocchio remains the moral centre of the film, though his journey here is less about resisting temptation and more about gaining empathy and bravery. His character arc, though rushed, mirrors the themes of the original story, just filtered through a Jetsons-like lens. However, it’s Nurtle the Turtle who steals the show. Voiced with rapid-fire wit and no small dose of sarcasm, Nurtle provides the film’s comic relief and its scientific credibility. He’s a clear nod to the talking animal sidekicks of Disney fare, but has more in common with the fast-talking salesmen of 1960s American television. He’s easily the most memorable character and provides a much-needed anchor for the film’s otherwise scattered tone.

 

“I’m more effective than any cricket.”

And then there’s Astro. This isn’t Monstro from the Disney classic; this is a full-on nightmare beast from a sci-fi horror movie, complete with gaping jaws and cosmic mind control powers. He is a delightfully absurd antagonist. The idea of a gigantic, planet-destroying whale floating through the void of space is so wonderfully ridiculous that it becomes iconic in its own right. The creature embodies the “atomic age menace” trope common in 1950s monster movies, but with a fairy tale twist. The desolate Martian landscape also brings that “atomic age” feel to the forefront, with its destroyed city giving us a look at a possible future Earth.

 

Post-apocalyptic Earth, anyone?

Is it good? Maybe if you squint. Is it entertaining? In the way that watching a marionette puppet try to explain orbital mechanics is entertaining, absolutely. The movie is short, strange, and wildly inconsistent, but that’s part of its appeal. It’s got that special kind of vintage nonsense that makes you wonder what the writers were smoking (and where you can get some). Yet, it’s somehow earnest, like it genuinely believes that putting Pinocchio in a rocket ship is a natural extension of Carlo Collodi’s beloved 19th-century fable.

 

When Fantasy and Science Fiction collide. 

Ultimately, Pinocchio in Outer Space is a bizarre artifact from a time when animation was still willing to take absolutely unhinged risks. It’s not a classic by any metric, but it’s a cosmic curiosity worth witnessing if only to confirm that yes, this really exists. It’s baffling, bonkers, and kind of beautiful in its own off-kilter way. Definitely not “good” in the traditional sense, but oh boy, is it an experience.

The Loves of Hercules (1960) – Review

If you’ve ever wanted to watch Hercules rip a tree up by the roots, romance an entire nation of women, or wrestle a fire-breathing papier-mâché monster, then The Loves of Hercules is your golden ticket to Mount Olympus-level madness.

In the pantheon of sword-and-sandal cinema, The Loves of Hercules stands tall, not necessarily in quality, but in sheer, gleaming spectacle. This is a fever dream of ancient heroics, melodramatic romance, and creature-feature absurdity. This Italian peplum production delivers exactly what it promises: love, Hercules, and enough oiled pecs to fuel a bodybuilding expo. The plot, as is often the case in these mythological epics, is a tangled tapestry of revenge, political intrigue, and people yelling “Hercules!” a lot. There are scheming advisors, sacrificial rituals, and enough dramatic arm-gesturing to power a Shakespearean workshop. But narrative coherence takes a backseat to mood, muscles, and melodrama.

“Should I be going on some labours?”

But what exactly is this particular outing about? Also known as Hercules vs. the Hydra, the story kicks off with tragedy: Hercules (Mickey Hargitay), known as the strongest man in ancient mythology and a lover of wide stances, comes home to find his wife Megara (Barbara Florian) murdered and the village plundered. The culprit? The kingdom of Ecalia. But wait! The twist? King Eurysteus (Cesare Fantoni), ruler of Ecalia, was manipulated by his scheming advisor Licos (Massimo Serato), who then commits regicide to prevent Hercules from destroying the country out of vengeance. Licos is a man so obviously evil that he practically twirls his toga like a moustache. He’s the kind of guy who would tie a girl to train tracks at a moment’s notice.

“Could someone please go out and invent trains?”

