his video documentary on the life and work of renowned artist Frank Frazetta draws upon art historians, artists, friends, family and even the man himself to provide a generous and affectionate look at the subject. The documentary traces Frazetta's life story, beginning with his birth in Brooklyn and the early emergence of his artistic skills in childhood, along with his equally compelling athletic ability. Luckily, art wins out over sports, and Frazetta begins to make his way as an illustrator.
After toiling as a "ghost" artist for Al Capp and the "Lil Abner" comic strip, Frazetta cut loose to freelance. The road was rocky until he burst forth with his dynamic cover art for Conan the Barbarian. His muscular warriors and sexy sirens soon changed the nature of sword-and-sorcery book covers. Fame—and, eventually, fortune—followed. He began to paint movie posters and work with filmmakers.
This tribute to the seminal artist who set the standard for sword-and-sorcery illustration—and influenced an entire generation of artists who came after—is rich in visual detail and clever special effects. Frazetta's work has never looked better. Onscreen, aglow with light and occasional digitized life, it's a feast for any fan who loves the man and his work. The intimate glimpses of his life provided by home movies and snapshots, and generous comments from his family, counterbalance the occasional excursion into high adulation by other talking heads.
The list of contributors is impressive and includes Brom, Bo Derek, Ralph Bakshi, John Milius, John Buscema, Simon Bisley, William Stout, Al Williamson, Bernie Wrightson, Forrest J. Ackerman, Michael Kaluta, Dave Stevens, Mark Schultz, Kevin Eastman, Joe Jusko, Neal Adams, Glenn Danzig and Cathy and Arnie Fenner.
The opening sequence, featuring an animated version of Frazetta's famous painting of Conan the Barbarian standing atop a pile of skulls, is very snazzy indeed. Lavish attention to production values throughout this documentary pays off visually.
Also of special interest is a segment in which artists such as Brom and Bernie Wrightson discuss Frazetta's impact upon them, as their own early works—with echoes of Frazetta—come up onscreen.
One of the most generous and affecting moments in the entire tape is when Frazetta demonstrates his left-handed sketching ability—a skill newly developed after a stroke rendered his right hand useless. The creative juices are still percolating in this artist, along with his powerful determination to overcome all obstacles.
Tribute to a fantasy titan
This documentary escapes the usual deadening trap of talking-head syndrome by keeping the eye moving. The tape is peppered with clever visual effects: details of the artist's work, quick cuts between commentators and sweeping scenes of Frazetta's serene estate, site of the Frazetta museum. This is one art documentary that has been artfully designed to avoid boredom while providing entertainment, quality and a sense of the artist from the inside out.
That said, by the last 15 minutes, the documentary begins to feel like it's searching for the light above the exit door. Ninety-six minutes of tributes, home movies, artwork and comments by the man himself may be just a trifle too much of a good thing. This is most apparent in the segment entitled "Fight For Life," in which Frazetta and family discuss his struggle with serious health problems as music swells in the background. But wait, that's not all. Frazetta's comments are literally illustrated by his own illustrations—for example, when he says, "I could've strangled 'em!" onscreen flashes the image of a warrior with his fist wrapped around the throat of his hapless antagonist. Not subtle, to say the least. But then, we're not talking subtle here, are we?
As might be expected in a tribute of this nature, the comments occasionally stray into the "over the top" realm. After all, to speak of any artist in the same breath as Leonardo da Vinci is to ignore the fact that there is a qualitative difference between, say, painting a lively cover for a Conan the Barbarian novel and painting the Mona Lisa.
Quibbles aside, this documentary provides a lot of good fun, filled with lively visuals, interesting comments and juicy biographical notes. It's a pleasure to see the affection and respect that some of the contributors feel for Frazetta. And the glimpses of Frazetta's personal life—home movies, a visit to his nonagenarian mother in Brooklyn, comments by his children and grandchildren—provide extra depth.
