Greetings and salutations, dear friends. I’d like to introduce myself as that guy from the Old Spice commercials but since that so directly contradicts reality, I’ll instead introduce myself as your resident pulp sci-fi critic. Movie studios have produced a cornucopia of movies which transcend mediocrity and achieve greatness by being unintentionally hilarious. I am a traveler in search of new experiences, a hunter seeking buried treasure, a seriously unwell individual that actually enjoys watching this drek. I seek out these turds and polish them to a high-gloss sheen so that hopefully, I can show you what beauty I see.
In other words, I watch the crap so you don’t have to.
As with most shamefully terrible yet amusing films, the full impact of the plot is most enjoyed in its most compact form: a lone sniper from an unspecified US military organization is caught in a trap laid out by a terrorist who he thought was a man he was saving from the terrorists and suffers what would otherwise be a fatal wound were it not for an experimental medical procedure which inexplicably teleports him to a planet called Mars, existing in another solar system, where he is befriended by a warlike but noble tribe of lizard people (after using his new-found super strength to save them from an assault by a swarm of giant insects) who capture the Princess of Mars (Academy-Award Nominee* Traci Lords) and bring her before their king who forces everyone to fight in gladiatorial combat at which point we run into the terrorist again who damages the atmospheric generator, forcing our hero to manually activate the Big Red Button ™ that starts the backup atmospheric generator and saves the planet from suffocation in reverse Total Recall style.
You have to appreciate any medical device that teleports you to another solar system on a misfire. That’s like buying a microwave oven that, when it breaks, turns into a trebuchet and kills you with dinner. I think that part of this movie’s charm lies in the CGI sequences that take me back to the height of mid 90s computerized effects and Traci Lords’s one-size-fits-all pout. Part of me hopes for a sequel but the rest knows it would never be as “good.”
* Oh, I’m sorry, X-Rated Critics Organization Nominee, 1985. My bad.