“I’ve never really liked historical films,” says director Marcus Nispel in the production notes for Pathfinder. It might help to know that before seeing this Viking-Indian saga. Don’t even expect the relative cultural “realism” of The 13^th Warrior.

Using archaeological evidence as the jumping-off point for speculation and legend-smithing, Nispel and screenwriter Laeta Kalogridis postulate a shipwrecked orphan adopted by an eastern seaboard Indian tribe. When, after fifteen or so years, another Viking incursion threatens to wipe out Ghost’s adopted family, the white-skinned aspiring warrior must make desperate choices about how to defend the Native Americans he loves while battling the violent Europeans from whom he was bred.

Now, on paper, those violent people are ostensibly Vikings. As filmed by Nispel (and performed by Clancy Brown and other unfortunates), these vile creatures are less like Norsemen than a cross between Mongols and Orcs. And this is really surprising, considering that Ghost is played Karl Urban, whose performance as Éomer of the Rohirrim in The Lord of the Rings evoked something truly grim and Nordic. How did this much-delayed project go so wrong?

Well, in the first place, “wrong” is relative when it comes to films like this. Nispel’s background in graphic novels comes through loud and clear in Pathfinder—and for some, that will be good news. As with graphic novels, the set-pieces in this film have a kind of sensationalism and visual flair that work within the frame, and even within the scope of a series of frames—even scenes, if one cares to be generous. And that seems to be the primary demand of the artform that is the graphic novel.

Traditionally, though, films are expected to work as well at the macro level as at the micro level—and this is where Nispel’s Viking vehicle gets shipwrecked. The geography, for instance, while having the freedom of a mythic landscape, makes no sense whatsoever. Ghost nimbly bounces from one locale to another, setting the stage for later scenes in the same locales—and yet these later visits require laborious journeys over great distances. Similarly, Ghost expends great effort to climb high into the mountains, only to lose thousands of feet in elevation in a matter of seconds—and doesn’t seem to care. He approaches villages from the wrong direction on lake shorelines; he talks cryptically of “the canyon where all paths converge,” yet only one path seems to lead there, and only for an action sequence as muddled as the underwater conclusion of Turistas; and he ridiculously tricks the Vikings into taking a treacherous mountain path when an alternate (and more recently traveled) lowland route to the same destination apparently exists.

Ghost’s helpful companions are also hard to take seriously. One of them is a stock simpleton-shaman about whom we are apparently supposed to care deeply; another is the wise old Pathfinder, played by Russell Means who, a decade or so ago, convinced us of his virility as the Last of the Mohicans; and the third is the Pathfinder’s daughter, a wood-wise warrioress who comes equipped with bon mots such as: “There are two wolves fighting in every man’s heart: love and hate; the one you feed the most wins.” But the shaman is just there as a decoy, Means has long since quenched the passion that fired his performance in Mohicans, and Ghost’s love interest spends most of her time hiding and acting frightened.

Most puzzling, though, are the Vikings and their behavior. When they raid a village, they’re apparently not content to slay people and leave them where they lie. They move the bodies, artistically arranging them in photogenic piles—and then leave them where they lie. They almost always hide behind layers and layers of leather, chainmail, rags, helmets, spikes, ram’s horns, and woolly black hair. It’s no wonder they lose; they can hardly move or see. They snarl more like animals and synthesized goblins than humans. They spout silly subtitled lines such as, “Die, crying boy!” They’re dreadfully stupid, to boot. The point, of course, is that they are not humans at all, but “monsters,” as the tribe’s council sees it.

All this nonsense can be forgiven, I suppose, if one focuses on Kalogridis’ assertion that Pathfinder is “a film about survival in the face of impossible odds.” In past decades, this idea has worked tolerably well in popcorn-fodder like First Blood and Road Warrior—and if that’s all you’re interested in when buying your ticket this time out, you might not be too disappointed. But in the wake of 300, I’m guessing most moviegoers will probably want their money back, since Pathfinder seems to go where so many have gone before.

“I am the last of your kind in this cursed land,” cries Clancy Brown’s villain in the climactic confrontation. Really? Dare we hope?

Pathfinder is rated R “for strong brutal violence throughout.” Yes, I suppose that’s true. In my book, though, the brutal violence is the least of this film’s offenses; and the MPAA failed to mention subtitled profanity. I don’t think the Indians swear, though. They’re far too heroic and noble for such things. “Bloody Vikings!”

Courtesy of a local publicist, Greg attended a press screening of Pathfinder.