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Masters of the Universe: The He-Man Movie Turns 30

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Special effects artist Richard Edlund, who won an Oscar for his work on Star Wars in 1978, was arguing. Cannon Films co-owner Menahem Golan was arguing back. Edlund was insisting the 64 planned effects shots for Cannon's Masters of the Universe, a live-action film based on Mattel's He-Man toy line, had been grossly miscalculated during pre-production and that the film would likely need nearly double that number. Golan screamed that he was being bled dry.

Edlund would later recall that Golan had "fun" when haggling, although he probably was having less of a good time trying to keep Cannon afloat. The company would soon fold, with Masters of the Universe being one of the last casualties of their budget-cinching slate. Released on August 7, 1987, it made an underwhelming $5 million its first weekend. Some 30 years after its debut, fans of the franchise continue to debate whether it was an earnest attempt at a fantasy spectacular or a misguided cash-in for a toy line that was already waning in popularity.

According to executive producer Edward Pressman, who was doing publicity for the film in 1987, the He-Man phenomenon began when Mattel was shown a rough cut of the 1982 Arnold Schwarzenegger film Conan the Barbarian. Having considered licensing the film for toys, Mattel executives were put off by the amount of violence in the footage and backed away from the deal. It would be easier to simply create their own sword and sorcery epic, with characters and confrontations molded into age-appropriate settings.

He-Man debuted in 1982, a larger, steroided alternative to the comparatively puny G.I. Joe. With his bowling-ball deltoids and modest loincloth, He-Man resisted the ambition of rival Skeletor to take over their shared home world of Eternia. To populate toy aisles, each had a supporting cast of allies and a host of vehicles. More than 120 million figures were sold; a syndicated cartoon kept adolescent eyes glued to screens.

A tie-in movie was a no-brainer for Mattel; the company petitioned studios via their relationship with Pressman (who had produced Conan) to take a risk on a big-budget feature. Estimating the movie would cost about $40 million, most studios declined. Realizing the risk was too great, Mattel approved a more affordable premise. Instead of staging the action on Eternia, He-Man would have to travel to modern-day Earth in order to retrieve a Cosmic Key that could release the Sorceress, a guiding light of the planet who had been captured by Skeletor.

Pressman eventually piqued the interest of Warner Bros. with the reworked idea. The studio offered a $15 million budget; Cannon, which was trying to establish itself with more expensive schlock like the Sylvester Stallone arm-wrestling drama Over the Top, offered $17.5 million. Mattel and Pressman agreed to the bigger deal and went with Cannon.

Dolph Lundgren, a Swedish actor and athlete who had studied chemical engineering at MIT, was a towering presence who had impressed Hollywood as stoic Russian Ivan Drago in 1985's Rocky IV. Though producers thought he'd be perfect for the part of He-Man, Lundgren wasn't convinced.

"I thought about it for months and months," the actor told Starlog in 1987. "Masters is one of those films where if you didn't do it right, it would be a disaster and everyone would laugh at you for another 20 years." After he eventually signed on, Lundgren packed on additional muscle until he looked remarkably like the action figure.


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Director Gary Goddard, who had overseen a Conan stage show for Universal and was hired by Pressman, saw in Lundgren a perfect physical specimen—although his Swedish accent had remained thick. Goddard hoped to perhaps dub the actor with another performer during looping sessions, although such extravagant expenditures would soon prove impossible.

One compromise Goddard was unwilling to make was setting the film entirely on Earth. The script originally opened with a beaten, weathered He-Man imploring a suburban family to help him. Goddard insisted the film be book-ended with scenes on Eternia, an economical way of honoring its fantasy elements. Sets were constructed so that Skeletor (Frank Langella) could luxuriate in an ornate throne room, barking orders at subordinates and plotting against He-Man. More expensive effects—a stop-motion Battlecat, or a wire-strung Orko, the hovering wizard sidekick—were left in the toy box.

Goddard and Pressman planned on shooting 13 weeks and wound up shooting for 20. Lundgren, described by most everyone who encountered him as a friendly man, struggled with his dialogue and spent his time off-camera pumping dumbbells. Langella's make-up required frequent attention, his prosthetic teeth never quite fitting right. Bounced checks from Cannon, which was suffering from a string of flops, became a weekly ordeal.

