Some movies don’t change. We do.

Getting ready for the new Masters of the Universe film, I decided to revisit the 1987 version starring Dolph Lundgren.

As a kid, I loved this movie.

Part of that was easy to explain. I loved the toys. I loved the cartoons. I loved He-Man and She-Ra. And yes, as a homeschooled girl whose social circle consisted largely of church friends, I thought Dolph Lundgren was really, really pretty.

Watching it now, I discovered something surprising.

The movie I remembered, and the one I watched, weren’t quite the same thing.

As a kid, I barely noticed Evil Lyn.

As an adult, I couldn’t take my eyes off Meg Foster’s performance. Her makeup, her screen presence, and her ability to command attention in every scene made me realize I’d completely overlooked one of the most interesting characters in the film.

Foster didn’t even need special effects to look otherworldly; those piercing, pale-blue eyes of hers did all of it. In a movie surrounded by men in rubber masks and massive prosthetics, Foster anchors the villainy with pure, icy intellect. While Frank Langella’s Skeletor is chewing the scenery like a man possessed, Foster plays Evil-Lyn with a quiet, Shakespearean malice. She isn’t just a henchwoman; you get the distinct impression she’s the only one keeping the entire operation from collapsing under the weight of Skeletor’s ego.

I also noticed something I never would have seen as a child. The movie’s quality shifts as it progresses. The opening feels grand and ambitious, almost like it’s reaching for the same epic feeling that Superman captured years earlier. Then, little cracks begin to show.

Afterward, I learned that production was plagued by funding problems, and suddenly those cracks made sense. What I once dismissed as camp now felt like a movie fighting against its own limitations.

It turns out Masters of the Universe was a Cannon Films production, a studio famous for its champagne appetite and a tap-water budget. Once you know that, the second half of the movie becomes a fascinating exercise in cinematic survival. Rumor has it the crew was literally losing funding while filming the climactic sword fight, resulting in a finale shrouded in pitch darkness to hide the unfinished sets. What looked to my eight-year-old eyes like a dramatic, moody showdown was actually a director desperately trying to finish a movie before the checks bounced.

It also explains the bizarre narrative pivot that sends He-Man from a vibrant, cosmic fantasy realm straight to… a desolate, nighttime suburb in New Jersey. As a kid, I thought Earth was a cool, relatable backdrop for a cosmic clash. As an adult, I see the frantic hands of a producer shouting, ‘We can’t afford to build Eternia sets anymore! Quick, send them to a high school parking lot and a hardware store!

Granted, a $22 million budget was pennies for a sci-fi epic even in 1987, and the film famously tanked at the box office. But the theater was only half the story.

Back then, studios charged video stores up to $80 a tape for new releases. Masters of the Universe might have died in theaters, but it resurrected itself on the rental shelf, quietly clearing its debts through thousands of VHS tapes shipped to video stores globally.

I know this because years later, I worked at Blockbuster. We had three copies. One was stolen, and the other two were always out. If I wanted to watch it, I literally had to call in a favor to my co-workers: ‘If He-Man comes back in the drop-box today, hide it under the counter for me.’

Much like The Boondock Saints would do a decade later, Masters of the Universe bypassed the critics and went straight to the people who mattered: kids at Friday night sleepovers looking for something wild.

The biggest surprise, however, may have been Dolph Lundgren himself.

For years, I assumed he was one of those action stars who succeeded because he looked the part. Then I learned he was a chemical engineer, a scholarship recipient, and attended MIT.

So, on behalf of an entire generation that looked at this six-foot-five blond mountain of muscle and assumed there wasn’t much going on upstairs, I’d like to formally apologize to Dolph Lundgren.

We were very, very wrong.

Would I still recommend Masters of the Universe?

Absolutely.

Not because it’s perfect.

Not because it’s groundbreaking.

Because it’s fun.

It’s the kind of movie you can throw on with your kids, grab some popcorn, and enjoy for what it is: a wildly ambitious fantasy adventure that aimed higher than its budget could support.

And somehow, that’s part of its charm.

We grow up, we learn about production budgets, and we realize our childhood crushes have master’s degrees in chemical engineering. The movie didn’t change, but looking at it through older eyes reveals something better than the flawless epic I imagined as a kid. It reveals a scrappy, beautiful disaster that gave everything it had.

Revisiting the script Verdict

Why I Loved It Then:
He-Man, toys, cartoons, and yes… Dolph Lundgren.

What I Completely Missed:

Meg Foster’s performance and the visible signs of a production struggling to survive.

Does It Still Work?:
Absolutely.

What Surprised Me Most:

The script wasn’t the problem. The budget was.

Would I Recommend It?:
Yes. Family movie night approved. 

Rental Status:
📼 Still Hunting

🍿 Family Movie Night Approved: Yes. No eye covering. No ear covering. No awkward conversations required.