We know that Robert E. Howard was a big fan of the movies. His letters to Tevis Clyde Smith and Harold Preece mention numerous films that Howard saw and many, such as The Mark of Zorro (1920) and Robin Hood (1922) with Douglas Fairbanks, no doubt had some influence on his yarns (a full list of films mentioned by Howard, along with an brief discussion on the subject by Rusty Burke is available on the REHupa website). One film, though, that Howard never explicitly mentions, but that scholars have often wondered if he saw, is King Kong (1933). King Kong was revolutionary film when it came out, with incredible stop-motion animation that would influence future filmmakers for decades. It was the Star Wars or Avatar of its day. And with its theme of savagery versus civilization and hints of a lost advanced culture on a Pacific island it had elements that surely would have appealed to Howard. But if he did see it, there is no mention of it in the existing corpus of his letters.

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It is one of the goriest and most bizarre episodes in the bizarre and gory history of Central Asia. In the chaos of the Russian Civil War, a White Russian warlord, descendant of German Baltic Crusaders, arose in Mongolia to build an empire on a foundation of human skulls.

His name was Baron Roman Federovich von Ungern-Sternberg — partisan warrior, mystic and madman.

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Yet what is more beautiful than a splendid human body in coordinated motion? The lithe finely poised figure of a dancer, the pantherish body of a boxer with the wedge-shaped torso, the long swelling muscles rippling under the smooth velvety skin, the easy glide of onset and retreat, the perfect balance and carriage, the suppleness of limb–where is a finer model for an artist or sculptor?
–Robert E. Howard, letter to H.P. Lovecraft, ca. December 1932

It’s sometimes asserted that illustration, especially fantasy or science fiction illustration, is not on the same level as “true art”: the reasoning being that art as commercial, mercenary work, as opposed to art for art’s sake, excludes it from the pantheon of real artistic endeavour. Such a view is not only painfully divorced from the history of art, where many of the greatest paintings were commissions for pampered nobles or local churches, and it’s an entirely arbitrary and worthless distinction to make. How can the motivation behind a work of art’s creation exclude it from consideration? How can a beautiful painting fail to be considered as art, whereas something like, say, a dislocated urinal is? The notion of “high art” is thus fraught with fluctuating social trends, reinterpretations, and above all, subjectivity–much like “high literature,” or most odiously of all, those who insist on a fallacious distinction between “books” and “literature.” Much as C.S. Lewis disregarded the desire to appear mature as a sign of immaturity in itself, I long ago cast away such childish ideas of what was “allowed” to be art and what wasn’t, and started to make up my own mind.

Illustration, in my opinion, can be counted as being something more than what it was commissioned to be–it can speak beyond mere depiction of characters and events that happen in another medium, and convey the deeper themes and thoughts that may not be apparent at first glance. There can be a great synergy between author and illustrator that creates a symbiotic magic unique to the medium, where the two complement each other perfectly, making something that is greater than the sum of two parts–Roald Dahl & Quentin Blake, Arthur Rackham & Lewis Carroll, Lord Dunsany & Sidney Sime, George Cruikshank & Charles Dickens, J. Allen St. John & Edgar Rice Burroughs, Sidney Paget & Arthur Conan Doyle. Nobody provided a better example of this phenomenon than the combination of the king of fantastic art of the 20th Century, Frank Frazetta, and the master of Sword-and-Sorcery, Robert E. Howard.

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Of songs sung on the Western frontier, most of them, especially cowboy songs, originated in Texas, since that state was the first Anglo-American region to truly deserve the designation of “West” in the proper sense. Texas songs went up the Chisholm with the longhorn herds and spread all over the West, being changed in other states to correspond with the locality in which they were sung. Other songs – hunter’s and rivermen’s – came through the Middle-West. A few originated in America, most were old British ballads changed by ignorance or intent, taken from, and added to, to suit the minstrels’ notions. Its strange how old some of those songs are, and how long the old ballads lingered.

– Robert E. Howard to H.P. Lovecraft, ca. October 1931

Sixty-four years after Robert E. Howard touched on the connection between his beloved cowboy songs and the British Isles from whence his bloodline hailed, an ace mandolin player from Alberta, Canada, embarked on what was then a unique project. David Wilkie and The McDades blended cowboy songs with traditional “Celtic” instrumentation — the tin whistle, the harp, the fiddle, and, of course Wilkie’s mandolin in an infectious CD titled “Cowboy Celtic.”

