The last time(s) I saw Zardoz was late at night on Channel 13 in Houston, never as it was starting, and with all the boobies cut. The TV-version ending didn't make much sense, either; you'd see Zed's buddies shouting his name (reminiscent of Boorman's own Excalibur) then the hand prints on the cave wall. Censorship compounded the mysteries of my youth. Sure, it's a goofy movie, and the social-science fiction dates it to the Seventies, but look how it closely parallels the Matrix: the man with a three-letter name is destined, no, engineered to liberate the human race from the artifice of the Vortex, learning everything through "osmosis" and wielding inexplicable god-like powers at the end. At least love, or what passes for it these days, wasn't an issue, so it was cool for Sean Connery to inseminate an army of women.