When Goddard needed to shoot the climactic fight between He-Man and Skeletor, he was reduced to a stripped-down set shot in the dark, a casualty of depleted funds. (Mattel tossed in the remaining half of their $1.5 million guarantee in order to keep shooting going.) Goddard had originally intended to make his film a grand tribute to comic book artist Jack Kirby and his distinctive space opera style. He would eventually have to be satisfied with getting the film completed at all.


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The delay in getting a studio interested in Masters of the Universe had unfortunate consequences. By the time the film was released on August 7, 1987, interest in the toy line had waned considerably. Had it been released in 1985, there's no telling how frenzied kids might have reacted. Years later, it was bested in its opening weekend by the Emilio Estevez comedy Stakeout.

Reviews were middling. Johanna Steinmetz of the Chicago Tribune was one of the rare critics to acknowledge the filmmakers' efforts. "It breaks no new ground," she wrote, "but neither will you demand your money back, unless you feel acutely deprived of hero Dolph Lundgren's less intelligible lines.

"European-born Lundgren, who played a Soviet boxer opposite Sylvester Stallone in Rocky IV, here has the role of He-Man. He can ripple his muscles with the best of them but has trouble getting his Teutonic tongue around such complex sentences as 'I don't want innocent people to die'—to which his nemesis Skeletor responds, 'Well said, He-Man,' inspiring some scattered laughter in the audience."

None of this deterred Cannon, which was in its death throes but continued to put its best foot forward. At that year's Cannes Film Festival, Golan announced that Masters of the Universe 2 would go into production shortly. With Lundgren unwilling to reprise the role, they hired surfer Laird Hamilton for the lead and began constructing sets. When Mattel refused to participate, director Albert Pyun repurposed them for a low-budget Jean-Claude Van Damme vehicle titled Cyborg.

Decades later, movies based on toy lines are no longer uncommon. Hasbro has made vast fortunes with films inspired by Transformers and G.I. Joe. A revamped He-Man film has been in the works for years, though no definitive release date has been set. In 2010, Lundgren expressed his desire to join the project, although he would like to have more input on his wardrobe.

"I think it's a good idea," he told IGN. "I think He-Man is a cool character, and I had fun doing [the movie]. I wouldn't want to take my shirt off again for three months, wearing that … diaper or whatever it was I was wearing, loincloth. I'd rather play the king. But yeah, good idea."

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The Pom-Pom Hit: When Texas Was Struck By a Cheerleader Mom's Murder Plot
Photo Illustration by Lucy Quintanilla, Mental Floss. All images, iStock
Photo Illustration by Lucy Quintanilla, Mental Floss. All images, iStock

On a January morning in 1991, Wanda Holloway was faced with a decision: Realizing that she couldn't afford two murders, the 36-year-old married mother of two had to decide whether to order the killing of her rival, Verna Heath, or Verna’s 13-year-old daughter, Amber.

It was a toss-up as to who presented the bigger problem to Holloway. Amber was an eighth-grader who had the talent and poise to consistently knock out Holloway’s daughter, Shanna, from a spot on their school’s cheerleading squad in Channelview, Texas; yet Verna was the one who pushed Amber, getting her into gymnastics and even being so bold as to let Amber try out for the junior high cheerleading squad before she had even formally enrolled in school.

Killing Amber would guarantee Shanna a berth to cheerleading stardom. But there was a problem: Holloway's ex-brother-in-law, Terry Harper—whom she enlisted to help her carry out her plan—said the man he knew who would accept the assignment wanted $5000 to kill a minor. Bumping off Verna would be a comparatively reasonable $2500.

In a perfect world, $7500 would get rid of them both, but Holloway simply didn’t have the money. So she decided it would be Verna. In addition to being cheaper, she figured Amber would be so devastated by her mother’s death that she couldn’t possibly get through cheerleader tryouts that March.

On January 28th, after dropping Shanna off at church, Wanda met with Harper to give him her diamond earrings as a down payment. Within a matter of days, she would make national headlines as the mother who would do anything for her daughter. Even if it meant life in prison.

 
 

A suburb of Houston, Holloway's hometown of Channelview, Texas sits in a state where football fields are considered holy ground and small town players are revered for their athletic prowess. Boys were expected to suit up if they wanted social status; girls could obtain a measure of popularity along the sidelines as cheerleaders. In both cases, the fitness and discipline required could help provide a foundation for a transition out of adolescence.