Cut to Hercules getting a briefing by the Oracle, who tells him that his life will be full of madness and death because he killed the sacred serpent of the goddess Hera, which was a pretty dumb thing to do, as pretty much everything pisses off Hera, and she already hated Hercules for being the bastard son of her husband. Hercules doesn’t have to wait long to learn what form Hera’s revenge will take. A sole survivor of the attack on his village stumbles into the Oracle’s temple to inform the demigod of the murder of his wife.

Mythology Note: Megara’s death is a lot darker in the mythology. Hera sent a “madness” upon Hercules, and in a fit of divine-induced insanity, Hercules killed her and their children, believing they were enemies.

Fuelled by a potent mix of righteous fury, heroic justice, and biceps that could bench press Mount Olympus, Hercules storms back to Ecalia for vengeance. But instead of confronting a wicked king, he’s greeted by a surprise plot twist: Deianira (Jayne Mansfield) is now Queen, crown and all, and she’s barely holding the throne together with sheer willpower, royal poise, and an emergency supply of eyeliner. She’s caught in a political tug-of-war between civil unrest and the Greek equivalent of daytime court drama…oh, and also the unavoidable gravitational pull of Hercules’ oil-slicked pecs, which are basically doing their own diplomacy.

“Hercules, I feel really bad that we murdered your wife.”

A still scheming Licos comes up with a charming little game called “The Trial of Themis, the goddess of Justice,” which is basically axe-throwing with murderous intent. The goal? Trick Hercules into accidentally assassinating the Queen and calling it “justice.” Unsurprisingly, this plan goes sideways as Hercules is genuinely impressed by Deianira. She’s brave, beautiful, and not once has she swooned unnecessarily, which is rare in his line of work. While escorting her back to her capital (because nothing says “date” like a war-torn countryside), they stumble upon a group of distressed peasants who’ve just had a close encounter with a monster. Classic Tuesday. Always up for monster-hunting and heroic overachieving.

“Let’s ride around for a bit. A monster is bound to show up.”

Hercules goes off to find the beast, but while he’s off doing that, the local livestock decides to panic and stage a bovine jailbreak. A stampede erupts like a cow-themed chaos theatre, and Hercules, never one to shy away from dramatic solutions, whips out his trusty dagger and takes down a wild bull in one epic move. No lasso, no rope, just pure dagger-fuelled cow diplomacy. The peasants are terrified, Deianira is probably rethinking her definition of “chivalry,” and Hercules? He’s just getting warmed up.

Is this supposed to be the legendary Cretan Bull?

Now, does Licos give up? Of course not, evil doesn’t sleep, it just rewrites the plan. Next, he tries to bait Hercules into killing Achelous (Gil Vidal), who just so happens to be Deianira’s fiancé. The logic? Get Herc to go full rage mode, commit a passion murder, ruin his chances with Deianira, and clear the road to the throne for good ol’ Licos. Very subtle. And for a minute there, it almost works! Hercules is all ready to add “guy who smashed Achelous” to his résumé, until Deianira shows up with her best tearful plea and puppy-dog eyes. Herc, being a softie beneath those mountains of muscle, lowers his weapon and backs off. Heartbroken and emotionally winded, Hercules decides to peace out of Ecalia entirely, leaving behind the throne, the girl, and, most importantly, Licos’s increasingly ridiculous evil plans.

Mythology Note: Deianira was indeed one of Hercules’ wives, but their relationship ended in tragedy when she accidentally caused his death by giving him a poisoned tunic, thinking it would ensure his fidelity. That drama, arguably more interesting, is not in this film

Licos sticks to his evil plan like glitter on a preschool art project. He orders Achelous to be murdered using the same dagger Hercules left behind in the bull, because why waste a perfectly good murder weapon? He’s pretty confident Hercules won’t be popping back up to defend himself, what with being off doing muscley hero stuff. Unfortunately for Licos, plot convenience strikes again: one of Herc’s bros runs into him on the road and casually mentions he’s been framed for murder. Naturally, Hercules isn’t a fan of false accusations, so he stomps back to clear his name.

