See John Boorman’s psychedelic dystopian mind-twister in a theater today and half the audience laugh their asses out of their seats at the overcooked acting, bombastic action and hippie-era eroticism. Read some science-fiction from the time though and Boorman’s ideas hold up next to the day’s dangerous visions and taboo-destroyers. It falls apart toward the end, but the ambition is there.
Here, Sean Connery’s futuristic primitive man (because, after all, human progress is cyclical rather than linear) sneaks his way into meeting God, only to find that God is just another man. God is a sly trickster who manipulates the simpletons below. He’s also part of a society of scientifically engineered immortals who keep themselves hidden from the plebes, but who have plenty of drama of their own in their damaged Utopia.
It’s sacreligious, blasphemous and ridiculous, bless its crazy heart. On paper this might work, but on film Boorman’s ideas never transcend its time. Zardoz collapses under the weight of a thousand Ace Books paperbacks. No matter how far out Boorman’s concepts fly, all we see is James Bond gone long-haired and clothed in a red diaper. Connery here is as campy as can be, uncomfortable down to his handlebar mustache with Boorman’s flying freak-flag and a role that asks little of him beyond transmitting his hairy-chested musk through a movie screen. It’s a bad film, but watchable enough to survive the decades as a wild cult favorite and a prime example of a director using his clout after making a hit (Boorman’s Deliverance) to produce something totally off-the-wall.