As a young woman, Wanda Holloway wanted to join that clique. Her father, a conservative Baptist, vetoed the idea. The costumes were too revealing, he said, too sexualized. Reporters would later seize on this detail and use it to craft a kind of super-villain origin story for Holloway—a woman who was determined to see her own daughter succeed where she hadn’t.

Holloway remained in Channelview and, in 1972, married railroad warehouse employee Tony Harper. They had two children: Shane in 1973 and Shanna in 1977. She divorced Harper in 1980, remarrying twice and retaining custody of the kids.

As Shanna grew older and grade school activities increased, Holloway was determined that her daughter would enjoy some of the opportunities her own father had denied her. She urged Shanna to try out for the seventh-grade cheerleading squad; though Shanna didn’t feel as passionately about the team as her mother did, she tried her best but didn’t make the cut as three girls were vying for two open slots. It was apparently vexing to Holloway that one of the girls who made the team didn’t even attend Alice Johnson Junior High during tryouts: She was still transitioning from a private school. That student was Amber Heath.

Amber and Shanna had purportedly been friends, even having sleepovers at each other’s homes. But Holloway perceived both Amber and her ambitious mother, Verna, as obstacles to Shanna’s progress in cheerleading. Verna had printed flyers and handed out candy during that seventh-grade coup. The next year, Holloway decided to make an offensive move and passed out rulers and pencils that urged Shanna’s classmates to vote her into the squad: “Vote for Shanna Harper for Cheerleader.”

The vice principal intervened, saying such campaigning was against school rules. (Verna's flyers had somehow skirted any penalty.) When Holloway ignored him, parents of other cheerleader candidates—Verna included—held a meeting and voted to disqualify Shanna from being in the running. Shanna was now 0-2, and Verna had made it personal.

As tryouts loomed for ninth grade in 1991, Holloway decided she couldn’t take any more chances with the Heaths. She approached Terry Harper, her first husband’s brother, the one man she knew with some slightly delinquent criminal tendencies. Harper had been arrested a few times on misdemeanor charges. To the best of anyone’s knowledge, he didn’t travel in the kinds of circles where he might know any hitmen. But Holloway seemed convinced that Harper had the connections to make Verna and Amber go away.

Harper would later tell police that he brushed off Holloway’s solicitations but she was persistent. Realizing she was serious, he went to the sheriff’s department, where officers expressed the same initial skepticism. Murder-for-hires didn’t happen in Channelview. When Harper insisted, they wired him with a microphone so he could continue his dialogue with Holloway.

In six separate recorded conversations, Harper found Holloway hard to pin down when it came to an explicit admission of her desire to have Verna murdered.

“You want her dead?” Harper asked.

“I don’t care what you do with her,” Holloway replied. “You can keep her in Cuba for 15 years. I want her gone.”

Semantics aside, Holloway’s intent was clear. Days after she handed over her down payment to Harper for the (fictional) assassin, police arrested Holloway for solicitation of capital murder. Investigators would later remark that Holloway seemed unfazed by the charge.

Out on bail, she told Shanna what she was facing: a potential verdict of life in prison. Although Shanna knew her mother wanted desperately to see her on the team—much more than Shanna herself cared to—she had no idea the rivalry with Verna had escalated to potential homicide. And despite the wishes of her biological father, Shanna remained at Alice Johnson High, avoiding eye contact with Amber Heath practically every day.

 
 

Holloway was arraigned in February 1991, and pled not guilty. Her defense was that the plot had been cooked up by her ex-husband, Tony Harper, and his brother in order for Tony to secure custody of their kids. Her desire to see Verna “gone,” she argued, was simply a joke.

The jury wasn’t laughing. In September 1991, it took them just two and a half hours to find Holloway guilty and sentence her to 15 years in prison—“poetic justice,” as one juror later put it, for wishing Verna would be exiled to Cuba for the same length of time.

Poetic or not, Holloway didn’t do 15 years—or even 15 months. She was granted a new trial in November of that year and the verdict was overturned on appeal in 1996 after it was discovered one of the jurors had been on probation for a drug possession charge and shouldn’t have been serving. Rather than fund another trial, Harris County prosecutors allowed Holloway a plea bargain where she received 10 years but ultimately served only six months in a work camp pulling weeds before being released on probation.

