Heavy Metal (1981)

This is the single most juvenile film ever made. Heavy Metal is a 1981 Canadian animated anthology picture aimed at 13-year-old boys and 13-year-old boys only. Across a series of violent sci-fi tales scored to glorious 80s rock, a tidal wave of animated breasts and decapitated green aliens flood the screen. This film was based on Heavy Metal Magazine: the publication that cornered the market on gory sci-fi erotica. It makes absolutely no concessions to good taste. For 90 minutes, there is only Devo, statuesque warrior babes and ray guns. I would be profoundly embarrassed to watch this film with a woman, or anyone else with a pulse. I need to make a confession. In the shame of my own company, I enjoy the hell out of Heavy Metal. Should I feel bad? Should I offer an apology to someone, somewhere? Should I be writing contrite letters to Malala Yousafzai and Emma Watson? Perhaps. Maybe I’m just too woke for my own good.

Heavy Metal tells the story of a glowing green orb: an artefact of pure evil that spreads death and destruction wherever it is found. An astronaut drives a Corvette through space, returning home with the orb in his possession. After it melts him into a puddle of slime, the orb demonstrates its sentience, scaring the astronaut’s daughter with tales of its terrible deeds. The orb had created barbarian hordes, corrupted the good, doomed the innocent and devastated entire planets. Only a select few champions have the might to stand against it and restore peace to the universe. Some are photogenic ladies, and some are ordinary dudes. A cynical New York cabbie finds himself in a tryst with the orb’s beautiful keeper. An outcast teenager is transformed into a muscular galactic warrior and is tasked with searching for the orb in a brutal outer-space kingdom. An avenging Amazonian alien flies an extra-terrestrial pterodactyl through a post-apocalyptic wasteland, slaying the orb’s army. These are the champions.

Each new tale is a glorious excuse for shameless comic book entertainment. The orb is an all-powerful McGuffin: it doesn’t matter. What truly matters are the jolts of 80s rock, the blue jokes, the slimy aliens and the next inevitable display of cartoon nudity. Heavy Metal poses as an epic sci-fi saga in the same way that Playboy Magazine poses as a serious journalistic outlet. It’s clear what both are bringing, and who both are catering for. On the basis of its blatant juvenilia, Heavy Metal should be laughable and easily dismissed. However, it earns itself something of a positive reputation by virtue of its technical merits. For starters, the animation is fantastic. Four separate studios worked on the various segments, giving each its own distinctive look, ranging from the Saturday morning cartoon aesthetic of the raunchy Amazonian adventure to the Pink Floydian vibe of a bizarre segue involving an island full of crashed WW2 bombers and their zombie crews.

Heavy Metal coasts on the psychedelic, sexed-up vibe popularised by countercultural weirdos like Robert Crumb and Ralph Bakshi. Faces are rendered into icons of beauty or grotesque caricatures, vivid primary colours burn through the screen and great care is placed into shaping the contours of the human body. The film is a tapestry woven with the shrieking skulls of Iron Maiden cover art and the kind of buxom ladies who could decorate the nose of a 1940s American bomber. There’s something tactile and lovable about Heavy Metal’s old-school hand-drawn cartoon style. I warm to it far more than the cold pixels of CGI animation because it looks like a retro comic book come to life. I appreciate the blueness. The adult-oriented tone gives every squelchy alien a heavy dose of personality: they mouth off like frat bros, snort lines of interstellar cocaine and act as each others’ wingmen, bringing the rituals of male bonding to the furthest reaches of the universe.

Heavy Metal was produced by filmmaker Ivan Reitman (Ghostbusters, Dave, Stripes) and contains a bucket load of talent from his native Canada. Four separate members of legendary Canuck sketch troupe SCTV (John Candy, Eugene Levy, Joe Flaherty and Harold Ramis) lend their voices to an assortment of animated ghouls and aliens, giving the film a surprising credibility that it doesn’t entirely deserve. Most of the SCTV alumni have bit parts, but Candy has one of the film’s largest roles. He voices Den, the nerdy loser teenager who finds himself transformed into a hunky alien strongman. Candy does a decent job, centring the silliness and fetishist storytelling around a sympathetic character: a recognisable human outcast in a world of extremes. It’s not enough to distract from the softcore drawings, but Candy gives it a go.

Heavy Metal’s soundtrack just might be its saving grace. The old joke with Playboy was that its readers only bought the magazine for the articles. I think people may have watched Heavy Metal for its music alone. The film boasts a truly bodacious assortment of tracks, pairing up a gorgeous space-age tune from Steely Dan frontman Donald Fagen with choice offerings from Stevie Nicks, Journey, Cheap Trick, Devo, Blue Öyster Cult and more. Most of the music was composed specifically for the film, and it fits like a velvet glove. This soundtrack is the perfect mix of 80s soft rock and mullet metal, moving between smooth grooves and jagged riffs as classic cars navigate the Van Allen belt and intergalactic goddesses dive into crystal clear pools of sparkling water. I was reminded more than once of the animated Transformers movie (released five years later): another kick-ass psychedelic cartoon that makes ample use of cheesy 80s rock. In both cases, the combination is blissful.

I only became aware of Heavy Metal as a result of its parody in a South Park episode named Major Boobage. The name fits. I’ve mentioned the film’s emphasis on nudity several times in this review, but I can’t possibly mention it enough. I have never seen so many animated breasts packed into such a short running time. If a female character appears onscreen, she will be undressed within minutes. It’s inevitable. I felt scuzzy and embarrassed while watching Heavy Metal, but only because I was enjoying it on such an adolescent level. Films tend to use their eroticism wisely. Their sexual scenes will either be brief, tastefully obscured or confrontational and challenging. Heavy Metal is effectively softcore porn. No excuses are given and no excuses can be given. This film forced me to face my own flaws and admit that I’m a primordial superannuated teenager who longs for problematic trash. I offer no excuse or apology. Heavy Metal is the cruder animated answer to Barbarella, and I confess that I like it a lot.