
Hawk the Slayer,
is a low-budget, B-movie easily described as terrible, cinematic rubbish. Its wooden acting, matte paintings, and indiscriminate use of fog machines adds charm to a script a 13 year old boy, with a icosahedron clutched in his fist, could come up with. Perhaps, we should look away and not be hypnotized by hula hoops and glowing ping pong balls. Cover our ears for we may be seduced by its discotheque-flute soundtrack. Can we shake off the many one-liners that borders between clever and dimwitted? It’s a movie we can all laugh, even cry, together.
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