“Hercules, do you have a good lawyer?”

To keep the frame-up rolling, Licos tells the real killer, Filarete (Andrea Aureli), to go play hide-and-seek beyond the gates of the Underworld, because nothing says “innocent” like running straight into mythological hell. The plan? Hercules follows him in, they both get eaten by the Hydra, and Licos gets away with everything. Needless to say, things don’t go quite to plan. Filarete is killed by the Hydra, getting both stomped and munched, but Hercules slays the beast in a gloriously sweaty battle, which consists mostly of him slowly whacking at the neck of one of the creature’s three necks with an axe until a head falls off. Strangely, unlike the myth, it doesn’t grow back.

Is it just me, or does this Hydra seem to be missing a few heads? 

The fight wipes him out so badly that he passes out, but luckily for him, a group of Amazons loyal to Queen Hippolyta (Tina Gloriana) scoop him up like a lost puppy. Unfortunately, Hippolyta has a fun little hobby: turning ex-boyfriends into trees when she gets bored with them. (You know, like you do.) But Hercules isn’t into flora-based relationships; his heart belongs to Deianira. Miffed that her usual “turn-‘em-into-branches” charm isn’t working, Hippolyta’s advisor helpfully suggests she magically transform into Deianira. So, she gives herself a Mansfield makeover—same face, same figure, but now with red hair, because, you know, subtlety.

Mythology Note: While Hercules does encounter Amazons in his labours (notably Hippolyta, from whom he must take a girdle), the events and characters in the movie are anachronistically jumbled and over-the-top. The monster fight is pure cinematic invention.

Meanwhile, actual Deianira is busy discovering that Licos has the moral compass of a damp snake. Naturally, he responds to being found out by locking her up, like any proper villain with commitment issues. But back in Amazon land, Hercules is saved by Nemea (Moira Orfei) – the real MVP – who sacrifices herself so he can escape. Hippolyta, in true poetic justice, is crushed by one of her own enchanted exes. With the truth finally out and a righteous rage in his pecs, Hercules leads an army back to Ecalia to give Licos a one-way trip to Villain Defeat Town.

“Who needs an army? We have a demi-god standing right there.”

After getting thoroughly thumped in battle, Licos does what all good cowards do—he grabs Deianira and makes a run for it, hoping nobody notices the whole “kidnapping while losing” move. Unfortunately for him, his getaway is cut short when he runs into Alcione, a monster with zero patience for melodrama. Alcione promptly strangles Licos like he’s trying to juice a particularly evil orange. But before things can devolve into a full monster soap opera, Hercules bursts in like a shirtless wrecking ball, drop-kicks the creature into next Tuesday, and rescues Deianira in the nick of time—hair tousled, muscles flexed, and heroic lighting cue fully engaged. And with that, the curtain falls on Licos, villain, coward, and human stress ball.

Death by Bigfoot? 

Stray Observations:

• Hercules’ shirt budget was clearly zero dollars. I have to wonder if Mickey Hargitay was allergic to shirts. He wears a burgundy cape, a belt, and vibes.
• When Hercules arrives in Ecalia, the entire populace, including the army, flees to hide behind the city’s strong walls. Hercules has easily the biggest rep in all of Greece.
• Hercules tells Deianira, “Before finding you, nothing in this world gave peace to my heart.” This is said mere days after Deianira’s father supposedly murdered his wife. Damn, does this Hercules ever have a fickle heart.
• Insulted, Achelous attacks Hercules. Did he not receive the memo that everyone else in the country had about Hercules’ incredible reputation? There are better ways to kill yourself.
• Every problem is solved with a Bear Hug or a glare. Hercules negotiates like a toddler with super strength: lifting things and smashing furniture until people agree with him.
• Jayne Mansfield’s gowns are from the Victoria’s Secret “Mythology” Collection. No historical accuracy, but maximum sparkle and cleavage. Perfect for ruling a kingdom and distracting assassins.

