Dragonworld (1994): Toasty Warm

Matty hails a family flick that meets two important criteria: top-notch Nicolaou and top-notch Moonbeam.

Cited as a favourite of his own work by Ted Nicolaou, DRAGONWORLD is indeed among the multi-talented filmmaker’s best directorial offerings. It’s also a real high point in producer Charles Band’s Moonbeam Entertainment library. Nicolaou’s second stab at Full Moon family fare following tepid Home Alone (1990) riff Remote (1993), Dragonworld’s genesis dates back to Band’s Empire days. As with Nicolaou’s subsequent Moonbeam capers, Leapin’ Leprechauns! (1995), Magic in the Mirror (1996) and their respective sequels, the project began as a treatment by Troll (1986) scripter Ed Naha, who, quelle surprise, tailored it to Band’s patented poster and title framework. On most of the finished films Naha’s contribution is cloaked by the pseudonym ‘Michael McGann’. Here, the sci-fi author and former Fangoria editor’s premise is fleshed out by his wife, Suzanne Glazener Naha – her sole produced credit. 

Essentially a dragon-centric mash-up of Local Hero (1983) and Free Willy (1993), the plot sees twenty year-old John McGowan (future Monarch of the Glen star Alastair Mackenzie – his screen debut) trying to save his faithful fire-breathing companion, Yowler, from the clutches of a dastardly businessman (John Woodvine) who wants the beast for his eponymous theme park.

As Full Moon devotees know, the last leg of Dragonworld’s production was moved to the company’s then-new studio in Romania after Band and co-producers Paramount started fretting about the film exceeding its already comparatively large budget. Much of it, though, was shot in Wales. While neither location is entirely seamless (the Romanian extras are a particularly egregious sight), Wales does a solid job doubling for Scotland – where the story is set – and affords Dragonworld a lush pastoral quality. Nicely photographed by John Eyres regular Alan M. Trow (The Comic (1986), Project Shadowchaser (1992), Monolith (1993)), there’s lots of greenery and lots of earth tones, and the evocative Celtic imagery amplifies the whimsical and magical atmosphere. 

Performances are all perfectly acceptable, but it’s the snarling Woodvine and the brilliant Andrew Keir — as John’s grandfather, an achingly stoic Scotsman — who carry the film. The latter, in fact, is so good that Dragonworld falters slightly when his character carks it. Presented off-screen, the aftermath is a real tear-jerking moment that Nicolaou pitches beautifully, as John blasts the bagpipes by the auld sod’s grave. The dragon effects — the main reason for the film’s budget ballooning — are likewise fabulous. Designed by Mark Rappaport, a talent who’d bounced around the Band orbit since the Empire era (credits include technician work on Robot Jox (1989), Puppet Master (1989), and Demonic Toys (1992)), Yowler is little rubbery on occasion; however, on the whole, he’s a delightful, imagination-sparking creation. The doe-eyed beastie boasts a cute and surprisingly cuddly tactility, and sports a stunning range of expressions which assist Nicolaou in selling the emotions of Dragonworld’s heartfelt exploration of family, love and loss. The stop motion effects by David Allen are similarly impressive, and there’s even some early digital work courtesy of Randall William Cook. 

Dragonworld hit U.S. video on 27th July 1994 and arrived on British cassette four months later, on 25th November. Both tapes were issued by Paramount, with Dragonworld going on to shift a whopping 57,000 units in the states alone. Dragonworld’s British bow was preceded by a theatrical date: it played the second day of the North West Film Festival at Southport Theatre on 28th January 1995 alongside Phillip J. Roth’s Digital Man (1995) and Wes Craven’s New Nightmare (1994)

Sidestep Dragonworld: The Legend Continues (1999). In a perverse display of contrast, it’s among Nicolaou’s worst.

USA ● 1994 ● Family, Comedy ● 82mins

Alastair Mackenzie, John Woodvine, Andrew Keir ● Dir. Ted Nicolaou ● Wri. Suzanne Glazener Naha and Ted Nicolaou

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