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A seemingly deliberate change of pace for Chuck, following the cartoonish heroics of his mid and late 80´s vehicles like Lone Wolf McQuade (1983) or Invasion USA (1985), this mostly by-the-numbers cop thriller is mostly notable for the apparent determination of its main star to play firmly against his own macho image, and deliver a lead performance more marked by vulnerability and sentiment than acrobatic spin-kicks (although those still make an appearance), along with the visible conflict with the film´s generic formula this wish creates.

Perhaps aiming to follow his 80´s action counterparts Stallone and Schwarzenegger into lighter, more thoughtful roles as his career and body aged, Chuck here offers a portrayal of a stoically humble (whilst still Corvette-driving), soft-spoken and self-effacing LA detective, made famous for his apprehension of animalistic serial killer Simon Moon (the eponymous "Terror" of the film´s gaudy title) and dubbed "Hero" for his actions by an euphoric media, a handle he chafes at given his own near-death at the sizable mitts of Moon (a voiceless Jack O´Halloran). When Moon escapes captivity and new victims bearing his trademarks (snapped neck, partial undressing) begin cropping up in LA, this Hero must face his large lumbering demons and track down the seemingly motiveless juggernaut that is his nemesis the Terror.

Methodically paced, shot with a flat televisual look and peopled with regular 80´s TV character actors, the film has a noticeable Movie of the Week flavor, right down to the underplayed action sequences, low level of gore and jokey final shot, a feeling not even the gruff charm of Steve James (criminally underused) and the presence of Ron "Superfly" O´Neal as the city´s mayor can fully erase. Director Bill Tannen creates a strong sense of atmosphere, and stages Chuck´s domestic scenes (given surprising prominence in the narrative) with professional skill but his handling of linking scenes is flat-footed, and his rather detached approach to the loosely choreographed action dissipates whatever tension they might otherwise provide. Chuck looks visibly bored in the film´s few de rigueur fight sequences, and actually more engaged in the romantic scenes with his heavily-pregnant partner (Brynn Thayer), whose level of character development far exceeds any other in the film´s under-nourished screenplay.

Despite the picture´s modest ambitions, obvious low budget, sluggish plot, cliched dialogue and mostly underplayed performances, it still remains strangely watchable; the serial killer plot mostly goes nowhere but Chuck has an amiable charisma, and it´s enough of a surprise to see him play a self-doubting family man averse to the public spotlight his own heroism brings, that it almost draws you along through the film´s many flat sections. The unlikely casting of Billy Drago as Moon´s psychiatrist, the atmospheric setting of LA´s Wiltern Theatre (which becomes Moon´s hideout and stalking-ground), the presence of Steve James and Murphy Dunne (of the Blues Brothers band) in supporting roles and the much-sampled, pleasingly old-fashioned score by David Michael Frank provide helpful distraction from the clumsy script, and Tannen displays just enough visual aplomb to make it an acceptable late-night diversion, if nothing more.

This is flick basically indistinguishable from the many cheap Italian knock-offs that attempted to piggy-back on the success of Conan the Barbarian (1982) and it's sequel, with the one exception being that it is produced by Dino DeLaurentis, and therefore enjoys significantly greater production values.

Detailing the (rather tame) exploits of the title heroine, here presented as a straightforward distaff Conan, the rambling and co-incidence driven narrative pits Sonja (Brigitte Nielson) and her marry band of admirers - led by Kalidor (Arnold Schwarzenegger, essentially reprising Conan, but renamed for legal purposes) and including the spoilt prince Tarn (Ernie Reyes Jr) and his servant Falken (Paul Smith) - against the evil sorceress Queen Gedren (Sandahl Bergman) and her elaborately-armored minions. Along the way there's a mechanized water-dragon, a band of brigands, an all-female priesthood of sword-swinging warrior maidens, numerous bad puns, a score by Ennio Morricone and an apparent attempt by the entire lead cast to avenge themselves on the quality of the screenplay, by each competing to give the most lobotomized delivery of their speech-bubble dialogue.

While there's nothing outwardly offensive about any of it, the film manages, despite it's solid underpinnings, to be a thudding bore, with endless poorly staged fight scenes that go nowhere substituted for plot development, flat direction and crummy FX conspiring to drag the film down at every opportunity. The sumptuous costumes and set design by Danilo Donati needed a more imaginative visual mind than a point-and-shoot hack like Fleischer behind the camera, and Morricone's contibution seems to consist of one ponderous theme repeated unto tedium. As the titular lead, Nielson herself is a serious liability; tall and statuesque, but model thin, physically clumsy and with all the expressive qualities of a mannequin, she fails to provide either a significant physical presence in the action scenes or anything resembling a strong, believable lead performance. Arnold, likewise, gives a lifeless reading of his stock sidekick role, while the young prince and his companion have apparently strayed in from the set of another movie.

Neither violent enough to be remarkable, nor visually arresting enough to be exciting, the film limps across the screen, listlessly trudging from one scene to the next, serving up corny dialogue and amateurish swordplay until somehow arriving at a standard "escape the crumbling supervillian hideout" finale - familiar from nearly every 60's Bond film - when it's run out of other ideas. By the time it's over, the only question on your mind is likely to be "how did any of their careers survive this?"