“I have my hair done by Vidal Sassoon.”

Directed by Carlo Ludovico Bragaglia, The Loves of Hercules is “Greek mythology” the same way a paper plate is fine china, technically functional but mostly decorative. It borrows names and a vague mythic atmosphere, but it’s a romantic fantasy adventure designed for 1960s audiences, not a faithful adaptation of ancient stories. The Hercules myths are often tragic, exploring the themes of guilt, divine persecution, strength, and sacrifice. They’re darker and more complex than the film’s cheesy, Technicolor take. Think of it as mythology filtered through beefcake, hairspray, and an Italian movie set.

The Oracle has a very nice-looking cave.

But at the centre of this sword and sandal epic is Mickey Hargitay, the Mr. Universe-turned-actor, who swaggers through the film as the titular demigod with all the charisma of a stoic gym statue. Hargitay’s Hercules doesn’t do much in the way of emoting, but why should he? His pecs do most of the acting. Whether he’s ripping trees out of the ground, hurling boulders, or brooding over his love life, Hargitay delivers a performance that’s more about posing than pathos, and somehow, that’s half the fun.

Watch in awe as Hercules picks up heavy things and chucks them.

Paired with real-life wife Jayne Mansfield, who plays the widowed Queen, the film tries very hard to be a romance. And by “tries,” we mean it features long, lingering glances, dramatic declarations of honour, and scenes where Hercules saves her from various shirtless predicaments. Mansfield, ever the bombshell, gives her all to the role, balancing regal poise with campy distress, her hair and makeup remaining immaculate through battle, betrayal, and the occasional monster attack.

“Damn it, is it Tuesday already?”

Speaking of monsters…oh yes, there’s one. A delightfully low-budget creature appears late in the film, looking like a papier-mâché experiment gone terribly, gloriously wrong. It lumbers onscreen with a sort of confused dignity, as if unsure whether it’s in a horror film or a costume party. Hercules, naturally, fights it in a scene that’s more slow-motion wrasslin’ match than epic battle. That said, the full-scale puppet of the Hydra is impressive, if somewhat off-model from its mythological counterpart.

“Wow, Hercules is great at killing giant puppets!”

Visually, The Loves of Hercules is a time capsule of early 1960s fantasy filmmaking. The sets are colourful but obviously artificial, the costumes lavish and sometimes inexplicably revealing. Special effects are minimal and often unintentionally humorous, most famously, a lurching tree monster that looks like a piñata made of carpet remnants and despair. Yet these limitations give the film a certain charm. There’s a handcrafted quality to its world-building, where everything feels like it was created with love, ambition, and not nearly enough budget.

Hippolyta’s grove of ex-lovers needed a better landscaper.

What elevates the film beyond simple camp is its wholehearted embrace of the material. There’s no winking at the audience, no ironic detachment, it is earnest about its absurdity. It believes in its romance. It believes in its papier-mâché monsters. It believes that Hercules can stare stoically into the distance and solve all problems by flexing at them. And really, who are we to argue? There is a sincere attempt to tell a story of myth, love, and heroism, even if that story occasionally trips over its own sandals. It’s this sincerity that makes The Loves of Hercules both entertaining and oddly endearing. This is what makes this entry so enduring, or at least bizarrely enjoyable.

Why women love this guy, I’ll never figure out.

In conclusion, The Loves of Hercules is less a film and more a flexing, fur-lined fever dream. It’s campy, clunky, and completely committed to its own weird vision of myth. It’s not good in the traditional sense — but like a toga-clad soap opera with a dumbbell fetish, it’s incredibly watchable. If you ever wondered what Greco-Roman mythology would look like filtered through a glam-’60s lens, complete with heavy eyeliner and heavier biceps, look no further.