The last time a journalist caught up with Shanna was in 2012, when the then-34-year-old teacher discussed raising her own two children and having an infamous mother with a reporter from People. Living in Humble, Texas, she said she still saw Wanda on a regular basis, although the two rarely discussed the murder plot. Shanna asked about it back in 2010. Holloway called the entire incident a “mistake” and said that she was “sorry.”

When Wanda's future as a free woman was still up in the air, Alice Johnson High went ahead with cheerleader tryouts on March 22, 1991. Amber appeared and made the cut. Shanna did not. She was too distraught to show up.

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When Topps Fought Terrorism with Trading Cards
Bill Pugliano, Getty Images
Bill Pugliano, Getty Images

On the morning of September 11, 2001, John Perillo looked out of his office window at 1 Whitehall Street in Manhattan and saw a plane flying at a dangerously low altitude. Almost instantly, his building began to shake. Seven blocks away, the plane had struck the World Trade Center.

It would be hours before Perillo and other New Yorkers were able to grasp the gravity of the situation. A terrorist attack on American soil stunned the world and created a widening panic and confusion before a kind of resolve set in. For Perillo, the vice president of operations at Topps Trading Card Company, and Topps CEO Arthur Shorin, it would become a time to memorialize the events of that day in the medium they understood best. Which is how Osama bin Laden came to have his own trading card.

Two kids sort through a Topps 'Enduring Freedom' trading card set
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Although they were best known for sports cards, Garbage Pail Kids, and other entertainment properties, Topps had already recorded a significant history with real-world events. In 1950, they found success with a line of Korean War cards. More than a decade later, they memorialized the Civil War. A set reflecting on the life of John F. Kennedy following his assassination was released in 1964. In 1991, a line of cards depicting Operation: Desert Storm received endorsements from Colin Powell and General Norman Schwarzkopf.

Within a week of the attack on the World Trade Center, Topps executives decided to pursue another—and substantially more controversial—line based on current events. Titled Enduring Freedom, the line featured 70 cards of figures like President George W. Bush, National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice, New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani, New York Governor George Pataki, and bin Laden. There would be cards of military vehicles and weapons; on the back were biographies of political figures and descriptions of the hardware. The goal, Shorin told the press, was to give kids information about the rising conflict in a format with which they were already familiar.

"Kids need to get information on their own terms," he said. "This is their medium."

While the plan came together quickly, the company largely avoided depictions that might upset children or their parents. One card featured a smoke-filled view of the transformed Manhattan skyline, but no pictures of the destruction or rubble were considered. In a departure from conventional card sets, no "chase" cards—or rare inserts that prompt consumers to buy more packs—would be involved. There was some internal debate about including bin Laden, but the company ultimately decided that kids might want the opportunity to defile his image by ripping it up. It's the only black and white card to appear in the set.

"We wouldn't be surprised if they tear, stomp all over it, and dump it in the garbage," Shorin said.

A photo of a Topps 'Enduring Freedom' trading card wrapper
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Enduring Freedom was released in October 2001, which marked a rapid turnaround time for the card industry. (Sets typically take months to come together.) Hobby shops and larger retail outlets like Walmart accepted shipments of the 7-card product, which sold for $2 per pack, but not everyone was comfortable monetizing the tragedy. Stores in Chicago refused to carry the line, citing concern over appearing insensitive. (An unrelated 2002 card set by Chestnut Publications eulogizing victims of the 9/11 attacks, which was created with their families' permission, drew related headlines and accompanying criticism.)

In interviews, Shorin argued that the cards and their explanation of America's military would be comforting to children: Topps had consulted with child psychologists to make sure the content was age-appropriate. Though they were reticent to publicize it, the company was also donating a portion of proceeds to relief efforts. They even shipped 1 million cards to troops stationed overseas.

Ultimately, the notion of potentially trivializing the War on Terror never caught on. Topps never released a planned second wave that would feature high-tech military hardware, a likely result of the cards selling only modestly. As one store owner pointed out, it wasn't that the cards were offensive—it's just that kids were too preoccupied with Pokemon to bother.

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