Not to be confused with a top fisherman, or "master baiter": "The Beastmaster"

Sad to say, some guilty pleasures get a little weird with age. Like Hostess fruit pies, for instance. Who among us didn't enjoy these totally artificial "pastries" as a kid? Yet when I had a craving for one a few years back, I was (a) bowled over by the calorie count in those babies, something like 500 a pie, and (b) somewhat disappointed that the hard shell and gooey, syrupy filling wasn't as good as I remembered. Sure, I still ate the pie -- cherry, because you were dying to know, I can tell -- but a little piece of me died that day.

I mention this because I was pumped to see "The Beastmaster" on HBO a few days ago. Easily one of my favorites in the mid-'80s, when I wasn't even a teenager and it was on HBO for the first time. And I've gotten a kick out of this "classic" since then, always enjoying the unparalled Marc Singer -- he of equally classic "V" fame -- fighting forces of evil in some ancient age with the help of various animal friends.

This last time? Let's say some of the magic has faded. Oh, it's still a fun ride, with the well-oiled Singer swinging his sword around, throwing his little bladed boomerang thingy and wooing Tanya Roberts -- boobies! -- while battling a hilarious Rip Torn as some evil high priest. Then we get the Beastmaster's friends -- a hawk, a couple of ferrets and a tiger spray-painted black. Yeah, really.

Alas, I noticed other things that kind of bummed me out. Like waaaayyy too much skin by John Amos, whom you may recall from "Good Times" ("Junior! Florida!") or "Coming to America" ("Our buns have no seeds"). You know him, you love him. But do you really want to see him in a leather jockstrap? That's what you get in "The Beastmaster," and that's gonna give me nightmares.

Other problems? I mean, aside from an inane story and over-the-top performances? Nothing major, I suppose, but this definitely qualifies as a movie I've outgrown. Yeah, it took 20 years. Give me another 20 and I might outgrow "V."