The 13th Warrior film review

certificate_18

THE 13TH WARRIOR

From the flashing blades and dashing heroics of El Zorro, Antonio Banderas finds distinctly less glamorous company when seconded to a bunch of Vikings engaged in a desperate battle against cannibalistic aggressors.

It's 922AD, in case you were wondering, and the horned and hairy heavy metal brigade are taking a break from their trips abroad on the rape-and-pillage cruise to take on the much-feared Eaters Of The Dead, the name of the novel from which this is adapted.

Banderas is smooth, cultured Arab emissary Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan, sent travelling and winding up shoulder to shoulder with a barbaric horde whose table manners leave a lot to be desired.

If any are going to avoid actually becoming dinner, however, difference will have to be put aside as the terrifying foe comes nearer.

As Mel Gibson squarely proved by flapping about the Highlands in a kilt and badly applied eye-shadow, when you've run out of high rise office blocks and speeding public transport, simply replace automatic weaponry with great big swords and do it all over again. But where Gibson had the benefit of at least some vague historical root to his tale, Die Hard director John McTiernan's yarn issues from the pen of famed cinematic scribe Michael Crichton (Jurassic Park).

And therein, apparently, lies the problem. The film which blasts across the screen may be in keeping with the Viking ethos (ie. loud, brutal and rather messy), but it's the product of what is politely described as creative differences between McTiernan and Crichton. Rumour has it that Crichton, who's also the film's producer, eventually had the cutting room door locked, barring McTiernan's further involvement, suggesting rather heavily that the final outcome may not be quite as the director had in mind.

But, as ever in these cases of behind the scenes squabbling, what most cinemagoers really care about is the spectacle, no matter who is ultimately responsible for getting it to screen. And this does look fabulous. Murky Canadian landscapes double for the rainy, somewhat nippy climes of northern Europe, the Vikings are all of suitable build with appropriate coiffures, and Banderas is the sort of hunky, strident leading man you want at the centre of the piece.

If there's a criticism it's that, given the 18 certificate, the battle scenes could actually have been ratched up a couple of turns on the gore and violence front.