Starchaser: The Legend of Orin (1985) – Review

Once upon a time in a galaxy not-so-far away (specifically, the 1980s), someone asked: “What if Star Wars, He-Man, and Heavy Metal had a baby… and that baby was raised in a video rental store?” The answer, dear reader, is Starchaser: The Legend of Orin, a movie so boldly bonkers, so gloriously awkward, and so utterly 1985, it practically demands a standing ovation from fans of bizarre animated sci-fi.

This 1985 sci-fi fantasy blasts off with a plot so familiar that George Lucas probably felt a cold chill run down his spine when it premiered, before immediately realizing he was totally safe. We are first introduced to Orin (Joe Colligan), a rebellious caveboy living in a dystopian future where people have been mining crystals for a “god” named Lord Zygon (Anthony De Longis). His people live under the electric whips of robot overseers, but things take a turn for the better when Orin finds a magical sword buried in a cave wall that he’d been space-mining, which emits a “magical” hologram, who is totally not Obi-Wan Kenobi, and tells them of a world above the caves and “magnificent universe beyond.” Orin and his girlfriend, Elan (Noelle North), set out to discover this universe, but they soon run into Zygon, who strangles poor Elan to death.

Don’t you hate it when a love interest is fridged this fast?

Determined to uncover the truth, Orin escapes to the surface, encountering a harsh world filled with dangers. He quickly gets in over his head — literally — as he is captured by decaying cyborgs known as Man-Droids, who intend to harvest his body parts. In a twist that should surprise no one, the hilt emits an invisible blade, allowing Orin to defend himself and escape. He then runs into Dagg Dibrimi (Carmen Argenziano), a cigar-chomping, selfish, wisecracking smuggler who’s basically Han Solo if Han had less charm and sported a kicky neckerchief. Also, along for the ride is Silica (Tyke Caravelli), a reprogrammed office fembot who develops feelings for Dagg. But how does he reprogram a government fembot? Simple, he gags her and does some anal probing.

Things I didn’t need to see.

After many terrible misadventures, such as Dagg abandoning Orin and giving Silica to some slavers, making him not much of a Han Solo analog as he is a complete jerk rather than a lovable rogue, but the team is eventually back together again and on the run from Zygon’s minions. After getting shot down, Orin is found by the beautiful Aviana (also voiced by Noelle North), who’s not a princess but is the governor’s daughter, while poor Dagg falls into the clutches of Zygon he is given the standard interrogation technique you expect in space fantasies.

Hopefully, this will improve his personality.

While recuperating in Aviana’s boudoir, Orin learns that his “bladeless” sword is no ordinary weapon. It’s a sentient lightsaber with a moral compass that has been used by the Kha-Khan, a group of legendary guardians, to vanquish threats to humanity. It only reveals its full power when the user is “worthy,” and to be fair, as galactic heroes go, he’s a little off in the worthy category. But regardless of that, our band of plucky heroes will escape capture, get captured again, find themselves separated, until being reunited for the final battle.

“Do you know where we could find some Ewoks?”

As for the villain. Well, it turns out that Zygon isn’t a god; he’s just a cyborg despot who runs an interstellar crystal empire and likes to cosplay as an evil wizard. He commands an army of robotic thugs and has been hiding his goal of destroying humanity for centuries, and only the Kha-Khan have been able to thwart his plans over the years. The film concludes with Orin learning that he didn’t need that magic sword; he had “The Force” all along, and is about to cut Zygon down without it and free the enslaved galaxy. The fortress explodes (of course), and with Zygon defeated, the people of Trinia rise, their chains broken. Orin and Aviana embrace. Dagg… well, Dagg’s now officially hooking up with a robot. The galaxy, for the moment, is free, and Orin has become the legend he was destined to be.

“You’re not going to turn out to be my sister, are you?”