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Frank Frazetta Tribute by El-Grimlock

I always knew it was going to happen. Frank Frazetta was going to die, it would happen fairly soon, and being a Scot without the funds or opportunity to take the flight to the Frazetta museum, I would probably never get a chance to meet him. I’m a latecomer to Frazetta fandom, so I can’t share some of the memories of other Frazetta fans. I never picked up one of the Lancers when they came out, to be wowed by Conan the Adventurer or Conan of Cimmeria. I never saw a Frazetta picture on the side of a van, or on somebody’s wall, or in the shops. I never saw a Molly Hatchet album cover hot off the record shelves. Nonetheless, the power of Frazetta means that his presence is felt even now: it’s just in different ways.

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With tributes, remembrances, and recaps of the life and art of Frank Frazetta lying spread across the internet like blue mantles beneath the stars, I found myself struggling to come up with anything fresh or meaningful to say on the subject that hasn’t already been said. But I love Frazetta’s artwork, and wanted to add something to the discussion, so I asked myself, What is it about Frazetta’s style that keeps me coming back to his images?

The more I thought about it, it’s his ability to depict strength. Frazetta understood raw power and human musculature like no other artist I’ve encountered. He was a master at portraying rippling, powerful heroes in scenes of sweeping action, bursting with dynamic motion and power barely contained by the canvas.

This characteristic permeates all his work, even his J.R.R. Tolkien sketches. Here’s one of my favorites, a Thor-like Witch King ready to bash a curvaceous, full-figured Eowyn with a hammer of the gods:

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Here, to my knowledge, are the latest leaked pictures of Jason Momoa as Conan, or to be more accurate what you can contemplate are photos of photos taken at Cannes. The Film Festival started yesterday in that seaside city of Southern France, which hosts numerous screenings, market discussions and the like in addition to the official competition.

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Generally, first shots make an important impact in the buzz for a film. Be they tantalizing glimpses of the set, blurry images of actors in costume, or even a prop lying around, early shots do a lot to generate excitement about a project. Of course, the reverse can also be true: sometimes early pictures can be underwhelming, laughable, or scandalous.

The first photos from the set of “Conan” are out, as well as the first pictures of Jason Momoa (pictured above with an ecstatic fan) as our favourite Cimmerian. What can they tell us about the direction of the film?

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“The Mirrors of Tuzun Thune” is Robert E. Howard at his most poetic. His writing had made a quantum leap forward in quality compared with his earlier Kull stories as he transitions from working in familiar genres to blazing a trail none had attempted before him. More than his gift for well-turned phrases and imagery so powerful, it literally sears itself in the reader’s mind; Howard reaches for a depth of character and achieves a work that is both psychologically and philosophically rewarding. Sadly, as the author would later tell his friend, Clyde Smith that he was disappointed in the result and had resolved to never attempt anything so deep again.

The tale starts off with Kull, plagued with ennui and yearning for something more substantive than riches, power, and transient beauty. The brooding king rejects the company of loyal Brule, the Pict who won the king’s respect and friendship in “The Shadow Kingdom,” but foolishly takes the advice of an alluring female, one of the mysterious “Elder Race” which ruled before the Valusians. In Howard’s world view (and in truth, a pulp convention of the day), the exotic female generally proves untrustworthy and the nameless beauty who appears at the beginning and the conclusion of “The Mirrors of Tuzun Thune” proves no exception.

The girl appeals to Kull’s desire for spiritual sustenance. She promises him that the wizard, Tuzun Thune possesses hidden knowledge of what was and will be and is able to converse with the dead. The allure of the occult is enough to send Kull, whose pagan faith in Valka is apparently as unfulfilling as his earthly riches, in search of the hidden knowledge promised by the Eastern wizard. Yet when Kull visits the house of Tuzun Thune, he finds the wizard interested in little more than verbally sparring with the barbarian king.

Just as Kull appears to tire of the wizard’s bantering, Tuzun Thune tempts him into gazing into his mirrors with the promise of wisdom for “mirrors are the world.” Kull gazes and is bewitched by his own reflection and is immediately confronted by the thought that his reflection might in fact be the real him and that he is only the reflection. This is more than just a passing primeval fear, but the recurring thought that keeps Kull mesmerized day after day even at the exclusion of viewing the distant prehistoric past or the far-flung future.

Kull is momentarily distracted to see the world map of the present radically altered in centuries to come. The wizard responds with what might be the author’s own code of existence:

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Courtesy of the ever redoubtable Bill Thom of Howard Works and Coming Attractions, it appears that the collection previously known as Dark Agnes and Other Historical Adventures has received a subtle, but potent, name change: it is now The Sword Woman and Other Historical Adventures. In addition to the name change, we have an illustrator — and a sneak preview.

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