Stray Observations:

• The opening credits include “Starring the Voices of” and then proceed to list actors no one has ever heard of. Yeah, who needs celebrity casting?
• Orin pulls the magic sword out of the stone, which makes this thing a cross between Excalibur and a lightsaber.
• To prevent George Lucas from feeling too bad, Zygon’s robot guards resemble the Cylon Centurions from the television series Battlestar Galactica more than they do Stormtroopers.
• Zygon’s robot soldiers blow up when shot, but Dagg was able to use Silica as a “human shield,” and she takes no damage when hit. Were office droids given better armour plating for some reason?
• Aviana rides a horse similar to those found in the sci-fi fantasy cartoon Thundarr the Barbarian, which was ridden by Chewbacca knock-off Ookla the Mok.
• This film was released in old-school 3D. Yep, the kind with red-and-blue glasses! Starchaser was one of the first animated movies released in stereoscopic 3D. That explains all the random objects flying directly at the camera.
• Orin cuts Zygon in half with his “lightsaber,” and his two halves plunge down a deep chasm, which looks a lot like the fate of Darth Maul in The Phantom Menace.

Did Lucas rip off this film for his prequels? 

Produced and directed by Steven Hahn, Starchaser: The Legend of Orin is a curious artifact of mid-1980s animation, a film that boldly reached for the stars but mostly ended up caught in the asteroid belt of its more successful cinematic forebears. The film’s derivative plot isn’t helped by its uneven pacing or clunky dialogue. Characters appear and disappear without development, motivations shift on a whim, and the entire story seems to exist as a loose scaffolding for action sequences and recycled genre tropes. Orin, the ostensible hero, is a bland cipher, while Dagg—despite some attempts at antihero charm—often comes across as obnoxious or, frankly, creepy. And with a production budget of approximately $14–15 million, it only managed to gross $3.36 million at the U.S. box office, making its chances of a sequel slim to non-existent.

“Never tell me the odds.”

That said, where Starchaser distinguishes itself, however, is in its tonal dissonance and ambitious blend of genres. The film aims to be an adult-friendly animated adventure, featuring gunplay, death, and even sexual innuendo, while still visually resembling Saturday morning cartoons. This tonal clash can be jarring: one moment features slapstick robot sidekicks, the next reveals unexpectedly dark themes such as slavery, deception by religious authority, and a villain who is far more sadistic than his PG-rated contemporaries. It’s like someone tried to cram Flash Gordon, Heavy Metal, and a church youth group message into one film. The result? A confused Frankenstein of Saturday morning cartoon and fever-dream sci-fi exploitation.

Nightmare fuel, anyone?

Technically, Starchaser was ahead of its time in some respects. Its use of 3D was pioneering for animated features, and it made notable use of computer-generated backgrounds blended with traditional cel animation, a precursor to later advances in animated filmmaking. The animation, while rough around the edges, showcased detailed ship designs, imaginative alien worlds, and a degree of visual flair that helped separate it from lower-budget contemporaries. The visuals are all over the place: at times surprisingly cool with detailed backdrops and cool effects, and other times looking like someone spilled neon markers all over a storyboard and called it a day.

We do get worlds that look like Led Zeppelin or Black Sabbath album covers.

Yet for all its faults, and oh, there are many, Starchaser is wildly entertaining. It’s got that “how did this get made?” energy that turns a flawed movie into an unforgettable ride. It tries so hard to be epic, to be edgy, to be the animated space opera of its time. And in doing so, it ends up as a lovable, clunky space oddity, one that fans of cult animation, vintage VHS sci-fi, or just plain weird cinema will adore. It’s uneven, a bit exploitative, but also epically earnest in that beautiful, synth-drenched, animated ’80s way.

“One hero. One prophecy. Zero budget.”

In conclusion, Starchaser is a relic from a parallel dimension where copyright lawyers fear to tread, and storytelling logic went on permanent vacation. It’s a glorious mess, a bootlegged rollercoaster, and possibly the weirdest use of 3D since Jaws tried it. Watch it with friends, snacks, and a strong drink. Or don’t. The Legend of Orin will live on… in VHS bargain bins and confused YouTube compilations forever.